"Do not jest with me, Gertrude; comfort me if you can. I too have had my dream; I am about to lose Rose. I can not tell you about it now, it is too painfully vivid. How can I live without love? without Rose's love? Tell me how you learned, Gertrude, to tame down that fiery heart of yours."
Gertrude only replied by her caresses; for, in truth, her heart was too full.
There is an _outward_ life visible to all; there is an _inward_ life known only to our own souls, and Him who formed them.
Ah, there were moments when she threw aside book, pallet, and pencil, when she could listen only to its troubled, mournful wailings, because there was nothing in all the wide earth, that could satisfy its cravings. Only in the Infinite can such a spirit find rest; and leaning her head upon John's shoulder, Gertrude sang:
"Oh, ask thou, hope thou not too much From sympathy below; Few are the hearts whence one same touch Bids the sweet fountains flow: Few, and by still conflicting powers, Forbidden here to meet, Such ties would make this world of ours Too fair for aught so fleet;
"But for those bonds all perfect made, Wherein bright spirits blend; Like sister flowers of one sweet shade, With the same breeze that bends. For that full bliss of soul allied Never to mortals given; Oh, lay thy lovely dreams aside, Or lift them up to Heaven!"
"You are a good girl, Gertrude," said her brother. "I am no Puritan, but your song has soothed me. There _must_ be something more satisfying in another state of existence than there is in this, else were our very being a mockery."
"Poor John; he will arrive at the truth by and by," said Gertrude, as he left the room. "I think it is easier for woman to lean upon an Almighty arm; it is only through disappointment and suffering that man's proud spirit is bowed childlike before the cross. And how, when it gets there, the soul looks wondering back that it should ever have opposed its own poor pride of self to Calvary's meek sufferer!"
How the wind roared! how the sails creaked and flapped! and the tall masts groaned! How the great vessel rolled from side to side, and tossed hither and thither, like a plaything for the winds and waves. The poor invalid groaned in his berth with pain and _ennui_. It mattered little to him whether the vessel ever made port or not. Sea-sickness is a great leveler, making the proud and haughty spirit quail before it, and disposing it to receive a sympathizing word from even the humblest.