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320 SKETCHES.
grave, and suffered the snow-flakes to fall upon her bare
head. Then, with faltering steps, she dragged herself back
to the hotel, asking again: “Is there no message, no letter
for me?” But there was none. Then sickness laid its
hand upon her heart and head, and whispered to her
agonized soul, Enough! enough!
, Sickness, bodily pain! Thou hast been called an evil
upon earth, but thou art often a good and salutary balm,
under whose influence the soul finds rest after its hard bat-
tle, and the raging tempests are stilled. More than once
hast thou prevented suicide, or saved from madness. The
fearful, the bitter words which disappointed expectation and
deluded hope have written upon our heart, are gradually
defaced in the dark and feverish dreams of sickness. The
terrors which lately were so near, fly far away from us, —
we forget, thank God! We forget, and when at last weak
and tottering, we arise from a bed of sickness, our soul
often awakens as from a long night to a new morning.
While we are waiting for this new morning to dawn upon
our poor sufferer, let us spend
AN EVENING WITH THE SISTERS AT WERNA.
The customary little Sunday night’s dance was over, and
the young boarders, after lovingly kissing and embracing
their kind governesses, had retired to their respective dor-
mitories.
The candles were put out; the cold November wind
whirled the snow-flakes round in mad gambols, but the
autumn night’s cosy fire was burning with a bright flame,
throwing its cheering light round the room, in which the
sisters, Helena and Amelia, were sitting in their easy chairs
on each side of the stove, from which the light fell upon
their kindly thoughtful faces.
Once, contemplating an elderly lady’s sad countenance,
which seemed to bear the stamp of a joyless life, I thought,
Oh! how much that is beautiful remains undeveloped in
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