Circumstances around her and the society with which she
mingled, tended to drown reflection, and call into play only the
brighter and gayer feelings, that flutter on the surface of our
being. She had never known the luxury of devoting an hour to genuine
meditation on the world within--or the great world without. The
earth was to her a garden of joy; she lived upon it only to enjoy
herself. Like many selfish people, Alice's mother made an idol of
her beautiful child, because she was a part of herself; and Mrs.
Clinton was not one to perform a mother's duty faithfully in
instilling right views of life into her daughter's mind. Thus, with
a depth of feeling, and rich gifts of mind, Alice fluttered on her
way like a light-winged butterfly, her soul's pure wells of tender
thought unknown to her. How many millions pass through a whole long
life, with the deepest and holiest secrets of their being still
unlocked by their heedless hands! How few see aught to live for, but
the outward sunshine of prosperity, which is an idle sunshine,
compared with the ever-strengthening light that may grow in the
spirit! How strong, how great, how beautiful may life be, when
smiled upon by our Creator! how weak, how abject, how trampled upon,
when turned away from his face!
With better and more quiet emotions, Mary Clinton retired to rest.
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