It is easy to give up the world, with its million sources of delight, to share the adverse fortunes of one dearer than all its painted show; it is sweet to bid adieu to its frivolities, for the hope of another and a "better," but "When the draught so fair to see Turns to hot poison on the lip;" when the duped soul cries out against the fair pretence that promised so much and gave so little, when it will none of it, and puts it by with loathing disgust;--yet resorts to nothing more real and pure;--what art can balm a woe like this? A click of the gate-latch, and voices warned her that her solitude was about to be invaded. "I will wait here half an hour," said familiar tones. "Thank you," was the reply; "you need not stay longer; if she is at home I shall spend the day." "Very well; good bye," and Carry Carleton ran up the steps. Retreat was impossible, for their eyes met at once, and to the new visitor the meeting appeared to give satisfaction. "I am, indeed, fortunate," said she, saluting Ida, and taking a place beside her, "I expected to pass a solitary half-hour. One of the girls came with me to the gate. She has gone to see her aunt, and may not return to-day. This is a favorite spot of mine. I am laughed at for the choice, yet it seems I am not as singular as they would have me believe. Do you come here often?" "This is only my second visit." "Indeed! But it is a long walk from your house. I live nearer, although on the other hill." "I understood you were from the country," said Ida. "So I am--but my sister resides here, and hers is another home to me. I _love_ the country, yet I like Richmond. It is a beautiful city," she continued, her glance roving over the landscape. "Outwardly--yes." "You do not think the inhabitants adapted to their abode, then?" "I do not know that they are worse than the rest of mankind. It is a matter of astonishment to me, that this globe should have been set apart as the theatre for so depraved a race." "I don't know," said Carry, cheerily. "I find it a nice world--the best I am acquainted with; and the people harmless, good creatures--some dearer to me than others; but I entertain a fraternal affection for all." "I have read of philanthropists," said Ida; "but you are the sole specimen I have seen. And this universal love--is it content to exist without a reciprocation?" "The heart would be soon emptied were this so," returned the other, her bright face becoming serious. "There are many who love me; if any dislike, I am in blissful ignorance of the sentiment and its cause." "But if your friends were removed, and replaced by enemies?" "I would teach them friendship. My affection for the dead would make me more desirous to benefit the living." "And if they would not be conciliated--if upon the broad earth you had not an answering spirit?" "I should die!"