When her father had been dead a year, her mother married a man with a large family of children and a very small purse. Lucy had a hard time of it, especially as her step-father, a quick, impulsive man, took a dislike to her. Aunty had no difficulty persuading them to give the child to her. She took from the purest motives, and it does seem as if she ought to have more reward than she gets. She declares, however, that she has all the reward she could ask in the conviction that God accepts this attempt to please Him. Lucy is now nearly fourteen; very large of her age, with a dead white skin, pale blue eyes, and a little light hair. To hear her talk is most edifying. Her babies are all "babes"; she never begins anything but "commences" it; she never cries, she "weeps"; never gets up in the morning, but "rises." But what am I writing all this for? Why, to escape my own thoughts, which are anything but agreeable companions, and to put off answering the question which must be answered, "Have I really made a mistake in refusing Dr. Elliott? Could I not, in time, have come to love a man who has so honored me?" JULY 5.-Here I am again, safely at home, and very pleasant it seems to be with dear mother again. I have told her about Dr. E. She says very little about it one way or the other. JULY 10.-Mother sees that I am restless and out of sorts. "What is it, dear?" she asked, this morning. "Has Dr. Elliott anything to do with the unsettled state you are in?" "Why, no, mother," I answered. "My going away has broken up all my habits; that's all. Still if I knew Dr. Elliott did not care much, and was beginning to forget it, I dare say I should feel better." "If you were perfectly sure that you could never return his affection," she said, "you were quite right in telling him so at once; But if you had any misgivings on the subject, it would have been better to wait, and to ask God to direct you." Yes, it would. But at the moment I had no misgivings. In my usual headlong style I settled one of the most weighty questions of my life, without reflection, without so much as one silent appeal to God, to tell me how to act. And now I have forever repelled, and thrown away a heart that truly loved me. He will go his way and I shall go mine. He never will know, what I am only just beginning to know myself, that I yearn after his love with unutterable yearning. I am not going to sit down in sentimental despondency to weep over this irreparable past. No human being could forgive such folly as mine; but God can. In my sorrowfulness and loneliness I fly to Him, and find, what is better than earthly felicity, the sweetest peace. He allowed me to bring upon myself, in one hasty moment, a shadow out of which I shall not soon pass, but He pities and He forgives me, and I have had many precious moments when I could say sincerely and joyfully, "Whom have I in heaven but Thee, and there is none upon earth that I desire besides Thee."