“Listen then, Miss Churchill—the secret of happiness is _this_: the striking of a just balance between the desires and the faculties; if the desires are greater than the faculties, they will goad you on to efforts beyond your strength, and anxiety will destroy happiness, as in the case of Mrs. Gardiner Green, whose desires Heaven knows are low enough—being only to shine as the bright particular star of a country neighborhood—to have the best house, the best equipage, to wear the best dresses, and give the best dinners; grovelling as these wishes are, they yet exceed her faculties for accomplishing them—hence her eternal fret. I can further illustrate this class of unfortunates by a notorious name, Aaron Burr; brilliant as were his faculties his desires yet transcended them—he wished to rule alike despotically over the hearts and minds of men and women, and over the nations of the earth. In both these cases that I have cited, one from the highest, the other from the lowest grade of mind, the evil was the same—the balance between the faculties and the desires was not struck. Well, Miss Churchill, you are musing—upon what?” “I was thinking, had Aaron Burr had the power of accomplishing his ambitious desires, or had Mrs. Gardiner Green the ability to carry out her vain ones, would either be any happier?” “That involves another question of moral philosophy to which we have not arrived, and which we will not discuss just now. We are speaking of present and positive causes of unhappiness, and not of future contingencies, Sophie—I beg your pardon, Miss Churchill.” “Call me Sophie, I am more accustomed to that name,” said she, rather timidly. Truly Miss Churchill was “coming round,” and the minister felt it, for he replied gently, “And I am more accustomed to hear you called Sophie—and,” added he softly, “to _think_ of you as Sophie.” She avoided meeting his eyes, which she felt fixed upon her, and a strange pain, dissipating all the intellectual pleasures she was beginning to receive from his society, crept into her heart—she blamed herself for having spoken in the manner she did. He resumed, “You, Sophie, belong to the second class of my unfortunates, the class whose _faculties_ transcend their desires, whose peculiar torment is _ennui_. You, Sophie, have some noble faculty or faculties unemployed, and they are corroding in your bosom, and you call your suffering discontent. Your remedy is to discover these latent faculties (for very often these are as unknown or unsuspected by their possessor, as is some obscure physical disease), and develope and cultivate them—it is their suppressed life that is torturing you now—bring them out, use them, give them a field and you will be happy.” “But how?” said Sophie, looking up again.