That day, at least, has been one of tranquillity, one of calm, placid content, when she was willing to live in the present, and asked for nothing more.
Thank God for such days, for the rest they bring! and yet how soon we weary of them. Work, work for both mind and body, is what we crave, and none can be truly happy without it,—these little intervals are but preludes to a mightier effort.
Amelia dreamed of going to a wedding where she was to meet her mother, and after waiting and searching for her until the guests were nearly gone, learned that she had long since left in a carriage, leaving her to follow on foot. The disappointment awoke her when she found that mother she had none, with weddings she had nothing to do, and the disagreeable sensation of toiling on foot roused her to a consciousness of labor to be performed before she would be permitted to go to her mother. So she slept no more that night, and lay restlessly and anxiously devising some scheme that should satisfy the demands of what some call conscience, others the development of our own nature, while the nimble feet of the merry dancers in yonder mansion still kept time with the merrier music. There were those present who could sympathize with Amelia, those for whom the festivities of the hour had no charm, serving merely as safety valves to let off some of the pressure preying upon them in their luxurious homes.
Morning came at length when she must be up and doing, for this was to be a day of weariness and toil, doubly wearisome because the labor of her hand would be in such striking contrast with the current
