She threw herself on the dry leaves by the water’s edge, and leaned wearily against the strong young evergreen.  How sadly her eyes roved among the trees, and then tears commenced to fall quickly from them.  She was very pale and mournful, and drew her rich mantle closely around her to shield her from the wind.  It had been as her lover had said.  She had gone out into the world, had tasted what men call pleasure, had put aside the simple lessons she had learned in her childhood, to follow his bidding, to live in the light of his love.  Ten years had dissolved the dream.  The young husband was in his grave; the child she had called after him was no more.  Weary and heart-broken, she had hurried back to the home she had left, and the haunts she had cherished.

She embraced the young pine, tenderly, and exclaimed—­

“Oh, that thy lot was mine!  Thou wilt stand here, in a green youth, a century after I am laid low.  No fears perplex thee, no sorrows eat away thy strength.  Willingly would I become like thee.”

At last she grew calm; and the old question which she had never found answered to her satisfaction—­“What is life?”—­sprang up into her mind.  All the deeds of past days moved before her, and she felt that hers had not been a life worthy of an immortal soul.  She heard again the voices of the trees, the wind, and the stream, and a measure of peace seemed granted to her.  “Endurance—­Hope—­Faith,” she murmured.  She rose to go.

“Farewell, beloved pine,” she said.  “God knows whether I shall see thee again; but such is my desire.  With his help, I will begin a new existence.  Farewell, monitors who have comforted me.  I go to learn ‘what is life.’”

In a distant city, there dwelt, to extreme old age, a pious woman, a Lydia in her holiness, a Dorcas in her benevolence.  Years seemed to have no power over her cheerful spirit, though her bodily strength grew less.  Great riches had fallen to her lot; but in her dwelling luxury found no home.  A hospital—­a charity school—­an orphan asylum—­all attested her true appreciation of the value of riches.  In her house, many a young girl found a home, whose head had else rested on a pillow of infamy.  The reclaimed drunkard dispensed her daily bounty to the needy.  The penitent thief was her treasurer.  Prisons knew the sound of her footstep.  Alms-houses blessed her coming.  She had been a faithful steward of the Lord’s gifts.

Eighty-and-eight years had dropped upon her head as lightly as withered leaves; but now the Father was ready to release his servant and child.  Her numerous household was gathered around her bed to behold her last hour.  On the borders of eternity, a gentle sleep fell upon her.  She seemed to stand in a lofty wood, beside a towering pine.  A spring bubbled near, and soft breezes swept the verdant boughs.  She looked upon the tree, glorious in its strength, and smiled to think she could ever have desired to change her crown of immortality for its senseless existence.  Then the old question—­“What is life?”—­resounded again in her ears, and she opened her eyes from sleep and spoke, in a clear voice, these last words—­