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troubled, for they are never so transparent, as in the 
calm that succeeds the tempest; they tell him that 
the same waters which now reflect the clear sky 
and the overhanging trees, with the sunlight that 
shines through them, were a few days before foam¬ 
ing with the rage into which they were lashed by 
contending winds, and that he may, like them, be 
purified by agitation. But he replies to them, 
there is that within his soul which neither ocean 
nor its waves can parallel; that he has infinite 
wants which this world cannot satisfy. Often we 
can soothe him, but sometimes we seem only to 
exasperate his woes. Is it the wintry storms of 
life, which we happily escape, that makes him differ 
from us ? or is this not his home, and does he raise 
his eyes to heaven because there alone is true hap- 
piness ! 
“Happiness must be there,” said Mary, thought- 
