"
"No; but we can bestow our sympathy, and that, I have been taught, is
always a consolation to the afflicted."
"I don't quite understand the nature of that mysterious feeling called
sympathy. When I go to visit Mrs. Lennox, she always sets me a-crying,
and I try to set her a-laughing. Is that what you call sympathy?"
Mary smiled, and shook her head.
"Then I suppose it is sympathy to blow one's nose--and--and read the
Bible. Is that it? or what is it?"
Mary declared she could not define it; and Lady Emily insisted she could
not comprehend it.
"You will some day or other," said Mary; "for none, I believe, have ever
passed through life without feeling, or at least requiring its support;
and it is well, perhaps, that we should know betimes how to receive as
well as how to bestow it."
"I don't see the necessity at all. I know I should hate mortally to be
what you call sympathised with; indeed, it appears to me the height of
selfishness in anybody to like it. If I am wretched, it would be no
comfort to me to make everybody else wretched; and were I in Mrs.
Lennox's place, I would have more spirit than to speak about my
misfortunes."
"But Mrs. Lennox does not appear to be what you call a spirited
creature. She seems all sweetness, and--"
"Oh, sweet enough, certainly!--But hers is a sort of Eolian harp, that
lulls me to sleep.
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