poor
motherless child that it did not affect one superficially, like a
child's loud momentary affection, in which we know that the first toy
will replace us. I kissed my little cousin's pale face and said, "And
I too, Blanche, have my crystal; and when I consult it, I shall be very
angry if I see you sad and fretting, or seated alone. For you must know,
Blanche, that that is all selfishness. God made us, not to indulge only
in crystal pictures, weave idle fancies, pine alone, and mourn over what
we cannot help, but to be alert and active,--givers of happiness. Now,
Blanche, see what a trust I am going to bequeath you. You are to supply
my place to all whom I leave; you are to bring sunshine wherever you
glide with that shy, soft step,--whether to your father when you see
his brows knit and his arms crossed (that, indeed, you always do), or to
mine when the volume drops from his hand, when he walks to and fro the
room, restless, and murmuring to himself, then you are to steal up to
him, put your hand in his, lead him back to his books, and whisper,
'What will Sisty say if his younger brother, the Great Book, is not
grown up when he comes back?' And my poor mother, Blanche! Ah, how can
I counsel you there,--how tell you where to find comfort for her? Only,
Blanche, steal into her heart and be her daughter. And to fulfil this
threefold trust, you must not content yourself with seeing pictures in
the crystal,--do you understand me?

"Oh, yes!" said Blanche, raising her eyes, while the tears rolled from
them, and folding her arms resolutely on her breast.

"And so," said I, "as we two, sitting in this quiet burial-ground, take
new heart for the duties and cares of life, so see, Blanche, how the
stars come out, one by one, to smile upon us; for they, too, glorious
orbs as they are, perform their appointed tasks. Things seem to
approximate to God in proportion to their vitality and movement. Of all
things, least inert and sullen should be the soul of man. How the
grass grows up over the very graves,--quickly it grows and greenly;
but neither so quick nor so green, my Blanche, as hope and comfort from
human sorrows."

(1) In primitive villages in the West of England the belief that the
absent may be seen in a piece of crystal is, or was not many years ago,
by no means an uncommon superstition. I have seen more than one of these
magic mirrors, which Spenser, by the way, has beautifully described.
They are about the size and s