cannot patiently conquer, and which makes the prospect of parting
painful." He paused for a moment, and then, as if to turn his
reflections from their depressing course, he said, "I have been
reading to-day some extracts from Mrs. Hemans' works. As I grow older
and more thoughtful, such things touch me deeply, and I experience a
constantly increasing interest in the products of female talent. There
is an intensity of sentiment, a pure tenderness of heart about such
writings generally, which, in my present tranquil state of mind, are
in harmony with my heavenward reflections, and the ideal spirit
pervading them, soothes my imagination. In my restless and hopeful
years I sought literary recreation from far different sources, but now
that I feel myself a pilgrim, and stand surrounded by shadows on the
verge of an unknown hereafter, I prize inexpressibly these glimpses of
paradise which are God's precious gift to every true and intellectual
woman."

It was thus my friend often spoke, for it was a theme on which he
always delighted to dwell. I have never seen any one whose reverence
for woman's gifts was so strong, and who appreciated with such
sincerity the moral loveliness of her perfected nature. It was about
this time that the birth of a second daughter added a new tie to Mr.
Germaine's life; and the event saddened him more than I believed any
earthly event could have done. The feeling was probably a natural one,
but it grieved me to see how he strove to crush every impulse of
tenderness toward the little one he must leave so soon.

It would have been well for Theresa had her father lived to view the
ripening of the faculties whose blossoming he already traced with the
prophetic gaze of parental affection; but she was destined to tread
her path alone, and to know in their wide extent both the triumphs and
the penalties of superiority. She was seven years of age when her
father died, leaving herself and her sister to their mother's care. I
need not relate here the many interesting interviews between Mr.
Germaine and myself, which were more and more touching as his
departure drew near. With an earnestness unutterably impressive, he
implored my watchful solicitude for his eldest daughter, entreating me
to afford her that guidance from experience, which she must inevitably
need.

"Be gentle with her," he said, "but not too indulgent; she will
require strictness of management, for with such impetuosity of nature
her judgm