ooked at all vexed when I
upset her workbox upon the floor; that she received all my awkward
gallantry and _mal-adroit_ helpfulness as if it had been in the best
taste in the world; that when she was sick, she insisted on letting me
wait on her, though I made my customary havoc among the pitchers and
tumblers of her room, and displayed, through my zeal to please, a more
than ordinary share of insufficiency for the station. She also was the
only person that ever I _conversed_ with, and I used to wonder how any
body who could talk all about matters and things with grown-up persons
could talk so sensibly about marbles, and hoops, and skates, and all
sorts of little-boy matters; and I will say, by the by, that the same
sort of speculation has often occurred to the minds of older people in
connection with her. She knew the value of varied information in making
a woman, not a pedant, but a sympathetic, companionable being; and such
she was to almost every class of mind.

She had, too, the faculty of drawing others up to her level in
conversation, so that I would often find myself going on in most
profound style while talking with her, and would wonder, when I was
through, whether I was really a little boy still.

When she had enlightened us many months, the time came for her to take
leave, and she besought my mother to give me to her for company. All the
family wondered what she could find to like in Henry; but if she did
like me, it was no matter, and so was the case disposed of.

From that time I _lived_ with her--and there are some persons who can
make the word _live_ signify much more than it commonly does--and she
wrought on my character all those miracles which benevolent genius can
work. She quieted my heart, directed my feelings, unfolded my mind, and
educated me, not harshly or by force, but as the blessed sunshine
educates the flower, into full and perfect life; and when all that was
mortal of her died to this world, her words and deeds of unutterable
love shed a twilight around her memory that will fade only in the
brightness of heaven.

FRANKNESS.

There is one kind of frankness, which is the result of perfect
unsuspiciousness, and which requires a measure of ignorance of the world
and of life: this kind appeals to our generosity and tenderness. There
is another, which is the frankness of a strong but pure mind, acquainted
with life, clear in its discrimination and upright in its intention, yet
above