rk and dreary duties; and Rose has a mind full-set, thick-sown with
the germs of ideas her mother never knew. It is agony to her often to
have these ideas trampled on and repressed. She has never rebelled yet;
but if hard driven, she will rebel one day, and then it will be once for
all. Rose loves her father: her father does not rule her with a rod of
iron; he is good to her. He sometimes fears she will not live, so bright
are the sparks of intelligence which, at moments, flash from her glance
and gleam in her language. This idea makes him often sadly tender to
her.

He has no idea that little Jessy will die young, she is so gay and
chattering, arch, original even now; passionate when provoked, but most
affectionate if caressed; by turns gentle and rattling; exacting, yet
generous; fearless--of her mother, for instance, whose irrationally hard
and strict rule she has often defied--yet reliant on any who will help
her. Jessy, with her little piquant face, engaging prattle, and winning
ways, is made to be a pet, and her father's pet she accordingly is. It
is odd that the doll should resemble her mother feature by feature, as
Rose resembles her father, and yet the physiognomy--how different!

Mr. Yorke, if a magic mirror were now held before you, and if therein
were shown you your two daughters as they will be twenty years from this
night, what would you think? The magic mirror is here: you shall learn
their destinies--and first that of your little life, Jessy.

Do you know this place? No, you never saw it; but you recognize the
nature of these trees, this foliage--the cypress, the willow, the yew.
Stone crosses like these are not unfamiliar to you, nor are these dim
garlands of everlasting flowers. Here is the place--green sod and a gray
marble headstone. Jessy sleeps below. She lived through an April day;
much loved was she, much loving. She often, in her brief life, shed
tears, she had frequent sorrows; she smiled between, gladdening whatever
saw her. Her death was tranquil and happy in Rose's guardian arms, for
Rose had been her stay and defence through many trials. The dying and
the watching English girls were at that hour alone in a foreign
country, and the soil of that country gave Jessy a grave.

Now, behold Rose two years later. The crosses and garlands looked
strange, but the hills and woods of this landscape look still stranger.
This, indeed, is far from England; remote must be the shores which wear
that wild