"Weep not, then, my child, my orphan darling, over a past which cannot be recalled; let not its shadow rest too darkly upon you,--if there is joy in the present, be grateful; if there is hope in the future, rejoice. "You have often asked me to tell you where I lived when I was a little child; whether my home was a gray cottage like ours, in the woods; and whether I had a mother whom I loved as dearly as you loved me. I have told you that my first feeble life-wail mingled with her dying groan, and you wondered how one could live without a mother's love. "I was born in that rugged fortress, whose embattled walls are washed by the majestic Bay of Chesapeake. My father held a captain's commission in the army, and was stationed for many years at this magnificent, insulated bulwark. My father, at the time of my mother's death, was a young and gallant officer, and I was his only child. It is not strange that he should marry again; for the grief of man seldom survives the allotted period of mourning, and it was natural that he should select a gay and brilliant woman, for the second choice is generally a striking contrast to the first. My mother, I am told, was one of those gentle, dove-like, pensive beings, who nestled in her husband's heart, and knew no world beyond. My step-mother loved the world and its pleasures better than husband, children, and home. She had children of her own, who were more the objects of her pride than her love. Every day, they were dressed for exhibition, petted and caressed, and then sent back to the nursery, where they could not interfere with the pleasures of their fashionable mamma. Could I expect those tender cares which the yearning heart of childhood craves, as its daily sustenance? She was not harsh or despotic, but careless and indifferent. She did not care for me; and provided I kept out of her way, she was willing I should amuse myself in the best manner I pleased. My father was kind and caressing, when he had leisure to indulge his parental sensibilities; but he could not sympathize in my childish joys and sorrows, for I dared not confide them to him. He was a man, and, moreover, there was something in the gilded pomp of his martial dress, that inspired too much awe for childish familiarity. I used to gaze at him, when he appeared on military parade, as if he were one of the demi-gods of the ancient world. He had an erect and warlike bearing, a proud, firm step, and his gold epaulette with its glittering tassels flashing in the sunbeams, his crimson sash contrasting so splendidly with the military blue, his shining sword and waving plume,--all impressed me with a grandeur that was overpowering. It dazzled my eye, but did not warm my young heart.