“I remember well the first time I ever saw you, Magdalene,” commenced the younger one. “It was a still summer day, soon after we first moved here. Every thing at home was in confusion. Our scanty load of furniture had been tossed into our neglected old house, apparently to arrange itself. Our one girl, with noisy undirected zeal, went stumbling about, falling over chairs, and breaking crockery; while my poor father, sick and irritable, lay upon a bed, fuming at every thing. Unnoticed and wondering, I sat in a corner, amused for a time by the chaos by which I was surrounded. But at length I grew very weary at the voices of displeasure and vexation, that grated so harshly upon my ears. Looking up at the window, I saw how brightly the sun was shining upon the green waving trees in the avenue beyond; and with a sudden longing for quiet I slipped out at the door. Our own garden, a square of bare ground was by no means inviting; but beyond grew a row of tall, beautiful trees, that seemed to bound a large flower-garden, and farther still, a little wood with a low stile, enchanted my fancy, and promised me an easy entrance. Oh! I cannot tell you how beautiful it looked, to a child brought up in the close dismal streets of a large city. I felt as if I stood in Fairy-land. Every thing seemed to have a marvelous light,—a mysterious shading cast over it, which gave me a sensation, as if something strange and wonderful were hidden behind every bush, or at every corner around which I passed. As I went on, my childish attention was attracted by the pretty iron railings which bounded the garden, and looking between them, I saw a well-kept lawn, and smooth walks, winding around mounds of green turf. On one of these mounds, you were sitting, reading with a calm air, perfectly in keeping with the scene around. I thought you much older than you really were, for you were tall for your age. You seemed to me so striking in your dark blue dress, with your beautiful features, that I immediately ran over in my mind all the heroines I had ever read of, but as I could not find one that exactly resembled you, I thought of a name for you, and had commenced to connect a long story with it, when a voice from the house called you, and to my great disappointment, you went in. I continued for awhile to look in upon the wide garden, but I felt as if the life of the scene, and the heroine of my story had departed with you.”