The foregoing conversation was held between the daughter and niece of a wealthy merchant of one of our populous cities. His daughter, Lucy, the younger by two years, possessed, together with great personal beauty and love for the beautiful, an active and playful imagination, which, like the first glad rays of the morning sun, that sport around the mountain’s brow, gilding its summits with a thousand varied hues, but never penetrate the depths below—while from Ellen’s stronger and more highly cultivated intellect (though possessing in a less degree the light attractiveness of morn,) there radiated the glowing and vivifying influence of its noontide intensity. Lucy, with her merry laugh, sunny smiles, and playful wit, was the delight of her father. Ellen was his support! She prepared his favorite dishes—she charmed him with her conversation, and soothed him with her song. Often was the old gentleman heard to exclaim—“Never was a man so blessed in his children! My merry Lucy forms the sunny spot in life—but my beautiful Ellen gives to life its charm.” Though few beyond her own domestic circle, and the poor, were ever heard to call her beautiful! To a common observer, or (in the circles of fashion) as she moved by the side of her lovely cousin, there appeared little in Ellen’s face or figure to call forth admiration; although, as mistress of a large fortune, flatterers were not wanting. But, as one gazed upon her animated countenance, as with witching kindness she endeavored to chase from the brow of her aged uncle, some cloud of anxious care, or bent over the couch of distress in the home of the wretched, and, with the soft low tones of sympathetic melody seemed to quell the raging storm in the bosom of the blasphemous inebriate, such a halo of purity seemed to encircle her broad, thoughtful brow, that the gazer turned away a better and a holier being. The two girls had been standing on the eastern balcony of the Alms-house at ——, so absorbed that they noted not the flight of time, until Ellen’s exclamation, “Uncle is waiting for us,” aroused them. “My children,” said Mr. Norton, as they descended, “I had begun to think you had quite forgotten me, and my rheumatism prevented me seeking you above stairs; but, now that you are here, Mr. Barker is going to accompany me through the insane department—you, Ellen, I know would like to go—but what says my little Lucy?” “If you please, papa, I will wait here your return, and watch that noble steamer as she ploughs the wave, proud as it were of her happy burden, for from the music and the throng, I judge they have a pleasure-party on board. And as cousin Ellen seems determined to chase away all my fairy visions, do, dear papa, take her with you while I endeavor to recruit my spirits.” Ellen, smiling, placed her arm within her uncle’s, and Mr. Barker led the way to a long low range, not far from the main-building.