“A little spirit slumbers here, Who to one heart was very dear; Oh! he was more than life or light; Its thoughts by day, its dawn by night. The chill winds came, the young flower faded And died; the grave its sweetness shaded. Fair boy, thou should’st have wept for me; Nor I have had to mourn o’er thee: Yet not long may this sorrow be. Those roses I have planted round, To deck the dear, sad, sacred ground, When spring-gales next their leaves shall wave, May blush upon thy mother’s grave.” “Thank you, dear Helen, it is a very pretty epitaph; but, perhaps, to the mournful writer of it, Edmiston’s touching lines might with propriety have been addressed. ‘And thou, pale mourner o’er an infant’s bier, Brighten thy cheek, and dry the trickling tear: This came, though veiled in darkness, from above, A dispensation of eternal love. He, who perceived the dangerous controul The heart-twined spell was gaining o’er thy soul, Snatched from thy arms the treacherous decoy, To give thee brighter hope and purer joy: Oh! see how soon the flowers of life decay, How soon terrestrial pleasures fade away! This star of comfort for a moment given, Just rose on earth, then set, to rise in heaven. Yet mourn not, as of hope bereft, its doom, Nor water with thy tears its early tomb: Redeemed by God from sin, released from pain, Its life were punishment, its death is gain.’” FOOTNOTES: [1] See Roberts’s Conchologist’s Companion. CHAPTER VII. “Well, my little girl,” said Mr. Ashton to Helen, one morning, when the breakfast-things had been removed, “I suppose by this time Edward and Lewis have shown you all that is worth seeing in this gay place, and have made you nearly as wise as themselves. I am quite at leisure this morning; but I am afraid there is nothing left for me to do as a chaperon.” “Thank you, dear uncle,” said Helen, laughing; “you could do a great deal for us, I assure you; but only see how very fast it is raining!” “Yes,” said Lewis, in a disconsolate tone, “there will be no going out to-day; the clouds are coming up thicker and faster.” “I believe you are mistaken there, my boy: even your weather-oracle, Tom Price, tells me, he thinks it will be fine; but if it should prove that he is mistaken for once, we will try to make ourselves happy within doors, and not waste our time in unavailing regrets. The rain is much needed, and the country will look more beautiful after it.” “Do you not think, papa,” asked Lewis, who was not at all disposed to look on the bright side of the picture this morning, “that it would be much pleasanter if the weather were always bright and calm. I am sure, if rain and storms are useful, they do a good deal of mischief sometimes, and often disappoint us of pleasure.”