I cannot put down what she says in the form of dialogue, because, although the meaning is plain, it seems to take some other. She herself is amused at the idea of confining her within quotation marks. It comes to this that I can give you only an essence, an extract, of what she conveys. How blundering and explosive, after Cousin Christina’s way, are the great words of other people! I like sleeping in the attic because the sun climbing up behind the shoulder of Jakko, comes in there first. This morning, looking up through the little high window in the wall I saw a hawk sailing with broad sunlight on his wings, though none had reached the window yet, and the attic was still grey and waiting. I have seen it all day, the hawk up there with his wings gleaming, but it was Cousin Christina who suggested that perhaps after all it was only necessary to rise high enough to meet the light. A more definite showing, it appears, was what she lacked most in life. Among a bewildering worldful of facts, appearances and incidents, vague, she complains, is the short existence, and untrustworthy the interests which are our only guides to spend it to the best account. She seems grieved now to discover how much more there was and how much better worth doing. Upon one thing only I feel that she congratulates herself. Among our poor chances there is one which is supreme, and she had it. Within her radius she _saw_. The mirror was hers which prints the lovely suggestion of things, and I have learned from her and from the garden that there is no finer or more delicate or more charming occupation for a person of leisure than to sit and polish her mirror. She did not live as long as I wish to do, and I think at the time she would have been glad to stay. Nevertheless, she looks with no great encouragement upon the efforts after completer health which I hope I have not too continuously referred to in these chapters. I gather from her that if you are asked to an entertainment, you do not reproach your host that it is so soon over, nor are you supposed to resent other people getting more extended invitations. The lights and the music please you, but at the end you never hesitate to step outside again into the dark. Perhaps we are all here quite as long as we are wanted. Life is very hospitable, but she cannot put on every card “1 to 70 years.” I gather that these are Cousin Christina’s views; and I reply that it is easy to be wise after the event, which I am nevertheless still inclined to postpone. On days when life is a pure pleasure she is not much with me, but on days when it is a mere duty--she knew many of those herself, poor dear--I can always depend upon her. It was she who lifted her long-handled glasses and looked at Thisbe, who one morning came and stood in the sun between us, and quoted,-- “A happy soul that all the way To heaven hath a summer’s day,”