mind. And for years after, I felt a vague pleasure in strewing their graves with the fresh flowers that formerly were employed in adorning my sister’s head. Often have I laid myself down looking upon their glassy covering, as if I expected that some of those tales of my mother would be realised with regard to myself, and that I should see them rising from their grave. My Sister soon joined me in these meditations, and almost the first infantile communications which passed between us, rested upon another world. She would sit by me, and often the worthy pastor surprised us, after the sun had set, calling to our memory those tales we had heard when with our foster mother.
We did not mingle with the other children of the village, for we delighted too much in each other’s company; we spent hours together in talking about what had in a most unaccountable manner taken possession of our minds, or
