were blind and deaf? To us, the voices of the deep sang no epic of
grief; the speech of the woods was not articulate; the sea-gull's
flashing flight, and the dark swallow's circling sweep, were facts
only. Sunrise and sunset were not a paean to day and night, but five
o'clock A.M. or P.M. The seasons that came and went were changes
from hot to cold; to you, they were the moods of nature, which found
response in those of your own life and soul; her storms and calms were
pulses which bore a similitude to the emotions of your heart!

Veronica's habits of isolation clung to her; she would never leave
home. The teaching she had was obtained in Surrey. But her knowledge
was greater than mine. When I went to Rosville she was reading
"Paradise Lost," and writing her opinions upon it in a large blank
book. She was also devising a plan for raising trees and flowers
in the garret, so that she might realize a picture of a tropical
wilderness. Her tastes were so contradictory that time never hung
heavy with her; though she had as little practical talent as any
person I ever knew, she was a help to both sick and well. She
remembered people's ill turns, and what was done for them; and for the
well she remembered dates and suggested agreeable occupations--gave
them happy ideas. Besides being a calendar of domestic traditions, she
was weather-wise, and prognosticated gales, meteors, high tides, and
rains.

Home, father said, was her sphere. All that she required, he thought
he could do; but of me he was doubtful. Where did I belong? he asked.

I was still "possessed," Aunt Merce said, and mother called me
"lawless." "What upon earth are you coming to?" asked Temperance. "You
are sowing your wild oats with a vengeance."