and that star which has just risen yonder,--see it all in my crystal,
when you are gone!--gone, cousin!" (And Blanche's head drooped.)

There was something so quiet and deep in the tenderness of this poor
motherless child that it did not affect one superficially, like a
child's loud momentary affection, in which we know that the first toy
will replace us. I kissed my little cousin's pale face and said, "And I
too, Blanche, have my crystal; and when I consult it, I shall be very
angry if I see you sad and fretting, or seated alone. For you must
know, Blanche, that that is all selfishness. God made us, not to
indulge only in crystal pictures, weave idle fancies, pine alone, and
mourn over what we cannot help, but to be alert and active,--givers of
happiness. Now, Blanche, see what a trust I am going to bequeath you.
You are to supply my place to all whom I leave; you are to bring
sunshine wherever you glide with that shy, soft step,--whether to your
father when you see his brows knit and his arms crossed (that, indeed,
you always do), or to mine when the volume drops from his hand, when he
walks to and fro the room, restless, and murmuring to himself, then you
are to steal up to him, put your hand in his, lead him back to his
books, and whisper, 'What will Sisty say if his younger brother, the
Great Book, is not grown up when he comes back?' And my poor mother,
Blanche! Ah, how can I counsel you there,--how tell you where to find
comfort for her? Only, Blanche, steal into her heart and be her
daughter. And to fulfil this threefold trust, you must not content
yourself with seeing pictures in the crystal,--do you understand me?

"Oh, yes!" said Blanche, raising her eyes, while the tears rolled from
them, and folding her arms resolutely on her breast.

"And so," said I, "as we two, sitting in this quiet burial-ground, take