ng dews. Indeed, such was her walk
through life. She seemed born to teach mankind unostentatious charity.
Yet, under this mild, calm exterior, she had a strong, controlling will,
which all around her felt and acknowledged. From the moment she drew the
fan from my hand, at my mother's bedside, to the hour I left her
dwelling, she acted upon me with a force powerful as the sun, and as
benignant too.

CHAPTER XII.

If I do not pass more rapidly over these early scenes, I shall never
finish my book.

Book!--am I writing a book? No, indeed! This is only a record of my
heart's life, written at random and carelessly thrown aside, sheet after
sheet, sibylline leaves from the great book of fate. The wind may blow
them away, a spark consume them. I may myself commit them to the flames.
I am tempted to do so at this moment.

I once thought it a glorious thing to be an author,--to touch the
electric wire of sentiment, and know that thousands would thrill at the
shock,--to speak, and believe that unborn millions would hear the music
of those echoing words,--to possess the wand of the enchanter, the ring
of the genii, the magic key to the temple of temples, the pass-word to
the universe of mind. I once had such visions as these, but they are
passed.

To touch the electric wire, and feel the bolt scathing one's own
brain,--to speak, to hear the dreary echo of one's voice return through
the desert waste,--to enter the temple and find nothing but ruins and
desolation,--to lay a sacrifice on the altar, and see no fire from
heaven descend in token of acceptance,--to stand the priestess of a
lonely shrine, uttering oracles to the unheeding wind,--is not such too
often the doom of those who have looked to fame as their heritage,
believing genius their dower?

Heaven save me from such a destiny. Better the daily task, the measured
duty, the chained-down spirit, the girdled heart.

A year after Mrs. Linwood pointed out to me the path of duty, I began to
walk in it. I have passed the winter in the city, but it was one of deep
seclusion to me. I welcomed with rapture our return to the country, and
had so far awakened from dream-life, as to prepare myself with
steadiness of purpose for the realities of my destiny.

Edith rebelled against her mother's decision. There was no need of such
a thing. I was too young, too delicate, too sensitive for so rough a
task. There was a plenty of robust country girls to assist Mr. Regulus,
if