od was
given to many, caused her woe. Ella's spirit was pure and bright as the
eyes through which it beamed--the gladness of her young heart's
happiness rung in the silvery music of her voice, and in the fairy magic
of her smile she looked as if sorrow could never dim the golden lustre
of her curls, or trace a cloud on her snowy brow--gentle and lovely she
was, and that was all. There was no depth of thought, no strength of
mind, to form the character of one so gifted. Her faculties for
reasoning were the impulses of her own heart: these were generally good,
and constituted her principle of action--but changeful as the summer sky
are the feelings of the human heart, unswayed by the deeper power of the
head. Such were Ella's, and their power destroyed her. Alas! how calmly
can I talk now of her faults; but who could think of them when they
looked upon her, and loved her as I did--'tis only since she is gone I
discover them.

Of the other members of the family I need not speak, as you already know
of them; but there is one whose name you have never heard, for crime and
sorrow rest with it, and oblivion shrouds his memory. Conrad Ernstein
was also my cousin, and an orphan--he was an inmate of our dwelling, and
my mother was to him as a parent. He was some years older, but his
delicate constitution and studious mind withdrew him from the others,
and made him the companion of Ella and myself. I have said that Ella's
mind was too volatile, so in like degree was Conrad's, in its deep
unchanging firmness and immutability of purpose. Nothing deterred him
from the pursuit of any object he engaged in--obstacles but increased
his energy to overcome and call forth stronger powers of mind--this was
observable in his learning. Science the most abstruse and difficult was
his favourite study, and in these he attained an excellence rarely
arrived at by one so situated.

Wondered at and admired by all, his pride which was great was amply
gratified, and what was evil in his nature was not yet called into
being--his disposition was melancholy, and showed none of the joyousness
of youth--yet that very sadness seemed to make us love him all the
more--his air of suffering asked for pity--'twas strange to see the
glad-hearted Ella leave my mother's side, while she sang to us the songs
of the blue Rhine, and bend her sunny brow with him over the ancient
page of some clasped volume, containing the terrific legends of the
"black forest," till th