Buxton. "Up at the Thorn-tree,
it was quite curious how the clouds used to shape themselves, just
according as I was glad or sorry. I have seen the same clouds, that, when
I came up first, looked like a heap of little snow-hillocks over babies'
graves, turn, as soon as I grew happier, to a sort of long bright row of
angels. And you seem always to have had some sorrow when I am sad, and turn
bright and hopeful as soon as I grow glad. Dear Mrs. Buxton! I wish Nancy
knew you."
The gay, volatile, willful, warm-hearted Erminia was less earnest in all
things. Her childhood had been passed amid the distractions of wealth; and
passionately bent upon the attainment of some object at one moment, the
next found her angry at being reminded of the vanished anxiety she had
shown but a moment before. Her life was a shattered mirror; every part
dazzling and brilliant, but wanting the coherency and perfection of
a whole. Mrs. Buxton strove to bring her to a sense of the beauty of
completeness, and the relation which qualities and objects bear to each
other; but in all her striving she retained hold of the golden clue of
sympathy. She would enter into Erminia's eagerness, if the object of
it varied twenty times a day; but by-and-by, in her own mild, sweet,
suggestive way, she would place all these objects in their right and
fitting places, as they were worthy of desire. I do not know how it was,
but all discords, and disordered fragments, seemed to fall into harmony and
order before her presence.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49