I cast upon it brought closer to my heart a conviction, such as I had 
never felt before respecting any infant, that it could not be formed for 
earth. It was not the exquisite loveliness of the child, the perfection 
of its features, the transparent brilliancy of its beautiful complexion, 
and the singular mouldings of its delicate limbs, which any sculptor 
might have coveted to perpetuate in alabaster of kindred purity; it was 
not even the tranquil expression of its placid brow, not the soft smile 
that gently dimpled its little budding mouth, nor the assurance of its 
delighted mother, that so sweet and calm a temper she had never traced 
in any infant. No: it was a character spread over the babe, of some¬ 
thing so pure, so holy, so far removed from weak and wayward mor¬ 
tality, that while I gazed on her, my tears burst forth, partly from 
the irresistible conviction that I was looking upon a thing of heaven, 
and partly from the unavoidable association of those thoughts with a 
coming sense of maternal lamentation and woe. 
One trait that I remarked in the beautiful babe was a peculiarly 
pensive softness, which it was impossible to regard otherwise than as 
the meek and patient yearning of the soul after something that was 
not found in objects presented to the outward sense. I traced ifc, during 
the several opportunities that I had for observing her, and could not 
believe myself mistaken. Her beautiful brow was thoughtful, even to a 
careless eye; and the grace that reigned in every movement of her 
head and limbs was truly majestic. You could not study her counte¬ 
nance without fancying that she communed with a brighter world; and 
that something of a calm sadness hung over her view of sensible things. 
I was struck by the manner in which she would take hold of her 
young brother, steadying the boy’s face between her delicate hands, and 
gazing upon it with a kind of perplexed earnestness, as if other images 
were floating in her mind. 
Chapters on Flowers. 
