My mother," said St.Clare, getting up and walking to a picture at the end of the room, and gazing upward with a face fervent with veneration, "_she was divine!_ Don't look at me so!--you know what I mean! She probably was of mortal birth; but, as far as ever I could observe, there was no trace of any human weakness or error about her; and everybody that lives to remember her, whether bond or free, servant, acquaintance, relation, all say the same.

Why, cousin, that mother has been all that has stood between me and utter unbelief for years.

She was a direct embodiment and personification of the New Testament,--a living fact, to be accounted for, and to be accounted for in no other way than by its truth.

O, mother! mother!" said St.Clare, clasping his hands, in a sort of transport; and then suddenly checking himself, he came back, and seating himself on an ottoman, he went on: "My brother and I were twins; and they say, you know, that twins ought to resemble each other; but we were in all points a contrast.

He had black, fiery eyes, coal-black hair, a strong, fine Roman profile, and a rich brown complexion.