Leonard looked into his heart after the Enchantress had breathed upon it; and through the mists of the fleeting and tender melancholy which betrayed where she had been, he beheld a new sun of delight and joy dawning over the landscape of human life.
Thus, though she was dead and gone from his actual knowledge, this mysterious kinswoman--"a voice, and nothing more"-- had spoken to him, soothed, elevated, cheered, attuned each discord into harmony; and if now permitted from some serener sphere to behold the life that her soul thus strangely influenced, verily with yet holier joy the saving and lovely spirit might have glided onward in the Eternal Progress.
We call the large majority of human lives obscure.

Presumptuous that we are! How know we what lives a single thought retained from the dust of nameless graves may have lighted to renown?
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