But Jael told me, that when she first placed his baby in his arms he had wept like a child.
The little maiden grew with the snowdrops.

Winter might have dropped her out of his very lap, so exceedingly fair, pale, and pure-looking was she.

I had never seen, or at least never noticed, any young baby before; but she crept into my heart before I was aware.

I seem to have a clear remembrance of all the data in her still and quiet infancy, from the time her week-old fingers, with their tiny pink nails--a ludicrous picture of her father's hand in little--made me smile as they closed over mine.
She was named Muriel--after the rather peculiar name of John's mother.
Her own mother would have it so; only wishing out of her full heart, happy one! that there should be a slight alteration made in the second name.

Therefore the baby was called Muriel Joy--Muriel Joy Halifax.
That name--beautiful, sacred, and never-to-be-forgotten among us--I write it now with tears.
* * * * * In December, 1802, she was born--our Muriel.