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306 the rose, or its changefulness from the rainbow. Her hair was of that pale yet rich gold so rarely seen; with the sunshine upon it, it was positively radiant; it shone as the wind lifted some of the long soft curls. It was a species of beauty too frail, too delicate, and the large blue eyes had that clear sky-like azure, that violet shadow round the orbs which mark an hereditary tendency to decline. She was in the habit of coming into our gardens to gather roses for distillation. Accustomed from her cradle to strangers and exertion, making friends by a manner whose sweetness was as natural as the smile to her face, Lucy was not the least shy: if she had been, we should never have become acquainted. But when she frankly offered her services to assist in ornamenting the little plot of ground on which my shrubs were drooping, and round which my flowers always made a point of dying; they were accepted on my part with equal surprise and gratitude. Under her more judicious management, the ground was soon covered with leaf and bloom, and every