"Very fine—a perfect summer night. The old church-tower gleams white almost as silver."
"And does the churchyard look peaceful?"
"Yes, and the garden also. Dew glistens on the foliage."
"Can you see many long weeds and nettles amongst the graves? or do they look turfy and flowery?"
"I see closed daisy-heads gleaming like pearls on some mounds. Thomas has mown down the dock-leaves and rank grass, and cleared all away."
"I always like that to be done; it soothes one's mind to see the place in order. And, I dare say, within the church just now that moonlight shines as softly as in my room. It will fall through the east window full on the Helstone monument. When I close my eyes I seem to see poor papa's epitaph in black letters on the white marble. There is plenty of room for other inscriptions underneath."
"William Farren came to look after your flowers this morning. He was afraid, now you cannot tend them yourself, they would be neglected. He has taken two of your favourite plants home to nurse for you."
"If I were to make a will, I would leave William all my plants; Shirley my trinkets—except one, which must not be taken off my neck; and you, ma'am, my books." After a pause—"Mrs. Pryor, I feel a longing wish for something."
"For what, Caroline?"
"You know I always delight to hear you sing. Sing me a hymn just now. Sing that hymn which begins,—