ngbird. My Aunt Caroline's
beauty was of a somewhat peculiar character,--if beauty that can be
called which was rather spirit, brilliancy, geniality of expression,
than symmetrical mould of features. The large, full eye was of the
deepest violet hue; the finely arched forehead, a little too boldly
cast for feminine beauty, was shaded by masses of rich chestnut hair;
the mouth,--but who could describe that mouth? Even in repose, some
arch thought seemed ever at play among its changeful curves; and when
she spoke or laughed, its wonderful mobility and sweetness of
expression threw a perfect witchery over her face. She was quite
short, and, if the truth must be told, a little too stout in figure;
but this was in a great measure redeemed by a beautifully moulded
neck, on which her head turned with the quickness and grace of a wild
pigeon. Every motion was rapid and decided, and her whole aspect
beamed with genius, gayety, and a cordial friendliness, which took the
heart at first sight. And then, her voice, her laugh!--not so low as
Shakspeare commends in woman, but clear, musical, true-hearted, making
one glad like the song of the lark at sunrise.

Cousin Harry was a very tall, very pale, very black-haired and
black-eyed young gentleman, with a high, open brow, and a very
fascinating smile.

The remainder of the garden scene was to me but little more than dumb
show. Perhaps it was more vividly remembered for that very reason. I
recollect being busy filling a little basket with strawberries, while
I watched with a pleased, childish curiosity the two young people, as
they passed many times up and down the gravelled walk between the rows
of flowers. I was not far from the Button-Rose, and I had nearly
filled my basket, when my aunt came to the spot and stooped over the
little plant. Her face was towards me, and I saw several large tears
fall from her eyes upon the leaves. She broke off the most beautiful
blossom, and tying it up with some sprigs of mignonette, presented it
to Cousin Harry. They then left the garden.

The next day I heard it said that Cousin Harry was gone away. The
little rose was brought into the house and installed in the bow-window
of my aunt's room, where it was watched and tended by us both with the
greatest care.

Some time after this, the news came that Cousin Harry was married. The
next morning I missed my little favorite from the window. My aunt was
reading when I waked.

"Oh, Aunty!" I cried,