ing her old and new materials into many a wild shape. After my
aunt had risen at her usual early hour, I fell into one of those balmy
morning-naps which make up for a whole night's unrest. I dreamed
still, but the visions floated by with that sweet changeful play which
soothes rather than fatigues the brain. The principal objects were
always the same; but the combination shifted every instant, as by the
turn of a kaleidoscope. At length they arranged themselves in a
lovely miniature scene in a convex mirror. There bloomed the little
Button-Rose in the centre, and above it the humming-bird glanced and
murmured, and now and then darted his slender bill deep into the bosom
of the flowers. With hands clasped above this central object, as if
exchanging vows upon an altar, stood the young human pair. Of a
sudden, old Cornelius Agrippa was in the room, robed in a black
scholar's-gown, over which his snowy beard descended nearly to his
knees. Stretching forth a long white wand, he touched the picture, and
immediately a wedding procession began to move out of the magic
crystal, the figures, as they emerged, assuming the size of
life. First tripped a numerous train of white-robed little maidens,
scattering flowers; then came a priest in surplice and bands, holding
before him a great open service-book; after him, the bridal pair,
attended by their friends. But by an odd trick of fancy, the
bridegroom, who looked very stately and happy, appeared with the china
flower-pot containing the Button-Rose balanced on the end of his nose!
Awaked by my own laughter at this comical sight, I opened my eyes and
found Aunt Linny sitting on the bedside and laughing with me.

"I should have waked you before, Katy," said she, "if you had not
seemed to be enjoying yourself so much. Come, unfold your dream. I
presume it will save me the trouble of telling you the contents of
this wonderful epistle which I hold in my hand."

"It's from Cousin Harry! Huzza!" cried I, springing up to snatch it.

But she held it out of my reach. "Softly! good Mistress
Fortuneteller," said she. "Read me the letter without seeing it, and
then I shall know that you can tell the interpretation thereof."

"Of course it's from Cousin Harry. That's what the humming-bird came
to say last night. As for the contents,--he's not married,--his heart
turns to the sister-friend of his youth,--he yearns to look into her
lustrous orbs once more,--she alone, he finds, is the completio