r days; so marked was his whole bearing
with that pureness of grace and refinement which circles some young
brows like a halo. His figure was slender and delicate as a girl's;
while his hair, almost golden in its hue, hung in curls about the
blue-veined temples, and a brow of solid and exquisite formation, such
as the lover of the intellectual delights to behold. His eyes were like
the blue which lies revealed when the storm ceases and the clouds part
in the sunshine; and the long lashes curled upon a cheek of almost
invariable whiteness. His nose was of a pure Grecian cast, his mouth one
of great expression and most beautifully cut. No one ever looked upon
that young face without turning to look again, and felt holier for the
gaze, in their hearts. Dear reader, do not imagine this an over-drawn
sketch from a romantic fancy. I have only too weakly delineated the
reality, as the portrait which hangs before me, looking down with its
golden-fringed blue eyes upon my task, can fully testify.

During the whole passage the brothers had attracted universal attention,
and won the good will of all; and now, as they stood arm in arm, amid
all the hurry and bustle of the "first hour in port," not a sailor
passed them but raised his dusty tarpaulin with a hearty "good e'en to
the lads," and the passengers, as they reached the shore, would look up
through the crowd once more at their young faces, to gain one more smile
or one more parting wave of the hand, thinking, perhaps, it might be the
last time forever.

"Guly," said the elder of the two, suddenly throwing his right arm
around the slight figure of his brother, and drawing him closer to him,
"tell me what makes you silent and thoughtful at this moment, when the
scene of our future action lies before us, and our destination is
gained. Of what are you thinking?

"I was thinking," replied the boy, as he laid his cheek caressingly upon
his brother's shoulder, while his thoughtful eyes became suffused with
emotion, "I was thinking of home. The sun is setting, and you know, at
this hour our mother prays for her absent boys--were you thinking of the
same thing, brother?"

There came no reply for a moment; Arthur only pressed his brother closer
to him, but he answered at last, while a faint blush stole over his
cheek: "No, Guly, I must confess my thoughts were far from that. I wish
I could always think as rightly as you do, but it isn't my nature so to
do. I was thinking of the unt