he was the most graceful creature
I have ever seen, I think, and surely merrier lips and eyes were never
seen--eyes very blue and soft--hair golden, and flowing like sunset on
her shoulders--a mouth which had a charming archness in it--and withal
an innocence and modesty which made one purer. These were the first
traits of the child, she was scarcely more, which struck a stranger.
But she grew in beauty as you conversed with her. She had the most
delightful voice I have ever heard--the kindest and most tender smile;
and one could not long be in her company without feeling that good
fortune had at last thrown him with one of those pure beings which
seem to be sent down to the earth, from time to time, to show us, poor
work-a-day mortals, that there are scales of existence, links as it
were, between the inhabitants of this world and the angels: for the
heavenly goodness, which sent into the circle which I lived in such
a pure ray of the dawn, to verify and illumine the pathway of my
life--thanks--thanks!

"How beautiful and graceful she was! When she ran along, singing, her
fair golden locks rippling back from her pure brow and rosy cheeks,
I thought a sunbeam came and went with her. The secret of Redbud's
universal popularity--for everybody loved her--was, undoubtedly,
that love which she felt for every one around her. There was so
much tenderness and kindness in her heart, that it shone in her
countenance, and spoke plainly in her eyes. Upon the lips, what a
guileless innocence and softness!--in the kind, frank eyes, what
all-embracing love for God's creatures everywhere! She would not tread
upon a worm; and I recollect to this day, what an agony of tears she
fell into upon one occasion, when some boys killed the young of an
oriole, and the poor bird sat singing its soul away for grief upon the
poplar.

"Redbud had a strong vein of piety in her character; and this crowning
grace gave to her an inexpressible charm. Whatever men may say, there
are few who do not reverence, and hope to find in those they love,
this feeling. The world is a hard school, and men must strike alone
everywhere. In the struggle, it is almost impossible to prevent the
mind from gathering those bitter experiences which soil it. It is so
hard not to hate so tremendous a task, to strangle that harsh and
acrid emotion of contempt, which is so apt to subdue us, and make the
mind the hue of what it works in, 'like the dyer's hand.' Men feel the
neces