each other. That day I could
scarcely tell them apart, though afterwards I wondered at it. Rose was
the very prettiest child I ever saw, and Lily pretty nearly the most
beautiful person.

Lily was already the tallest. Her thick and wavy hair was _blonde
cendree_, and all her features were perfectly Grecian. Her eyes were of
a very dark blue, that turned into nothing but clear radiance when she
was opposed or in any way excited. Her complexion was healthful, but
would be described as soft and warm, rather than brilliant. Her whole
fair little face was about as firm and spirited as a fair girlish face
could be.

Rose's larger eyes were of a pure, deep hazel. Her hair, as thick and
curly as Lily's, was far more glossy and flossy, and of the yellowest,
brightest gold-color. Her nose--a most perfect little nose--was more
aquiline than her sister's. Her skin was of the tints of the finest
rare-ripe peaches,--pure white and deepening pink; and all around her
mouth were dimples lying in wait for her to laugh.

As they met Miss Dudley, with the many-colored Virginia creepers behind
them and the flowers behind her, a better _tableau vivant_ of "first
youth" and _first age_ could scarcely have been put together than they
made. It made me wish that I had been more than a painter of
_specimens_. The elder lady presented me to the younger ones; and they
greeted me with that pretty courtesy that always charms us twofold when
we meet with it in children, because we scarcely expect it of them.
Rose's radiant little countenance, especially, seemed to say, "I have
heard of you before, and wished to know you"; and that is one of the
most winning expressions that a new countenance can wear. Then they put
their arms round "dear Aunt Lizzy," coaxed her for peaches, and obtained
the remainder of our basketful without much difficulty; and then I had
to depart, but not quite without solace, for Rose ran after me to say,
"Aunt Lizzy hopes, if you are not otherwise engaged, to see you again
Monday morning at nine; and she sends you this book that she forgot to
give you. It made her think of you, she says, when she was reading it."

It was Greenwood's "Sermons of Consolation"; and, written in her hand on
the fly-leaf, I found my name.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] The old philosophy held, that "Nature abhors a vacuum"; but modern
observation shows that the natural Yankee abhors the air.

* * * * *

THE SWORD OF BOLIVAR.