of Alfred Stevens. But the latter thought of the one damsel only.
He said many pleasant things to those whom he did see; but his mind
ran only upon one. He began to apprehend that she might be among
the flock who were destined to wait for the second or last day's
visitation; when, to his great relief, John Cross called his
attention to the dwelling of the widow Cooper, to whom they were
fast approaching.

Stevens remarked that the dwelling had very much the appearance of
poverty--he did not fail to perceive that it lacked the flower-garden
in front which distinguished the greater number of the cottages in
Charlemont; and there was an appearance of coldness and loneliness
about its externals which impressed itself very strongly upon his
thoughts, and seemed to speak unfavorably for the taste of the
inmates. One is apt to associate the love of flowers with sweetness
and gentleness of disposition, and such a passion would seem
as natural, as it certainly would be becoming, to a young lady of
taste and sensibility. But the sign is a very doubtful one. Taste
and gentleness may satisfy themselves with other objects. A passion
for books is very apt to exclude a very active passion for flowers,
and it will be found, I suspect, that these persons who are most
remarkable for the cultivation of flowers are least sensible to the
charms of letters. It seems monstrous, indeed, that a human being
should expend hours and days in the nursing and tendance of such
stupid beauties as plants and flowers, when earth is filled with
so many lovelier objects that come to us commended by the superior
sympathies which belong to humanity. Our cities are filled with
the sweetest orphans--flowers destined to be immortal; angels in
form, that might be angels in spirit--that must be, whether for
good or evil--whom we never cultivate--whom we suffer to escape our