d hues, the velvety lawn shelves gracefully down to
the water's edge.

Toward sunset of one of the early days of April, 1861, a young girl
stood leaning upon the wicket of a fence which separated the garden from
the highway. She stood there dreamily gazing along the road, as if
awaiting the approach of some one who would be welcome when he came. The
slanting rays of the declining sun glanced through the honeysuckles and
tendrils that intertwined among the white palings, and threw a subdued
light upon her face. It was a face that was beautiful in repose, but
that promised to be more beautiful when awakened into animation. The
large, grey eyes were half veiled with their black lashes at that
moment, and their expression was thoughtful and subdued; but ever as the
lids were raised, when some distant sound arrested her attention, the
expression changed with a sudden flash, and a gleam like an electric
fire darted from the glowing orbs. Her features were small and
delicately cut, the nostrils thin and firm, and the lips most
exquisitely molded, but in the severe chiselling of their arched lines
betraying a somewhat passionate and haughty nature. But the rose tint
was so warm upon her cheek, the raven hair clustered with such luxuriant
grace about her brows, and the _petite_ and lithe figure was so
symmetrical at every point, that the impression of haughtiness was lost
in the contemplation of so many charms.

Oriana Weems, the subject of our sketch, was an orphan. Her father, a
wealthy Virginian, died while his daughter was yet an infant, and her
mother, who had been almost constantly an invalid, did not long survive.
Oriana and her brother, Beverly, her senior by two years, had thus been
left at an early age in the charge of their mother's sister, a maiden
lady of excellent heart and quiet disposition, who certainly had most
conscientiously fulfilled the sacred trust. Oriana had returned but a
twelvemonth before from a northern seminary, where she had gathered up
more accomplishments than she would ever be likely to make use of in the
old homestead; while Beverly, having graduated at Yale the preceding
month, had written to his sister that she might expect him that very
day, in company with his classmate and friend, Arthur Wayne.

She stood, therefore, at the wicket, gazing down the road, in
expectation of catching the first glimpse of her brother and his friend,
for whom horses had been sent to Richmond, to await their ar