marking it to be removed to the vicinity of their cabin. She told him all about her early love-dream, and said she should always cherish a grateful remembrance of it, because it had proved such a powerful agent to wake up the dormant energies of her soul. “I am a Wood-Flower now, dear William,” said she, playfully; “and, after all, that is no great change for an Eglantine.” He smiled, and said he wished he was as poetic as she was. He _was_ poetic in his deeds. His young wife often found a bunch of fragrant wild-flowers on her pillow, when she woke, or in her plate, when they seated themselves at the breakfast-table. He made an arbour for her to rest in, when they rode out on horseback to visit their future homestead. It was shaded with wild vines, and an Eglantine bush was placed near the entrance, filling the whole arbour with the sweet breath of its foliage. The first time Sibella saw it, she looked at him archly, and said, “So you are not jealous of that foolish dream, dear William? Well, it is customary to plant flowers on graves; and this shall be sacred to the memory of a dream. Ah, what a bright little cluster of Pansies you have planted here!” “That is what you call them in _Old_ England,” said he; “but in _New_ England we name them Ladies’ Delights, though some call them Forget-me-nots. Your romantic Edward preferred the Eglantine; but _this_ is an especial favourite with your practical William. I like it because it will grow in all soils, bloom at all seasons, and hold up its head bravely in all weathers. If I were like _you_, I should say it was the efflorescence of Yankee character.” She clapped her hands, and exclaimed, “Bravo! William. You are growing poetic. I will name your little favourite the Yankee’s Flower; and that will be _myself_, you see; for I am the Yankee’s Flower.” She looked into his honest eyes affectionately, and added, “There is _one_ Yankee character who is a Lady’s Delight.”