Florence, when she parted from us, was of middle height, very fair, and her cheeks wore the bloom of early roses; her hair was of a light, glossy brown--and, oh, those beautiful ringlets! I can vouch for the truth of it, _they_ never emerged from curl-papers--(and by the way, how refreshing and pleasant now-a-days it is to see any thing _natural_, even a paltry curl!) Then her eyes, "deeply, divinely blue," sometimes filled with a sober, tranquil, _holy_ light, and again dancing, beaming, and running over with joy and happiness. Though Flory was the admiration of all eyes, and "the beaux" seemed really to have no appreciation of the presence of we poor insignificants when she was by, yet to not many of _us_ did the "green-eyed monster" ever whisper one bad, ungracious thought of her. We all loved her--and a sadder set never waited in our depôt the arrival of the eastern train, than gathered there the day Mr. Cleveland and family were to leave for a home in the "far West." There were some, indeed, who invariably honored Florence with the title of "coquette!" and pursed up their lips very sanctimoniously whenever they heard of her new conquests; particularly may this remark apply to old Widow Forbes, who rejoiced in the possession of four grown-up daughters--"fixtures" most decidedly they were in her household--for these four above-mentioned, were not in any way remarkable for their personal attractions; and two of them had well-nigh passed the third stage of woman's unmarried life! But by far the greater part of the villagers rejoiced in the presence of Florence Cleveland as they would in a sunbeam on a dull day; she was always so cheerful, so generous and obliging. None of those sunny curls of hers were visible the day Florence set out on her journey; perhaps you think that was because ladies do not usually travel with such appendages in view, and that they were snugly packed away in the back part of her traveling hat. But had Flory's head been uncovered then, I fear me it would have borne terrible witness of the desecrating hands which had been busy about it; for the fairy-like ringlets which had so long adorned the beautiful head, full beautiful enough without _them_, were slumbering on the hearts of us, her miserable, weeping cronies; and I know not how many gentlemen's purses were freighted with like treasure. What a silent, stupid company we were gathered there that day. It was a bright morning--there was not a cloud to be seen in all the sky; and Susy, the old fortune-teller, said it was a day that augured well for their future prosperity; but that did not help _us_ any. Every body seemed to think we were to lose one of the choicest lights of our village--and so, indeed, we were.