to know? or is it really that you never heard of a Flower Fete ?"" "Oh, how beautiful that must be, Frank! And do they all go?" "Ay, that they do the great convolvulus, and the little violet-the large lily and the snow-drop." "And where do they hold their meeting? in the gardens, is it?" It is "Oh, no-there they bloom and blossom all the summer time, whispering softly-mayhap singing sweetly to each other; for theirs is then a life of perfect pleasure, each giving happiness to the other, mingling their odours on the breeze, and blending their colours in the sunshine. in the winter they have their balls. Then they are carried away into the king's palace, and the great conservatory, and into the splendid salons of the grand duke, and there it is they have their balls; and what beautiful balls they are so graceful and so elegant!" "Oh, how I wish to see one," cried Ida, in delight at the bare thought; "and my poor dear little flowers here, how they must have tired themselves, they look so weary and worn out." And as she said this,she took her doll out of her little bed, and laid the flowers in her place, to mind and tend them because they were so sickly. "No, Sophy," said she to the doll, 68 you needn't look cross or vexed. You are in good health, and can sleep very well for one night in the drawer here; but these poor little things are very, very ill, and need great care." And night came, and little Ida kissed her flowers, and went to bed and fell asleep-fast asleep; but when it grew late-past midnight, I believe -she heard a slight rustling noise in the room, and she awoke, and what did she behold but two flowers standing beside the soft bed, leaning over it, and as if whispering to the others; and they arose at first wearily, but after a little, more lightly-and moved softly from the bed, and out of the room. Ida guessed what they were about, and slipped gently from her bed and followed them. They took their way across the garden, and over the little bridge, and then down the long promenade under the tall linden trees till they came to the park. The great gates were closed and locked, and two sentries were there; but they slipped past unseen, and somehow, Ida knew not by what means she followed equally unnoticed. At last, they arrived at the palace. The doors were shut, but no matter for that-they passed in easily as before, and Ida with them, and never stopped till they reached the ball-room. It was not lighted up; for though the king had a ball there, all the guests were gone, and the lamps extinguished, and all in darkness. "How will they dance here?" thought Ida. "There is neither light nor music;" but at the moment a tall shrub moved aside the curtain, and a flood of bright moonlight, clear and glittering as silver, bathed the room, while the night-wind gently opened the window, and sighed a soft, but delicious strain over the flowers that lay like dead or sleeping along the polished floor. What a change was then, and in a second too! As if by magic, they arose, and mingling embraces, began the ball. There were tall and fair lilies, like pale but lovely girls, graceful and mild to look upon; and here came hyacinths, like naval officers, with their blue coats and white facings; and then again there were generals, in carnation and gold; and beauties in pale rose tints; while old dowagers moved stately along, as turn-cap lilies or snapdragons; and prosy old privy councillors, and elderly lords of the bedchamber, were seen as wall-flowers or drowsy poppies,gay enough to look upon, but very sleepy on nearer acquaintance; sly diplomates came as fox-gloves; and arch widows peeped out in mingled sorrow and coquetry, like two-facesunder-a-hood; little violots were midshipmen, and the tulips were flaunting belles, over-drest and gaudy, but scarcely fashionable-looking, beside the geranium or the clove-pink. And they danced so beautifully all manner of figures, to the soft breathings of the perfumed wind, weaving together in a thousand graceful fancies, and seeming like one all-lovely flower. And there came besides from the botanical garden, many foreign plants and flowers from India, and China, and South America, and far-away lands; strange and curious dresses they wore. some brilliant and glittering, as if with gems; one, white as snow, they called a cactus, a princely-looking fellow, with a fillet of gold around his robe; and there were others, as it were in armour, with sharp weapons and spears all around them; and a funny little fellow, a Laplander, I believe he was, they said he was an ice-plant, all cold and frost-bitten, with glistening ice all over his leaves-he had no partner, but seemed very happy to be among the rest for all that. They danced according to their na tional custom-the Polish lilies, the mazurka, the Spanish pinks waltzed, the Chinese roses stepped in droll measure of their own, and a little Indian fellow, with a white cap, twirled round and round, and said he was a dervish! The ball lasted till daybreak, when the music grew fainter and fainter, and Ida saw her flowers grow weary and turn homeward. She followed them by the same path they came, and as they went she spied a little daisy just opening his eye to the light, and making his toilette in the dew. How fresh and lively he looked, and how unlike the others, who, beautiful as they were, seemed now faint and almost dying. "Why wert thou not at the ball, daisy?" said Ida; "thou would'st surely have met some of thy countrymen there." "No doubt about that," said the daisy smiling; "my countrymen are of all lands; but I am poor and lowly, and never venture to thrust my head in such fine company; enough for me the simple pleasures of the field,' the sunshine and the wind rustling through the grass." "Thou art not worse off," murmured one of the sybil flowers softly; "if our lives be sweet, they are but short." So was it when Ida awoke; the flowers were dead and withered, their perfume was gone too, and nothing remained of their beauty, save some dried and colourless leaves. And the daisy-oh! how the daisy finds herself-you have only to go out in the fields and you'll soon know that ! SCRAPS FROM BRALLAGHAN'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK. BY EDWARD KENEALY, ESQ. LL.B. Sonnet. My summer task is ended-the sweet labour Thy smiles-thy sweet, sweet talk-and angel-heart, These have inspired the Poet's gentle art. Jetzt ist mein Werk gethan, das süsse Ziel Copenhagen, July 1. WILHELM LANDER, LL.D. Tá crjoć leam żnó Saṁra-an dil ❀aotar Is tŕ fó ndearra—cantain oírdeird binn, An mínszoʊ, an mirtil, an glas fíordris Ανθεα καλὰ λέγουσα φιλομμειδής Αριαδνα ̓Αλλαις σὺν πολλαῖσι, μετέπρεπε δ' ἔξοχα πασέων Εἶδον έγω κουρας Ελικωπίδας, ειδεν εμ' αυτον, Ad Bominam. Tandem igitur venit lapsis gratissima rebus Matteo María Boiardo. Chi non ha visto ancora il gentil viso Or heard the music-words thy red lips breathe, Knows not he cannot know-the power that lies Lorenzo de Medici. Spesso mi torna a mente anzi giammai How oft my memory gladly ponders o'er Those old, old days of passionate first love, As down some snowy mountain's summit wide It must be day where such a sun doth bide, VOL. XXVII.-No. 160. 2 I |