will probably at this time of the evening (it was nearly seven o'clock) be able to enter the house without attracting attention-we will however keep her in sight, so as to be at hand to render her assistance should she require it. I do not myself feel the slightest doubt but that her father will believe her tale, and treat her kindly. I shall however leave her my direction, and should she require my testimony in support of her veracity, or should the old man be unwilling to receive her, she must inform me of it, and I will call upon him, and try to bring him to reason." "That will not be necessary, depend upon it," returned I, "he will be only too glad to recover her." "So I think," replied Oaklands. "What course shall you take with regard to Wilford?" inquired I. "I shall never mention the affair to any one, if he does not," answered Oaklands; "neither shall I take any step whatever in the matter. I am perfectly satisfied with the position in which I stand at present, and if he should not enjoy an equal share of contentment, it is for him to declare it-the next move must be his, and it will be time enough for me to decide how to act, when we see what it may be. I shall now tell Lizzie Maurice of my plan for her, and inform her, that as long as I hear she is living quietly at home, and leading a respectable life, my lips will be sealed with | regard to the occurrences of to-day." So saying, he put his horse into a canter, and riding up to the side of the cart, conversed with the girl in a low tone of voice for several minutes; then, drawing out his purse, handed some money to the driver, and rejoined me. "She is extremely grateful to me for my promise of silence," he commenced; "appears very penitent for her fault, and declares that this is a lesson she shall never forget. She agrees to my plan of walking, and it appears there is a side door to the house, by which she can go in unobserved. She promises to tell her father everything, and hopes to obtain his forgiveness; and seems altogether in a very proper frame of mind,' as the good books say." "Long may she keep so," returned I; “and now I am happy to say, there are some of the towers of Cambridge visible, for like you I am becoming fearfully hungry." "And for the first time during the last twenty-four hours I am actually beginning to feel as tired as a dog," rejoined Harry, shrugging his shoulders with an air of intense satisfaction. THE EMPEROR'S BROTHER. Ix days of yore, Menelaus was emperor of Rome, mighty in power, great in his wealth, and good and charitable in all his ways. His empress was Euphemia, the daughter of the king of Hungary, as fair as he was powerful, as gracious as he was rich, as merciful as he was charitable. Some time had these twain lived in peace and happiness, to their own joy and the comfort and benefit of their subjects. Now it was in those days that hermits came from the East, bearing the marks of punishment on their bodies, and worn down with hunger and pain; for the Saracen was great in the Holy Land, and the way of the pilgrim to the sepulchre was beset with every peril that nature and man could place around it. To the Roman capital came the monk Eustace; day and night he spoke of the sufferings of his brethren, of the power and cruelties of the Soldan and his people; day and night, in the courts of the king's palaces, and in the crowded markets, he called upon the rich to contribute their wealth, the powerful their power, the warriors their might, the pious their prayers, for the redemption of God's sepulchre from the hands of cruel Infidels. And then it was that Rome was mightily stirred at the exhortations of the pilgrim, and all men hasted to do his bidding. Then it was that the wealthy poured out their wealth at his feet, and even the miser gave from his store; then it was that the counts and the lords called upon their vassals, that the warriors buckled on their armour, that the pious prayed day and night for God's blessing on the coming Crusade. One and all they sought the king's palace, and besought their emperor to lead them to their Christian enterprise ; long he bethought himself of their supplications, and in the end acceded to their united requests. When the day was come that the warriors should proceed on their way to the rendezvous, Menelaus called to him his wife and his sole brother. "Lady, dear lady," said he, "you know that from you I have hid nothing, and how that I go with my people to the Holy Land." "Even as thou sayest, my lord." "And now, therefore, dear lady, thee do I constitute regent and governor in my place, over all my people and against all my foes; and this my brother I constitute chief steward and adviser under thee." Then said the empress: "Since it will no otherwise be, my lord, but that needs thou wilt go to the Holy Land, in your absence I will be as true as the turtledove to its mate; for, as I believe, you shall not escape thence with your life." And now the hour of departure arrived, the trumpets sounded in the streets, the banners waved on all sides, and the ways of the city were crowded with armed men on horse and foot, each bearing the cross on his shoulder, and waiting but the forth-coming of Menelaus to march towards Jerusalem. Many a yeoman kissed his wife and child for the last time; many a gay young knight looked his last on the fair face of his mistress, and many a count and baron looked for the last time on his fair fields and his strong battlements. With fair words of comfort, and earnest embraces, the emperor parted from his wife and led the gay cavalcade through the city's gate. Antony, the king's brother, was among the few bad men that regarded with joy the departure of Menelaus. Entrusted by the empress with the chief executive of the empire, he soon became proud and tyrannical, oppressive to the poor and a robber of the wealthy. The face and beauteous person of the queen stirred him to wickedness, and day by day and hour by hour he besought her with every fair word to forget his absent brother, and be unto him as a wife. It was all in vain that Euphemia reproved him for his wickedness and threatened him with punishment; for he ever went on still in his wicked ways, and ceased not in his villanies. Then did the empress call together three or four of the good and great nobles of the empire, and say thus unto them: Ye are not ignorant, my lords, that the emperor ordained me his chief regent and governor, and placed his brother, the Lord Antony, as chief steward under me, to do every thing that I should will, but nothing without my consent." "Yea, it is even so, great lady." all this he does, disregarding my commands, oppressing "Know ye not also, my lords, that the contrary of the poor, and robbing the rich?" "To our cost, and to the evil living of our vassals, know we this, O lady." "But, my lords, more than this, the Lord Antony daily tempts me to forget our lord the emperor and to sin against him. Now, therefore, great and doughty the traitor the Lord Steward, bind him fast, and keep lords, I command you, in my lord's name, that ye seize him in prison." "We be ready to obey thy commands, O lady! but in this thou must answer for us to our lord the emperor." "Fear not," rejoined the empress; "did but your lord know what I know of this man, he would assuredly put him to an ignominious death." Immediately the great nobles took the Lord Antony, bound him fast in fetters, and threw him into a strong dungeon, where he lay a long time; until at last there came tidings from the East that the emperor had obtained great renown and victory, and was coming homeward. Now when Antony heard this, he said to himself: "If my brother find me in prison, will he not inquire of the empress the cause of my imprisonment, and will she not tell him all that ever I have done, and shall I not lose my life" and then he thought awhile with himself and said, "Nay, nay, but it shall not be so;" and, sending humbly to the empress, he besought that he might speak a word unto her. "Man," said the empress, what wouldest thou with me?" Fair and bright was the day on which the nobles and their empress set out from Rome to meet their long lost emperor, and merrily did they converse as they rode over moor and through wood, over hili and through valley, on their way. And now, as they journeyed on, a bold buck started across their path and made away across the meadows: then all the nobles followed in chase, and the empress and Antony were left alone, as if by chance. Then did the evil one tempt Antony, and he spoke again to Euphemia of love, counselling the death of his brother, and their union as man and wife. "Wicked fool," said the empress, "was it not but yesterday that I delivered thee out of prison, upon thy promise of amendment, and now art thou returned to thy wickedness and tolly!" Remember, lady! when thou didst so, thou wert surrounded by thy nobles and thy soldiers; now art thou alone, for there is no creature here but thou and I; listen, how the horn sounds more and more faintly, and the chase draws away thy company-obey then my wishes, or prepare to die, for in this wood on yonder tree will I hang thee, and thou shalt there die a miserable death." "My lord," replied the empress with meekness, "I can die.-1 cannot sin." "Good Sir," murmured Euphemia, in a low and weak voice, for her life was fast declining, "a strange woman am I, come from a far country, and of god lineage and fair repute, but how I came I cannot tel "Whose then is this horse that stands bound beside thee?" asked the count. "Good Sir, it is mine own, and oh! mercy, good Sir, that I die not." "Fair lady," rejoined Ernest, as he hasted to take her down from the tree, and to restore her departing anima tion by a draught from his hunting flask, “fair lady, I perceive that thou art as well born as thou art fair, and hast come to this mishap by some unfair means, that thou wilt not declare. Come then, lady, come to my castle, for there is to me an only child, a young daughter, and if thou wilt be kind to her as a mother and be her instructress in all that befits her station, great shail be thy reward." baronial hall. Full of thankfulness and gratitude, Euphemia lesp upon her palfrey, and rode with Count Ernest to to Welcomed by all. from the highest : the lowest, the empress addressed herself with pleasure to her task, tending with a mother's care the daughter of her benefactor. Well for her would it have been s this time had her personal beauty and grace of mante been less remarkable, for the count's steward, a era and a wicked man, loved her greatly, and spake to le again and again of his love. It was in vain tha: Euphemia told him that she was married, and that her love was firmly bound to but one, for he continued to reiterate his endearments, and to ply her with cray arguments and wicked suggestions. "Sir Steward," quoth the empress at last, "what need you more to ask such things, and to frame such speects. The vow that I have made, that will I keep by tros grace unto my death's day." "Of a short duration shall thy vow be," muttered the Steward, as he turned and left the chamber of the empress. For a time all went well, and Euphemia forgot the threat of the count's steward, and gave herself up to the free enjoyment of her happy situation. One night, a she slept in the same bed with her young charge, des sleeping in peaceful security, the steward entered chamber, which branched out from that of his mas crept close to the bed of the sleepers, and with a ki cut the throat of his master's child, so that she died her sleep. Then did he smear the linen of the sleep az empress with the innocent's blood, and place the stainsi knife within her hand. Hardly had the steward passed out from the set? of his wicked eruelty, when the countess, alarmed by a dream, arose from her neighbour ng couch and enters the room of her daughter Her first look all but kid her. Repressing the screams that all but forced the selves on her utterance, she awoke the count, and t As she thus spake, Antony seized on Euphemia, stript|ther they stood by the bedside of the murdered c. 1 her of her imperial garments, and hanged her by her beautiful hair to a tree in a dark depth of the forest; then he rode after the hunters, and, with many tears, and much apparent anger, told them, how many enemies had suddenly surrounded them and bore away the empress, in spite of his greatest exertions. For nigh three long and weary days, the empress hung on that tree, suffering all the agonies of a death by famine added to the pain of her torturing position. On the third day, a horn sounded through the wood, and the cry of dogs reechoed far and wide, as the Count Ernest, the lord of a fair domain that bordered on the territories of the emperor, pursued the chase. Fast followed the hounds on the buck that flew before them, until they reached the place where the empress hanged on the tree. In a moment the chase was stopped, and every hound stood and bayed around the spot, until the count and his attendants rode towards the tree. "Woman," said Count Ernest, "who art thou and whence come, that thou hangest thus on this tree!" and her innocent nurse. "Awake, woman, awake!" cried the count, “see this thing that thou hast done, and the fatal knife even ye in thine hand.” Who shall tell how the empress awaked out of bet sleep, and saw the dire deed, and heard the words f accusation against her; how she mourned for her pupil, and protested her innocence in the face of plain evidence that appeared against her; how to Countess called for death as her punishment, and th empress sued not for merey. Sorely was the count tempted to slay the empress. but he remembered how it had been said of cld. “Ver geance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord. Then s said, "Woman, were it not that I fear God greatly, I won's cleave thee in twain with my sword, for I delivered thee from the point of death, and now, look, thou ho stain my child! Go, woman, I give thee thy wretched life, from me thou shalt have no harm; but if, after the sun hath gone down into the west, thou art found within my dominion, a cruel death shall be thy fate. Ho! grooms, the palfrey of the strange woman-let the murderess depart as she came." Cut to the heart with the bitterness of her sorrow, the empress rode away from the count's castle without a tear, for she well knew her innocence, and trusted in it. Eastward many a day she rode, without friend or guide, living on the bounty which she had acquired in the service of Count Ernest. As she rode thus she espied by the wayside a lofty gallows, and officers preparing to hang a man thereon. Remembering her own fate, Euphemia rode up to the officers. "Sirs," said the empress, "is this man redeemable from this straight death?" "Yes, lady," replied the officers, "and his ransom is twenty pieces of silver." "It pleaseth me well to redeem him," rejoined the empress; "go to, here are the pieces. Sir! follow me; be true servant unto me until I die, for from death have I delivered thee." With many a protestation and oath the culprit promised to be true and faithful, and followed readily by her palfrey's rein until they drew nigh unto a fair city on the sea side, where Euphemia was minded to dwell. 'Euric," said Euphemia, for this was the culprit's name, "go forward to yon city, and seek out there a fair and honest lodging, for I will rest here awhile." The lodging was soon obtained, and Euphemia lived for a while in the city, and her beauty became a common report among all the citizens. Now it happened that a merchant vessel came in there from the East, laden with fine clothes and goodly apparel from far countries. Euphemia sent Euric to the shipmaster to learn of his commodities, and to bring him to her house, that she might traffic with him for his Eastern cloths. Willingly the shipmaster came, for he had heard of the lady's beauty; willingly he agreed to sell her of his cargo, and bade Euric return with him to the ship that he might bring back cloths the Empress had ordered. 'Friend," said the shipmaster, when he and Euric were once again on board, "canst thou be trustworthy, and art thou willing to earn a good reward?" "My aid and my silence have their price," rejoined Euric. Come then. I love thy lady, and would give much to have her here on board, that I might sail away with her. Here are twenty gold pieces if thou wilt tell her that I will not sell her the cloth unless she come and choose it here herself, and then leave the rest to me." "It is well spoken, master; I do thy bidding." As the shipmaster planned, so it fell out. The empress believed her servant's report and descended to the port and went on board the merchant's ship, whilst Euric stood without on the harbour's side. Then the shipmaster raised his sail, and sailed out from the harbour's mouth. On the shores of Italy, within the empire of Rome, there was at that time a great city, famous for its baths, whither the sick resorted, and whence they received great aid. Many and wise were the physicians that abided there, and great their reputation throughout all the Roman land, so that all men resorted thither in their sicknesses. Thither had come among the crowd of sick, the Lord Antony, whom his brother had found, on his return, a leper from head to foot. Thither too had come for aid the steward of the Count Ernest, blinded, deaf, and shaking with the palsie; Eurie, lame and aching with cramp pains in every joint; and the shipmaster distraught of his wits. Each and all of them proffered large gifts in return for health, but in vain; for their diseases were beyond the power of the physi cians of the place. "What, then, shall we do?" said they one and all. Then said the people, "Go ye to the pious sister, that dwells in the hermitage on the sea shore, whither she escaped from shipwreck; confess to her your misdeeds, and by God's help she will give you rest, for by the grace of God she doeth many wonders." Then went they all to the hermitage on the sea shore, and the emperor went with his brother, for he knew not of his wickedness, and loved him much. Before the door of her humble cell stood the recluse, her form and face shrouded with dark habiliments, so that no one could see her features. To the emperor the recluse made a reverent salutation, but of the rest of the sick, or of the crowd that followed them, she took no heed. "Good sister," said the emperor, "if thou wilt of thy kindness heal my brother of his leprosy, ask of me what thou wilt, and on the word of the great king I will give it thee." "Great and good lord," replied the recluse; "though thou wouldest give me the half of thy kingdom, I may not heal thy brother of his leprosy, nor none of these other sick, unless they freely and openly confess all the evil that ever they did." "Brother," said the emperor, "hearest thou the words of the holy sister; acknowledge then openly all thy sin, that thou mayest be healed of this wickedness." "Truly, O my brother, have I sinned against thee, and done to thee and thy kingdom great evil, for I obeyed not the commands of our dear sister that is taken from us, but cruelly oppressed the poor, and took bribes of the rich or spoiled them of their treasures. Freely do I confess my evil, and implore thy pardon." "As free as thy confession, so is thy pardon, brother!" rejoined Menelaus. "Sister, heal him of his leprosy." "Such as his confession, such is his cure. The former is not full, therefore my medicine little availeth." "What evil, sorrow, or other unhappy wretchedness hast thou committed, O my brother?" said the emperor. Seest thou not how thou art a foul leper? Confess, then, all thy sin that thou mayest be whole, or avoid my sight for ever." "Cursed as I am with a foul disease, I may not tell of my sin against thee, oh! my brother, unless I be sure of thy grace." "Speak on then, for freely art thou forgiven." Then did Antony declare how he had tempted the empress, deceived her by his promises, and hanged her in a wood on the very day of his brother's return." Wretched creature," cried Menelaus, "God's vengeance has fallen on thee. In that I have pardoned thee thou art free; else would death, a bitter death, have been thy lot." 'My Lord," interposed the count's steward, "what lady you speak of I know not, but of this be assured, that such a lady my master the Count Ernest found on a time hanging in the forest, and brought her home to his castle, and made her nurse of his only child; fair was she, very fair to look upon, and I tempted her to love me, but she ever swore to keep the oath that she had sworn before God's altar. Then slew I my master's child, and placed the bloody knife in the lady's hand whilst she slept, so that my master accused her of the guilty deed, and cast her out of his kingdom." "And such a lady-fair, very fair to look upon, and gracious in all her deeds," said Euric, "ransomed me from the officers at the gallows foot, and made me swear to be her true and liege servant until her death: but I sold her for gold to a shipmaster, and he bore her away no one knoweth whither." 66 Such a lady," interposed the shipmaster, "received I of a foreign man, and when we were in the midst of the sea I would have constrained her to my love, when she fell down on her knees, and prayed for deliverance. Then arose a great and a terrible storm, and day and night we drove I know not whither, for the sky was dark, and the winds and the waves roared terribly. At last the ship brake in pieces, and we were all drowned save wretched I, who floated to land on a piece of the broken vessel." Wretched, wretched men," cried the emperor, "ye shall surely die." "Nay, good and great king," interposed the recluse, | "God's vengeance has fallen on them, as it is said, Vengeance is mine, I will repay. Be merciful, oh my Lord; and ye, poor creatures, fear not! freely have ye confessed and truly, and freely are ye cured.' As she thus spake, each man's disease left him, and they fell on the ground in praise and thanksgiving to God. Then turned the recluse to the emperor, and uncovered her face. "Husband and great master, be merciful, for thy Euphemia has escaped from all her troubles, and now on her bended knee asks thee for pardon to these poor miserable sinners." "Blessed be God !" cried the emperor, as he raised his long lost empress to his arms. "Blessed be God, I have found that I desired. Go ye all in peace. But far away from this land, lest when I look on ye again, I may forget mercy and remember justice." A CHRISTMAS PARTY IN THE COUNTRY. СНАР. Х. THE WELCOME ARRIVAL. As too frequently happened, Justine L'Estrange was the last who appeared at the breakfast-table at Kirkfield. She received Mr. Loraine's gentle reproof for not having been present at prayers with many insufficient excuses for her laziness, when Charley Loraine, gravely taking out his pocket-book, and presenting her with a stolen charade, begged she would read it aloud, as she had fully earned its possession, and had done so even sooner than he had expected. "Read it! do read it!" exclaimed two or three of the younger of the party, as Justine's eye glanced over it, and with a reproachful voice, she said "Oh, Charles !" "Come, my dear cousin," said Charles, in reply, "if your modesty be too great to allow you to read aloud verses, whose first line must certainly have been addressed to you in the spirit of inspiration or of prophecy, I will spare your blushes, and read them for you." And, taking the paper from her hand, in spite of a slight resistance, he began: Awake, idle sleeper! Up! up, and arise! Arouse thee! Arouse thee! Mount horse and away, And ere through thine own cottage-garden thou'lt tread, The dew of the night on my Whole will be shed, On my beautiful Whole, yet less blue and less bright Than the eyes which will meet thee with glistening delight."" This charade produced many remarks on the flowers which derive their names from different birds; and the same subject was renewed in the evening, when the Flora Kirkfieldensis was introduced to the increased party; for increased it had been during the day greatly to Agnes' delight. Agnes was always the first to welcome the letter-bag; but on this day even the letter-bag was overlooked in her joyful surprise at seeing the carpet bag and portmanteau, which the post-boy lifted out of his nondescript little vehicle, saying, "Them's t' gentleman's things as cam by t' Sooth mail, and sed he wer boun to walk ower 't fields fra' R- and I war to bring 'em here, an' tell ye he war cooming." It must be-it could be nobody but her long-expected friend, James Hamilton, who was actually arriving three days before her birthday! With gleeful voice and bounding step she entered the saloon with the news, and entreated some of the party to accompany her into the fields to meet the wished for guest; but, before they could set out, Mr. Hamilton himself made his appearance, and was greeted by them all as a most welcome visitor. Much had to be told by both parties, many questions asked, and many kind inquiries made after the invalid, whom he had left rapidly improving under the care of his aunt; and the party once more found the evening circle closed in before they remembered to thank Mr. Hamilton for his charades, to talk of the amusement they had afforded, and the interest they had given to Sophia's drawings in the eyes of her cousins. Charles declared his abstraction of one from the number must certainly have been the cause of accelerating James's arrival; and, though too polite to Justine to explain how very apropos the address, "Awake, idle sleeper!" had proved that morning, he could not refrain from expatiating a little on the advantage of rising with the lark, till she was glad to take refuge in an examination of the portfolio, and ask some question about the Delphinum Consolida, or Larkspur, remarking that in her native country it had a similar name, and was called Pied d'Alouette. "Yes," replied Sophia, "there must be some resemblance to the foot or spur of the lark, or at least to a spur of some kind; though I confess, with you, I do not find it very striking. In various languages the name implies this; in Italian, it is Speronella, or little spar: in Spanish and German, Espuela de Caballero, and Rittersporn, both signifying the spur of a knight. The botanical name, Delphinum, or Dolphin, alludes to an equally fanciful resemblance of the same part-the nectary-to the popular notion of a dolphin's shape." "Indeed," said Justine, "then that accounts for its other French name, La Dauphinelle, or little dauphin. If I had ever thought about the name at all, I had supposed it to have some connexion with the ancient title of Dauphin, bestowed upon the eldest son of the King of France." "I wonder no Dauphin adopted the Larkspur as his badge," observed Lucy; "but this is not the first royal personage for whom I would have chosen an emblem. I remember being astonished that Margaret of Valois should have adopted that of the marigold, when the daisy, the simple cheerful daisy-a plant of the same natural order-which has the same propensity to turn towards the sun-already bore her own name, La Mar guerite, and would equally well have suited her motto, I seek not things below.' Much as I admire the cha racter of that princess, I can never quite reconcile my self to her taste, though I believe it has made me look upon the gaudy marigold with more affection than I should otherwise have done." Oh, Lucy!" interposed Mr. Hamilton; "you have not yet forgotten the slight put upon the daisy. I thought of your long discussion of last year when I wrote one of the charades I sent, but I find it has not recalled it to your memory, since your mother has shown it me amongst those yet unproduced. Are you as ready as ever to quote from Chaucer? or have you found yet more endearing epithets for the Bellis perennis!" Pray, never call my dear daisy by a Latin name," replied Lucy; "I quite join in Aunt Martha's dislike to botanical names, when you apply one to so truly English a flower as the daisy, and am always ready to chime in with the burden of the song in Dryden's poem of The Flower and the Leaf,'—‘The daisy is so sweet! the daisy is so sweet!' Since you have provoked it, you shall have Chaucer's commendations of it at full length, though I doubt if my cousins have English enough to understand them : "Of all the floures in the mede Than love I most those floures white and rede, Such that men callen Daisies in our town. When it upriseth early by the morrow That blissful sight softeneth my sorrow, In which me thought I might daie by daie And leaning on my elbow and my side, And all that loven floures for her sake.' plication of the same name to the flower and the pearl, both so graceful and so beautifully simple-First gem of the earth, and first flower of the sea,'-to disarrange one of Moore's lines." "You have none of you given the derivation of daisy," said Charles, "and I do not believe there will be a better than day's eye,'-the eye of day." "We really must be contented with that, Charles," replied Sophia; "for I do not know of any other. The botanical name comes from the Latin, bellus, pretty." Indeed," replied Charles, "I think I could find you another for that; but I suppose you will scorn my idea, I will not even spare you the description of 'The Faery that it might be traced to the French belier, a ram, Queene," she continued; and again quoted : 66 "And she was clad in royall habit greene; A fret of gold she had next her haere, And upon that a white crowne she bare, So were the florounes of her crowne white, And of a perle fine orientall, Her white croune was i'maked all, For which the white croune above the greene I must confess," said Frederic," that I cannot quite enter into the beauties of Lucy's quotation, nor was I aware that this flower was so great a favourite with the English poets." "Oh, yes!" cried Agnes; "Wordsworth calls it the poet's darling!" “And a nun demure,'" said Rosaline. "A little Cyclops with one eye,'" added Alleyn. "A silver shield with boss of gold, That spreads itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover,' quoted Sophia. "Wordsworth is quite the poet-laureat of the daisy," remarked Mr. Loraine. "Yet he is not alone in his admiration," said Mrs. Barlow. “Even Laura can repeat some of Montgomery's lines to the same flower. Try, Laura; you need not repeat all the poem, but try to recollect some of it." And Laura, blushingly, repeated "There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, Everybody thanked the little girl when she had finished the pretty well-known verses, and agreed that the poet had done justice to his subject; and with so many songs sung in its praise, it might indeed hope for literary immortality, and bear out his assertion, "the daisy never dies." "If Miss Campbell were here," said Cyril, "I think she would claim for her own Scottish bard some of the honour of crowning it with immortal fame, since nothing can be more beautiful than Burns's address. because the rams, and the sheep, and the pretty baalambs, all nibble at the daisied turf; yet I think it would be a very innocent rustic derivation, and quite as likely to have come in with the Norman conquest, as the French pork for dead pigs, and beef for dead oxen." All laughed heartily at Charles's new derivation, whilst he maintained that a ram was quite as good a sponsor for a flower as a goat or a hare, a hawk or a dove. "A dove!" exclaimed Agnes; "pray what flower is called after a dove!" A-telling of their whole design." "The columbine," said Sophia," certainly does derive its name from the Latin word columba, the nectary of that flower being supposed to resemble the neck of a dove; and it is singular in combining the eagle with the dove, the soaring emblem of pride, and the gentle emblem of meekness; for its botanical name, Aquilegia, comes from aquila, an eagle, there being also a fancied resemblance in part of the flower to the beak of that bird." "I think, Lucy," said Charles, "that this flower ought to have been emblazoned on the shield of the gallant birds: 'Non generant aquila columbas,' proudly boasting Lord Rodney, whose motto unites the names of these that eagles do not breed doves;-though by-the-bye it would be rather a contradiction, since your botanists find them in the same flower, if not in the same nest." Pray, mamma, let us hear the charade, in which James Hamilton has alluded to the marigold and Margaret of Valois' motto," asked Lucy; and after a little search amongst her collection, Mrs. Loraine produced the following: "Sweetest of female names, my First will bring To Memory's eye daughters of many a clime- Italia's princess, bearing on her brow Diffusing blessings, showering o'er the land Food for the wretched, teaching hearts to glow With gratitude, and bless the generous hand |