mpany of an old owl.

So all the day long he stayed by her, all the day long he followed her,
rowing or walking or dancing, or sitting by her under the willows on the
banks of the river. The soft breeze routed her shining hair from its
compact masses; it touched his cheek as he knelt beside her to pull
up the tough-rooted columbine that resisted her fingers; her fragrant
breath mingled with the odor of the sweet-scented violets that he
plucked for her; the trailing tresses of the mournful willow, swaying in
the breeze, brushed them both; the murmuring water at their feet heard a
new tale as it flowed past her, and babbled it to him, adding delicious
nonsense of its own, endless variations upon the same sweet theme. How
happy he was that day! It came to an end, of course; but its death
scattered the seeds of other days, that sprang up in gracious profusion,
yielding dear delights of flower and fruit. All over his garden these
bright plants grew, gradually triumphing over and expelling the coarser
and ruder vegetables.

Nothing but flowers would he cultivate now,--and cared not even that
they should be perennials, if only the present blooming were gay and
gladsome.

One June day, Anthrops joined a pleasure-seeking equestrian party, who
rode from the town to spend the day in the woods. What a lovely day it
was! The pure, fresh air seemed to contain the very essence of the life
it inspired, life drained of all impurity and sadness and foulness
by the early summer rains, the springing joyous life of the delicate
wood-flowers. The strong trees in the leafy woods trembled with
happiness in their boughs and tender sprays; the carolling birds poured
forth their brimming songs from full hearts. And upon the interlacing
greenery of the shrubbery, and the lichens upon the trees, and the soft
moss covering with jealous tenderness the bare places in the ground,
the slant sunbeams glittered in the early morning dew. As Anthrops rode
along silently by the side of Haguna, an inexpressible joyfulness filled
his heart; the light, round, white clouds nestling in the deep bosom of
the sky, the faint, delicious odor of the woods, the rustling, murmuring
presence that forever dwelt there, all made him unspeakably glad and
light-hearted. As he rode, he began to sing a little song that he had
learned awhile before.

We rushed from the mountain,
The streamlet and I,
Restless, unquiet,
We scarcely knew why,--
Till we met a de