lf I am not often guilty, I exclaimed in
surprised admiration, "Why, Annie, where did you get that beautiful
ring?"

The sudden withdrawing of the little hand, the quick flushing of cheek,
neck, brow, told the tale at once; a tale corroborated by the smiling
glance which met mine as it was turned for a moment on Mr. Arlington.
Her confusion was beautiful, but he was too generous to enjoy it, and
strove to bring me back to the flowers.

"Have you ever seen some beautiful verses, translated from the German,
by Edward Everett I believe, entitled 'The Flower Angels?'" he asked.

"I never did; can you repeat them?"

He answered by immediately reciting the verses which I here give to the
reader.

THE FLOWER ANGELS.

As delicate forms as is thine, my love,
And beauty like thine, have the angels above;
Yet men cannot see them, though often they come
On visits to earth from their native home.

Thou ne'er wilt behold them, but if thou wouldst know
The houses in which, when they wander below,
The Angels are fondest of passing their hours,
I'll tell thee, fair lady--they dwell in the flowers.

Each flower, as it blossoms, expands to a tent
For the house of a visiting angel meant;
From his flight o'er the earth he may there find repose,
Till again to the vast tent of heaven he goes.

And this angel his dwelling-place keeps in repair,
As every good man of his dwelling takes care;
All around he adorns it, and paints it well,
And much he's delighted within it to dwell.

True sunshine of gold, from the orb of day,
He borrows, his roof with its light to inlay;
All the lines of each season to him he calls,
And with them he tinges his chamber walls.

The bread angels eat, from the flower's fine meal,
He bakes, so that hunger he never can feel;
He brews from the dew-drop a drink fresh and good,
And every thing does which a good angel should.

And greatly the flowers, as they blossom, rejoice
That they are the home of the angel's choice;
And again when to heaven the angel ascends,
The flower falls asunder, the stalk droops and bends.

If thou, my dear lady, in truth art inclined,
The spirits of heaven beside thee to find,
Reflect on the flowers and love them moreover,
And angels will always around thee hover.

A flower do but plant near thy window-glass,
And through it no spirit of