associations they called up. 'I dote upon you,' he wrote,
in an address to them, 'for ye waft me to summers of old;'

'I love you for lulling me back into dreams
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams.'

And we find another Scotchman, William Anderson, giving utterance to a
similar expression of feeling.

There is a lesson which the flowers have taught to at least two of our
poets, which, though it may have sympathizers, will scarcely find many
practical adherents. It is embodied in a little lyric by Mrs. Webster,
in which that lady, celebrating the beauty of a solitary blossom,
describes how it is seen and gathered, and adds, ironically:

'Why should a flower be fair for its own?
Choose it, pluck it to die.'

But the moral has been pointed even more effectively by the Rev. Gerard
Lewis in some excellent verses. 'A gathered flower,' he says, 'is but a
fading thing':

'Let woman's beauty wear the sterling gold,
The imperishable gem.
They give to her a brightness manifold,
She adds a charm to them.

'But flowers that strew the earth with fragrant grace,
As stars the welkin fill,
Look loveliest, live the longest, in their place;
To pluck them is to kill.'

That is true, and yet the gathering of flowers will go on. And, after
all, what more can a blossom desire than to 'exist beautifully' and
exhale its sweetness, whether it lies hidden by the wayside hedge, or
decks the bosom of a woman as sweet and beautiful as itself?

'DON QUIXOTE' IN ENGLAND.

The announcement that Mr. W. G. Wills had completed his dramatic version
of 'Don Quixote' naturally excited much interest, and no doubt set many
minds at play upon the general subject of the history of 'Don Quixote'
in this country. That the renowned romance has appeared in many prose
translations, from that of Shelton in 1620 to that of Mr. Ormsby only
two or three years ago, is known to most people. It will be remembered
that an early English version was prepared by the nephew of Milton; the
once-famous Peter Motteux made himself responsible for one 'by several
hands'; that by Jarvis, which dates from the middle of last century, has
lately been reproduced by Professor Morley; and then there are those by
Smollett, the novelist, and Mr. A. J. Duffield. There is no lack of
them, any more than there has been of pictorial illustrations. Shelton's
translation, revised by Stevens, was republished with 'cuts' by Coype