d, who was so ready with words
among her compeers, was completely silenced by these disdainful
beauties, and, instead of replying, and holding, or rather maintaining,
her position there, she shrank, as it were, abashed and ashamed of her
lowly origin.

Was this the triumphant reception she had expected? Where was the homage
her beauty was supposed to exact, and where the admiration of her
manners and elegance generally? Ah me! she was only a little wayside
blossom after all, pretty, it is true, and suited to the quiet hedgerow,
but without the merits or the talents to raise her to a higher place.
Better far the humble friends, the lowly mossy bank where she had grown
in peace and rest (save for her own unquiet ambition), than the grandeur
and contempt which now were hers.

So day after day passed on, and the florist who had brought her from the
shady lane, hoping he had discovered a lovely and rare flower, saw with
regret that his treasure was fading; the heated atmosphere of this
splendid conservatory was too great for her to bear, and she was pining
away for the fresh air and freedom of her old home; but, above all, she
longed for the kindly if rough sympathy of her humble friends; the cold
society of these exotics was gradually yet slowly killing her! In vain
was the owner's care lavished upon her--it would not do; the delicate
petals shrank up witheringly, the slender green leaves became shrivelled
and dying, so in kindness he took her from the gorgeous palace, which
she quitted gladly, without one sigh of regret, and carried her back to
the shady lane, the once despised hedgerow, and carefully placed her in
the very spot from which she had been taken.

It was the home for her!

Sadly she turned her dim eyes to the old friends around, who gazed upon
the sorrow-stricken Flower pityingly and without reproach.

'I have returned to die,' she murmured. 'Ambition which has pure and
holy aspirations is laudable in all; but I mistook pride for that which
is more noble, and I am punished. Do not blame me,' she pleaded
piteously, 'but give me your pity, and when I am gone, think with
tenderness upon the poor little Wild-flower who knew, when too late,
that her place was best and happiest when among the humble blossoms by
the peaceful hedgerow!'

PARABLE NINTH.

THE HONEYSUCKLE AND THE BUTTERFLY--HUMILITY AND PRIDE.

One early spring day, a little shoot of Honeysuckle was putting forth
its tendrils low down o