nson,
as a check upon the fervour of his friend, but, although she laughed at
the dominie's culpable ignorance of her city existence, in her secret
soul it piqued her not a little. No; she would rather take refuge with
the clergy, Mr. Errol or Mr. Perrowne.

Many roses were still in bloom, but, spite of many hints, Coristine's
button hole remained empty. He admired the pinks, the carnations, the
large-eyed pansies, "like Shakespeare's winking Mary-buds," he said, but
all in vain, save a civil answer. The Day-lilies and the sweet-scented
pure white and Japan lilies, the early Phloxes, the Honeysuckles against
the arbours, and many other floral beauties he stopped to inspect, and
wondered if Mrs. Carruthers would mind his gathering a few, although the
house was full of flowers. His companion did not satisfy his wonder,
only answering that she thought flowers looked so much better growing.
Then he pulled himself together, and answered naturally, joking on the
tall Scarlet Lychnis, now almost a garden flower of the past, which boys
call scarlet likeness and scarlet lightning, and ran on into accounts
of botanical rambles, descriptions of curious plants, with here a little
bit of reverent natural theology, and there an appropriate scrap from
some flower loving poet, or a query as to where the worshippers of
Wordsworth had got, if they had left "The Excursion" for the smaller
pieces on the Daisy, and the Celandine, the Broom, the Thorn and the
Yew. In thus talking he gained his end without knowing it, for, instead
of a mere routine lawyer and impulsive Irishman, Miss Carmichael found
in her companion an intelligent, thoughtful, and cultured acquaintance,
whose society she thoroughly enjoyed. Occasionally an unconscious and
half-timid lifting of her long eye-lashes towards his animated, handsome
face thrilled the botanist with a new, if fleeting, sensation of
delight. As they passed through a gate into a hillside meadow, at the
foot of which ran a silvery brook, they were made aware of voices in
song. The voices were two, one a sweet but somewhat drawly female
soprano, the other, a raucous, loud, overmastering shout, that almost
drowned the utterance of its companion. The masculine one furnished the
words to the promenaders, and these were:--

Shayll we gaythurr at thee rivverr
Whayerr bright angel feet have traw-odd?

"Do you know who these are?" asked Miss Carmichael.

"If I thought he knew as much tune," repli