THE TALKING FLY 



meadow, "Sa-ay! Fra-a-ank! 

 Waou !" or perhaps a brief nasal 

 interchange of seasonable com- 

 ment about crops or weather. 

 All these pretty pastoral visions 

 hovered in my fancy between my 

 botany glass and my flowers, 

 carelessly, as I have said, and 

 would have vanished like a 

 dream had not a little inci- 

 dent served to revive them, 

 and forever frame them 

 in my memory. 



My flower identified, 

 I prepared to re- 

 sume my walk, &%<&, 



