131 
her from her waking dream. She knew who Shaks- 
P eare was very well, for her mother had often read 
to her his beautiful stories. 
The Daisies, that t£ starry multitude,” said a poet 
once called them “ the eye of day.” When Mary 
told them they were very pretty, one smiled and 
said bellis, one of her names, meant pretty, and 
that in France they thought her so precious they 
called her marguerite, (a pearl.) This little flower 
was very different from all those Mary had seen ■ 
its radiant face was composed of innumerable little 
flow ers, each perfect in itself. The little pink 
beauty told her she would see many such before 
the snow came. 
Mary well remembered the lines of the poet to 
the Daisy : 
“ A hundred times by rock or bower 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 
Some apprehension, 
