u 
THE BOUQl I'.T. 
s;iv,” said the little lairy, “ put down that wise, good, excellent vol¬ 
ume, and talk with a poor little mortal,—come, descend from your 
cloud, my dear.” 
The fair apparition thus abjured—obeyed, and looking up, re¬ 
vealed just the eyes you expected to see beneath such lids; eyes 
deep, pathetic and rich, as a strain of sad music. 
“I say, cousin,” said the £ darke ladye,’ “I’ve been thinking 
what you are to do with your pet rose, when you go to New-York 
— as to our great consternation you are going to do; you know it 
would be a sad pity to leave it with such a scatterbrain as I am. I 
do love flowers, that’s a fact; that is, I like a regular bouquet, cut 
off and tied up to carry to a party; but as to all this tending and 
fussing that is necessary to keep them growing, I’ve no gifts in that 
line.” 
“ Make yourself quite easy as to that, Kate,” said Florence, with 
a smile. “ I’ve no intention of calling upon your talents; I have an 
asylum for my favourite.” 
“ Oh! then you know just what I was going to say; Mrs. Marshall 
I presume has been speaking to you; she was here yesterday, and 
I was very pathetic upon the subject, telling her the loss your 
favourite would sustain, and so forth, and she said how delighted 
she should be to have it in her green-house, it is in such a fine 
state now, so full of buds. I told her 1 knew you would like, of 
all things, to give it to her, you were always so fond of Mrs. 
Marshall, you know.” 
“ Nay, Kate, I’m sorry, but I have otherwise engaged it.” 
“ Who can it be to ? you have so few intimates here.” 
“ Oh, only one of my odd fancies.” 
“ But do tell me, Florence.” 
“Well, cousin, you know the little pale girl to whom we give 
sewing.” 
“ What, little Mary Stephens ? How absurd ! This is just of a 
piece, Florence, with your other motherly, old-maidish ways— 
