FLOWERS AND FAIRIES. 
RY KATE. 
It was a midsummer’s day in merrie England, the last tones of 
the village bell striking the hour of noon had ceased to echo in the 
dim green recesses of the forest, and all was still save nature’s 
music, the low rippling of the streamlet as it glided on, here laying 
bare the root of some huge old tree, and anon sweeping by in its 
whirling eddies some broken flower, bearing it far away till its 
course was lost in the sunny meadows. The very birds had ceased 
to sing, save some solitary warbler, and sat in languid silence among 
the many branches; but a step came bounding upon the green turf, 
and the birds opened their bright eyes, and peered down from their 
leafy canopy upon a fair-haired maiden who stood beneath the 
shadow of a spreading oak. A low w T arbling rang through the 
woods. They were discoursing in their own language. 
Sweet Alice Grey ! fifteen summers had passed over her head, 
and yet the flowers and birds were dearer to her than all beside, 
and with some old volume of 
“ Tales that have the rime of age 
And chronicles of Eld.” 
she was wont to while time away in the green solitudes. The lealy 
branches swayed lovingly over her, as, reclining upon a mossy seat, 
she perused some marvellous tale of Fairy lore, and then she won- 
