Down by the mill, down by the mill. 
Through all the summer hours, 
There they grew, and grew, and grew, 
Red and white, and purple and blue. 
My beautiful, beautiful flower's! 
Down by the water, bright and still. 
Set like seutinels round the mill. 
My beautiful, beautiful flower's ! 
There they grew, and there they stood 
Together, two and two: 
And some had hearts like a drop of blood. 
And some like a drop of dew: 
Down by the mill, down by the mill, 
Through all the summer hours, 
There they swung and there they swayed, 
Like spots of sunshine over the shade. 
And over the waters, cold and still, 
My beautiful, beautiful flowers ! 
And some had slippers of yellow gold, 
And some had caps of snow; 
And some, their heads held high and bold, 
And some their heads held low; 
And so they stood up side by side, 
Meek, and mournful, and modest-eyed, 
Through all the summer hours. 
Down in the meadow, gay and green, 
Like bridesmaids standing around their queen, 
My beautiful, beautiful flowers! 
O! to see them bloom and blush, 
Was the sweetest show of shows. 
The Daisy, under the Lilac-bush, 
And the Violet, by the Rose! 
Down by the mill, down by the mill, 
Through all the summer hours. 
Some so high, and some so low, 
But all as fair as fair can grow, 
Down by the water, bright and still, 
My beautiful, beautiful flowers ! 
O ! the little maid of the mill. 
That dazzles and deceives: 
With a head as bright as a Daffodil, 
And a band like the Lily-leaves. 
She it is that makes them grow, 
Through all the summer hours. 
They with cloaks of speckled dyes, 
And they with hoods about their eyes, 
Meek and modest, and high and low; 
She can tell, if tell she will. 
Why they dazzle down by the mill, 
My beautiful, beautiful flowers. 
—Alice Cary. 
BEYOND YELLOW LILIES. 
Madame sighs; puts out two brown little hands be¬ 
fore her, and wags her head. 
“I car-not stay een theze place! I do hate eet, from 
ze bottom of my heart! So dead-/ie dull! so trisle! so 
lone-lie ! Yes-far-day—” 
This word is accomplished with great care and delib¬ 
eration. 
“—eet did fall on me P' 
I stare in silent wonder. Madame’s English, Ma- 
dame's inflections, are bewildering at all times; and to¬ 
day I may be duller than usual, because of the heat. 
Gradually, however, Madame’s meaning dawns upon 
me. The loneliness overcame her yesterday, is what she 
means to say. 
Madame is a Parifdenne; a tiny, withered atom of 
French humanity, which some wind of chance has 
"blown across the Atlantic. "VVe—Madame and I— are 
fellow-teachers in a Tennessee school, and excellent 
friends—anomalous as friendship may seem between a 
French widow and a Yankee spinster. 
I am the Yankee spinster. 
Madame is a kindly little soul, and it is rather spite¬ 
ful of me to remember the soubriquet, “Gibber-jabber,” 
bestowed upon her by a disrespectful pupil. But Ma¬ 
dame is voluble with the inimitable click-claclcy volu¬ 
bility of her nation. 
How hot it is ! 
It might be a trifle cooler, perhaps, if Madame could 
be induced to leave off knitting that perennial red 
woolen stocking, which she knits in the exasperating 
German fashion—with the wool over the left hand. 
Madame learned our language—so she proudly informs 
me—before coming to America; and taught it in ein 
Fraulein Brettehen fscliule. Madame learned to knit of 
the FraQleins; as to the English which the Fratileins 
learned of Madame-! 
Here my imagination fails, and I fall to speculat¬ 
ing how old she is, this tiny brown woman, with 
the light figure and the springy walk of a girl of 
sixteen. 
I am vive, an acute person, and I soon cease specula 
ting upon the unfathomable. 
