182 
THE LADIES'floral QABINET. 
and I’ve been meaning to ask hinn out here for some time 
past, only the house has been in such an uproar. Sup¬ 
pose we have him instead of your poet with the flowing 
locks.” 
We instantly agreed. 
He came and proved a very well-informed young' 
man, speaking excellent English, and using knife and 
fork as to the “Manor bom.” 
After we had become a little acquainted, I produced 
the fragments of my vase and told its history and age. 
He listened politely; then, taking the scrai) of paper 
from Charlie, read: 
“ Thte vase was made by me, Aiwbe, at Tokio, in the 
eleventh of Meiji (1878), for the American dealer in old 
cunos.” 
Then, with a quizzical smile, the oriental gentleman 
continued; 
“Distrust always, madam, these large pieces of Sat- 
suma. My countrymen often laugh at the ^vretched 
daubs which are palmed off on foreigners for works of 
art.^ They are ruhbed with charcoal to give them the 
ancient appearance, and are truly frauds. No real 
Satsuma has such' bulk. The finest articles are tiny, 
quaint, and vei-y difficult to procure. The audacity of 
these dealers is truly astounding. Not long ago I over¬ 
heard one, an Englishman, telling a lady that the old 
jar she so much admired was three hundred years of 
age. ‘ Not a day less, believe me, madam! This ware 
has been in existence but a century and a half. Ah, it 
is too bad ! ” and the worthy youth sighed. 
Anna and I looked at each other; Chaidie chuckled 
ungratefully. We said no more until our visitor had 
departed, then I carried the fragments away and de¬ 
clared myself cm'ed. 
Anna had been impressed, but not convinced, and 
my actions offended her deeply. She took herself 
home to Boston the next day, and I have not seen her 
since. She still gives jesthetic teas and entertains the 
Oscar Wilde’s of society, but I’m sure quakes inwardly 
when praising her pieces of Old Satsuma to any new¬ 
comer. 
We have returned to our old way of Uving. I found 
that the high art cretonne shut out the blessed sunlight, 
and the portiirs let in all the winds of heaven whenever 
the front door opened ; so they, with the carpet, grace 
an unused upper room, and only the dado with its im¬ 
possible bu’ds and flowers reminds me of my craze 
for “high art decorations.” 
But I have always suspected that Charlie knows how 
my vase was broken, for he so often chuckles to liimself, 
and when questioned tries so hard to pretend it is “only 
a frog ” in his throat. E. T. Honjo. 
ANGEL’S EYES. 
(Germander Speedicell.) 
Ramblinq along a flowery lane, A pretty thought, and one that must 
A Uttl^ child I chanced to meet. Have been inspired by love. 
Whose pinafore and hands were full That angel’s eyes look/jwii the earth 
Of wild flowers, bright and sweet. As well as from the above. 
I watched the flower-decked maiden pass. 
And, wandering on, I sought 
Those star-like flowers among the grass 
Wliose name had stirred my thought. 
Those blossoms upward seem to glance— 
And with that glance pure thoughts arise 
'From earth toward heaven ; led above 
By those blue “ Angel’s Eyes.” 
J, 8, Jerrold. 
Around her hat a wreath was twined 
Of blossoms, blue as southern skies; 
I asked then* name, and she replied, 
“We call them Angel’s Eyes.” 
There is a fragrant blossom, that maketh glad the gar¬ 
den of the heart; 
Its root lieth deep; it is delicate, yet lasting as the lilac 
crocus of the Autumn; 
Loneliness and thought are the dews that water it mom 
wd even; 
Memory and absence cherish it, as the balmy breathings 
of the South; 
Its sun is the brightness of affection, and it bloometh in 
the borders of hope; 
Its companions are gentle flowers, and the brier wither- 
eth by its side. 
I saw it buddmg in beauty: I felt the magic of its smile; 
Tire violet rejoiced beneath it; the rose stooped down 
and kissed it; 
And I thought some cherub had [planted there a truant- 
flower of Eden, 
As a bird bringeth foreign seeds, that they'may flourish 
in a kindly soil.’ 
I saw and asked not his name; I knew no language was 
so wealthy. 
Though every heart of every clime findeth its echo 
within. ' 
• —[Tapper. 
