means by correspondence, however, to keep matters going; and having able coadjutors in John Davis and others in London, he could afford to stay at Copenhagen for this period, during which his uncle died, the Baron Charles McLaughlan.

It turned out as Donald had suspected, that the two nephews were his sons, born, as was now seen, before the poor Baroness came to her honours.

'It is all a sad story,' said McLaughlan. 'I am glad now that I am so far away as not to have to appear at his funeral. I will not go near the place nor interfere in any way?'

'But you are the Baron now, under the circumstances,' said his wife.

'The Baron!' said McLaughlan with disdain. 'Go on with your book, and get it done as well as your pictures.'

'Oh, my book only occupies whilst the colours dry,' said Edith shyly.

'And what have you added to-day ?'

'You make me feel like that advice of the man in "Pickwick," who said, "Now don't be a poet!"'

'You say you are not one,' said her husband.

'Nor am I. I only translate into Danish some things which lend themselves to the language; and I mean to leave a little volume as a remembrance to the few kind people I have known here, and I mean, Gerald, since your uncle's death has come in time, to give my name in full on the title-page.'

'Well, what else would you put ?'

'I mean my new name, my name of to-day. I shall put "Translated from English to the Danish tongue, by the Baroness McLaughlan."

6

So, so! It is Madame la Baronne now. I never thought of that!'

'No, Gerald, but the world is as the world is. Madame la Baronne can do what honest Mrs McLaughlan could never have done.'

'How, my dear?'

Take my place again.'

'Your place is with me.'

McLaughlan spoke gruffly, but he saw

Ella was right.

She went on with her translation, taking, as she said, such poetry as would lend itself to the language.

6

Donald had a volume of poems which entranced him. He could not sympathize with wounded daisies,' he said, so he finished Dante Gabriel Rosetti's Blessed Damoselle'-he heard her tears,' then shook himself, and went out.

Ella wrote till evening at her Danish verses. It was a work which occupied her mind very happily.

THE WOUNDED DAISY.

AT twilight in beautiful summers,
When all the dew is shed,
And all the singers and hummers
Are safe at home in bed,
In many a nook of the meadows

Fairies may linger and lurk :

Look under the leafy shadows,
Perhaps you'll see them at work.

Perhaps you may see them swinging
On see-saw reeds in the dell,
Perhaps you may hear them ringing
The sweet little heather bell,
Or setting the lilies stately
Before they begin to grow,
Or getting the rosebuds really
Before it is time to blow.

A fairy was mending a daisy

Which some one had torn in half; Her sisters all thought her crazy, And only began to laugh.

They showed her scores by the hedges,
And scores that grew by the tarn,

The fairy cared not for the hedges,
And only went on with her darn.

She worked and she sang a ditty,
While insects wondered and heard;

They knew by the tone of pity
The song was not from a bird:
'Daisy, somebody hurt you!
Are you frightened at me?
Patient hope is a virtue,
Wait, and you shall see.

'Was it a careless mower

Cut your blossom in twain?
I hope his hand will be slower
When he seizes his scythe again.

Was it a step unheeding?

Or was it a stormy gale?

Or was it-your heart is bleeding-
By a dark malicious snail ?

They did not know how you

suffer:

I think they had never seen
A delicate thing, and are rougher,

These slugs, perhaps, than they seem.
Hush! there is some one sobbing
Just down there by my foot;
Daisy, your heart is throbbing
Down in your poor little root.

'Daisy, you were so merry
Where you modestly grew.
Earth was generous―very;
Heaven was pleasant for you.
Never annoying your neighbour,
Neither too forward nor slack-
you not feel, as I labour,
Some of your joy come back?

Do

'Ah! you tremble a little;

Have I, too, hurt you at last?

If you were not too brittle
I could mend you fast.
No, there is nothing distrustful,
Only a quiver of bliss.
Daisy! I am successful,

So now you must give me a kiss.

'Now I have mended you neatly, As all the fairies can see;