white
fuchsia, lily of the valley, wine-colored peony, white iris, daffodil,
and so on. They advance with slowly swaying motion, with wreaths
uplifted until they reach the stage, where sit the guests of honor.
There they bow low, then lay the garlands at their feet, and retire,
forming ingeniously pretty groups and figures, while bees and
butterflies flit in and out. See the bees pursuing the little pink
rosebuds until at last they join hands and dance gaily away, only to be
enthusiastically recalled.

Do you ladies want to understand a little in detail about the dresses?
Of course you do. Well, here is the yellow marguerite:

Slender petals of yellow satin falling over a skirt of white silk crepe,
a green satin calyx girdle about her waist, and golden petals drooped
again from the neck of her low bodice and over her shoulders.

A handsome brunette represented a wine-colored peony in a rich costume
of wine-colored velvet and satin. The petals fell to make the skirt, and
rose again from a bell sheathing the neck of her low corsage, and the
cap on her dark hair was a copy of the flower.

There, you see how it is done. But it requires genius to succeed in such
an undertaking. Look at Walter Crane's pictures of human flowers for
more suggestions.

Most effective of all was the cachuca, danced by a girl of pure
Castilian blood, who was dressed to symbolize the scarlet passionflower.
The room was darkened save where she stood, and her steps and poses were
full of Spanish fire and feeling, combined with poetic grace.

Yes, it is over, but the pictures remain as freshly colored as if I saw
it all but yesterday.

During the Carnival sentiment reigns supreme--that is, if you have
engaged rooms far in advance, and the matter of three daily meals is
settled--and portly business men become gallant, chivalrous, and even
poetic. In testimony I offer two verses sent to a lady visitor with a
bunch of roses:

"We had not thought it was for aught
He lingered round us, scanning,
But to admire our spring attire,
The south wind softly fanning.

"But when we knew it was for you
Our charms he sought to capture,
All round the bower each budding flower
Blushed pink with rosy rapture.

"Lovingly,

THE ROSES."

George Eliot once said: "You love the roses--so do I! I wish the sky
would rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush. Why will it
not? Then all the