he brow of the hill, and I began my
sketch."

"Is that charming face you have drawn like hers?"

"No; only in part. I was thinking of another face while I sketched, but
it is not like that either; in fact, it is one of those patchworks which
we call 'fancy heads,' and I meant it to be another version of a thought
that I had just put into rhyme when the child came across me."

"May we hear the rhyme?"

"I fear that if it did not bore yourself it would bore your friend."

"I am sure not. Tom, do you sing?"

"Well, I _have_ sung," said Tom, hanging his head sheepishly, "and I
should like to hear this gentleman."

"But I do not know these verses, just made, well enough to sing them; it
is enough if I can recall them well enough to recite." Here the minstrel
paused a minute or so as if for recollection, and then, in the sweet
clear tones and the rare purity of enunciation which characterized his
utterance, whether in recital or song, gave to the following verses a
touching and a varied expression which no one could discover in merely
reading them.

THE FLOWER-GIRL BY THE CROSSING.

"By the muddy crossing in the crowded streets
Stands a little maid with her basket full of posies,
Proffering all who pass her choice of knitted sweets,
Tempting Age with heart's-ease, courting Youth with roses.

"Age disdains the heart's-ease,
Love rejects the roses;
London life is busy,--
Who can stop for posies?

"One man is too grave, another is too gay;
This man has his hothouse, that man not a penny:
Flowerets too are common in the month of May,
And the things most common least attract the many.

"Ill, on London crossings,
Fares the sale of posies;
Age disdains the heart's-ease,
Youth rejects the roses."

When the verse-maker had done, he did not pause for approbation, nor
look modestly down, as do most people who recite their own verses, but
unaffectedly thinking much more of his art than his audience, hurried on
somewhat disconsolately,--

"I see with great grief that I am better at sketching than rhyming. Can
you" (appealing to Kenelm) "even comprehend what I mean by the verses?"

KENELM.--"Do you comprehend, Tom?"

TOM (in a whisper).--"No."

KENELM.--"I presume that by his flower-girl our friend means to
represent not only poetry, but a poetry like his own, which is not at
all the sort of poetry now in fashion. I, however, expand his meaning,
and