ou are now.'

Not a kind remark to make, certainly, and it sadly grieved the humble
flower to hear the Butterfly thus speak.

'And yet,' she sorrowfully mused, 'perhaps he is right; I know I am but
a little green plant, very small, and very lowly, whilst he is so noble
and beautiful with his gorgeous wings. Still, it is heart-rending to
think I shall never rise above the sordid earth, always remain a mere
groundling! But never mind,' she added more cheerfully; 'even
groundlings can do good sometimes, so I'll take courage, and hope for
the best.'

Not many days after this, the Butterfly called out joyfully to his
little admirer,--

'Good-bye! good-bye! See! I have acquired my full beauty, so now I am
off to entrance the world with my perfect loveliness! I _think_ I am an
Emperor, though I am not quite sure; but there! people will soon
appreciate me, and, of course, will acknowledge my claims to
admiration.'

'And are you really going?' she asked sadly.

'Yes, of course! I am perfect now, and could not possibly stay _here_
any longer;' looking round contemptuously upon his humble surroundings.
'But I'll come and see you again, perhaps; _you_ are sure to be found in
the same place!'

And away he flew with a mocking laugh; his gay wings fluttered merrily
in the sunshine as he poised above the gorgeous garden flowers a while,
then he sped away into distance, and was lost to sight, whilst the
little Honeysuckle felt very lonely as she watched him disappear.

'Oh dear me!' she sighed; 'I feel rather sad now he has gone. It
certainly must be very nice to rise a little in the world, not to be'--

'Take hold of my hand, my dear,' said a kind Bramble, who happened to
hear the flower lament her lowly fate. 'I may perhaps be able to give
you a lift up.'

'Oh, thank you very much,' was the response; 'but I fear your kindness
would be thrown away, for I do not think I shall ever be more than I am
at present.'

'One can never know, until he has tried, what may be done,' was the
encouraging rejoinder. 'Look at me, for example! I am only what is
called a Bramble, very much despised by some folks, no doubt; but then,
who despises the fruit I bear? Why, every one likes the hardy
blackberry, and I believe "by your fruit ye are known."'

'But I shall never yield fruit,' the Honeysuckle exclaimed; 'and as to
flowers'--

'You are as yet only a green sprig of something--what I know not,'
interrupted the Bramble sharply. 'But c