PARABLE EIGHTH. THE AMBITIOUS WILD-FLOWER--AMBITION. 'Who'll buy my roses? they're lovely and fair, They're Nature's own bloom, and are fed on fresh air.'

So sang a little girl, as she walked along a shady lane, carrying a basket of those glorious flowers which she was taking to a friend as a birthday gift; and so on she went, singing her song of Roses, sweet Roses, little thinking that others were listening to her melody (besides the birds), or that her simple words would raise angry feelings in the very flowers themselves.

'Oh yes!' exclaimed a small Wild-flower—its name I will not tell; 'oh yes!' she repeated, waiting until the singer was out of hearing; 'always Roses, or Violets, or Lilies—no one ever composes songs about—us—we are only common flowers.'

'Don't say so,' interposed Pimpernel, 'because that is not true. There is a poem on a Daisy that will ever be remembered, and I have heard some children sing a pretty one about Buttercups and Daisies, besides.'

'Oh, of course you uphold these song-makers, because your name has appeared in print,' she interrupted, with a toss of her bonnie petals; 'but no one has ever noticed me.'

'Nonsense!' said Ragged Robin, who, having been of a wandering disposition, had seen and heard a great deal in his time; 'why, there is one poet who says,—

Therefore, if you are not mentioned by name, you certainly must be included among these unknowns who are born to blush unseen.'

'I don't want to be included among these "unknowns" then,' exclaimed the Flower angrily. 'I am sure I am'—she hesitated a moment—'quite as lovely as a Rose, or any other garden beauty;' but she could not help hanging her head for very shame whilst uttering this piece of self-conceit.

'Oh! oh! oh!' were the exclamations to be heard on all sides.

'So I am,' she persisted, going on now in sheer desperation, having proceeded too far to retract. 'My petals are delicately fair, with just a faint rosy blush, my pistils and stamens of a tender yellow, and my form, if fragile, is very graceful—so there!'

You may imagine the laughter that ensued as she ended with that emphatic 'so there!' laughter which could not be suppressed, although she plainly showed her anger at their behaviour; they could not help it, so flower-bells shook and leaves fluttered with mirth, even Quaker grass quivered with merriment.

'I would advise you to be more contented,' said a Honeysuckle, as she looked down upon the ambitious little Flower from her own elevated position; 'let me tell you it is not always those who are highest up in the world are the happiest; they feel the cold winds quite as keenly, perhaps more so.'

'Ah, but I want to live in a conservatory or a greenhouse. I feel I am fitted for that position,' grumbled the other; 'in such a place I should be more seen, and consequently more admired and appreciated.'

'What vanity!' sneered wild Vetch, who was somewhat ambitious also, seeing he tried to climb up as high as he could.

An angry retort was on the lips of the one addressed, but Honeysuckle interposed, by saying kindly,—

'Well, well, we shall see,—perhaps your position may be altered one day, and then you will be able to show us how you bear prosperity. Many flowers I have known transplanted to conservatories, thinking they would prove to be exotics, but I have heard that they generally withered in the heated atmosphere to which they were removed, and did not come to perfection when taken from their native soil.'

'I am sure I should enjoy the change,' was the answer vouchsafed to this friendly warning. 'I know I am not in my proper sphere; such beauty as mine was never surely intended by Nature for a hedgerow.'

'We shall see!' cried several Blossoms, who felt indignant at her contemptuous way of speaking. 'Your parents were no doubt'—

'Exotics, I am convinced,' she said.

'Then how came you here among such humble company?' asked merry Ragged Robin, who was fond of teasing.

She deigned no reply, but looked him scornfully up and down, to his intense amusement.

'Let her alone!' cried a sturdy Bramble; 'she will buy her experience with sighs and tears, I fear.'

So, acting upon Bramble's advice, they did leave her alone to muse over her ambitious hopes and desires, whilst they, contented and happy with their lowly fate, opened their buds to the bright sunshine, which beams alike upon the high or humble.

And very pretty looked that hedgerow on this same morning. The flowers were so lovely and fresh, for their gentle Mother Nature had washed their bonnie faces fresh with dew, and so they held their petals up to catch the sun's brightest rays, which came in golden gleams through the thickly-leaved hedges above them. What life could possibly be happier? There were the birds flying about, cheering them with merry twitterings, as they sped from tree to tree, or perched in the boughs overhead, warbling ever their songs of gladness. Then the bees would come, and ask them, in drowsy, murmuring voices, for just a sip of nectar from their cups, a boon which was never refused, and in return the busy little workers would leave them some pollen to colour their petals, and render them (if it were possible) more lovely than before. The butterflies, too, would alight on their leaves, and display their brilliant hues for their admiration, or the gay dragon-flies would fly about them in that wandering fashion peculiar to those gorgeous insects, darting hither and thither like flashes of rainbow light. At night the moonlight would kiss their weary eyes to sleep, whilst the soft night-breezes soothed them to rest with murmuring lullabies.

It is true there were storms sometimes, and the cold rain would fall upon them; but still they were sheltered from all fierce tempests, and would rise up refreshed after the dark clouds had passed away, for they knew

and as to the summer showers, why, they tossed their heads, and laughed merrily at them, shaking the light rain-drops from their petals in playful fun.

But on this morning, when the tiny Wild-flower was making her life miserable by useless repinings at her humble lot, and sighing for—she knew not what!—well, on this same morning there was not a cloud to dim the sky, so brightly blue was it, and the soft west wind crept among the leaves and flowers, whispering to them the glad tidings of 'Summer is come!'

I do not know how long it was after the little girl had passed, that a gentleman came sauntering slowly up the lane; and as he went, he would stop every now and then to examine the hedgerow flowers and shrubs. All at once he espied our friend, almost hidden though she was by the leaves and long grass around.

'What a lovely little flower!' he exclaimed, as he stooped down to examine more closely his newly-found treasure; 'how delicate in colour, how sweet in perfume! Surely this was never intended to remain hidden in a hedge?'

Oh, if you could but have seen how she tried to raise her pretty head, which Nature had bowed in simple loveliness, and endeavoured to look big, little thinking that her greatest charm lay in this sweet simplicity.

'I must certainly transplant it to my greenhouse,' he went on saying. 'With care and skill, who knows into what it may not develop!—an entirely new plant, I doubt not. I will at once take it home.'

And away he went to procure the necessary tools for removing her from her lowly home to one more suited to her wishes.

'Did I not tell you so!' was her delighted exclamation.

'Well, I never!' ejaculated Pimpernel, whose pretty eyes were now opened wide in astonishment.

'Better to be born lucky than rich,' muttered Ragged Robin.

'Shall I not be grand in a conservatory?' cried the ambitious Flower.

'I would rather

murmured meek Daisy.

'Ah, you have no ambition!' sneered the other; 'besides, "the rustic stibble-field" is your proper sphere—it is not mine!'

'Pride, pride!' rebuked Honeysuckle, gazing sorrowfully down upon the arrogant little speaker. 'Take care that you sigh not yet for your old home and humble friends.'

'Indeed I shall not!' she retorted insolently.

'Wait, wait!' continued sturdy Bramble; ''tis the time of flowers now—wait till the fruit-time comes.'

'I do not know what you mean,' she retorted angrily; 'nor do I'—

'That there is a time for all things,' explained Shepherd's Clock, interrupting her.

'I trust your high hopes will be realized,' said Speedwell kindly.

How much longer this wrangling would have continued it is impossible to say, for at that moment the gentleman returned with a trowel, spade, and basket, and proceeded to remove her from her native soil. In justice to her, it must be confessed that, when the moment came to part for ever from all her old friends, and the surroundings to which, in spite of her incessant murmurs, she felt attached, she clung desperately with her slender, fibrous roots to the familiar spot where from a seedling she had lived and grownyes, clung desperately! But with the utmost care every tender fibre was released, and she was placed in the basket and carried away. Was she glad now? No, far from it—wishing again and again that she had been left alone.

However, it was too late. She had always complained of not being in her proper position, and now the glorious change was come; she was being taken to where her hopes had aspired,—a conservatory or a greenhouse, it mattered not which.

After a while, with the usual indifference of such natures, her regrets subsided, giving place to thoughts respecting the place in which she was destined to live.

'Of course I shall be welcomed by all the nobler flowers with delight and astonishment,' she mused; 'delight because of my agreeable manners, and astonishment at my beauty! How I wish my old hedgerow friends could but be present to witness my reception!'

But this reception, upon which she built such bright fancies, was delayed for some few days, for, on arriving at her destination, she was carried into a dingy shed, not into the splendid glass palace her visions had conjured up.

'Is this the place to which I am destined?' she muttered complainingly. 'Oh dear! no one will see me here. I wish I had remained in the lane, for there was a chance of my being admired by some passer-by. What is the use of my ambitious hopes, if this is to be the end of them?'

Fortunately there was no flower or even a plant near to be wearied with her repinings, so on she grumbled, until at last her misery reached its climax, when she was taken and pressed tightly into a horrible flower-pot, then carefully watered, and afterwards put into a dark corner to take root. Had she been capable of shedding tears, no water would have been required, such as was given to revive her; for the sorrow she felt was almost too great to be borne. Here was a life to lead after all her high aspirations, and her slender roots, too, were so cramped and squeezed it was something dreadful! Oh for the once despised hedgerow, with the soft, cool earth, in which she could stretch her delicate fibres!

But wait, impatient little flower! other days are coming.

One morning—at least so it proved to be, though at the time she did not know it, as in her dark dwelling she saw neither sunrise nor sunset—well, this morning of which we speak, to her intense delight, the gentleman came and carried her out into the open air, and surveyed her critically.

'Yes,' she heard him say, and how her heart bounded with pride, 'it is indeed a lovely flower, and may well take its place among those in the conservatory, for it is really exquisite.'

Here was a triumph! this was the hour to which she had so long looked forward.

'At last, at last!' she murmured. 'Oh, if my old acquaintances could but see me now, what would they say? I wish some of them were here.'

Not satisfied even yet! You see there is always an alloy in our greatest earthly pleasures or triumphs—always a something wanting. Yet so completely bewildered was she by this excess of gratified pride, that she knew not whither she was borne, until, when the delirium, for such it was, had passed, she found herself in a place which her wildest imaginings never could have supposed possible—a wondrous glass palace, filled with the most gorgeous flowers of all tints and forms, some deliciously perfumed, making the air fragrant; whilst in the centre of this palace a fountain rose and fell with soothing murmurs, scattering its silvery spray upon exquisite blossoms that floated in the marble basin. It was almost too lovely, and our little wayside friend sighed with a sense of overpowering astonishment at the wondrous beauties around, beauties that dazzled her unaccustomed eyes. Her place, however, was upon one of the lower shelves, and above her head waved the feathery leaves of tropical plants, which throve wonderfully well in the heated atmosphere of this (to her) paradise.

Then she was left alone with her new associates—alone! how much that word conveys!

After some time the other flowers became aware of a stranger having come among them, and a flutter (as much as such well-bred creatures deigned to evince) stirred their leaves and petals.

'What is she like?' asked a Maidenhair Fern, who from her position could get not even a glimpse of the new arrival.

'Is she elegant and refined?' inquired a Camellia languidly.

'Is she fair or dark?' questioned Tea-Rose, with a faint breath.

'It matters not to me what she is,' murmured Ice-Plant coldly.

'Where does she come from?' whispered Myrtle to her neighbour Cape Jasmine.

'From a hedgerow,' was the reply, but uttered so that all around her heard the answer.

'Only a Wild-flower!' was the general exclamation. 'What presumption to come amongst us!'

Then a chilling silence fell upon them all, except when they spoke to each other; but, after that unlucky explanation of her origin, it was as though they ignored her very existence—she was with them, still not of them.

And, strange to say, our little friend, who was so ready with words among her compeers, was completely silenced by these disdainful beauties, and, instead of replying, and holding, or rather maintaining, her position there, she shrank, as it were, abashed and ashamed of her lowly origin.

Was this the triumphant reception she had expected? Where was the homage her beauty was supposed to exact, and where the admiration of her manners and elegance generally? Ah me! she was only a little wayside blossom after all, pretty, it is true, and suited to the quiet hedgerow, but without the merits or the talents to raise her to a higher place. Better far the humble friends, the lowly mossy bank where she had grown in peace and rest (save for her own unquiet ambition), than the grandeur and contempt which now were hers.

So day after day passed on, and the florist who had brought her from the shady lane, hoping he had discovered a lovely and rare flower, saw with regret that his treasure was fading; the heated atmosphere of this splendid conservatory was too great for her to bear, and she was pining away for the fresh air and freedom of her old home; but, above all, she longed for the kindly if rough sympathy of her humble friends; the cold society of these exotics was gradually yet slowly killing her! In vain was the owner's care lavished upon her—it would not do; the delicate petals shrank up witheringly, the slender green leaves became shrivelled and dying, so in kindness he took her from the gorgeous palace, which she quitted gladly, without one sigh of regret, and carried her back to the shady lane, the once despised hedgerow, and carefully placed her in the very spot from which she had been taken.

It was the home for her!

Sadly she turned her dim eyes to the old friends around, who gazed upon the sorrow-stricken Flower pityingly and without reproach.

'I have returned to die,' she murmured. 'Ambition which has pure and holy aspirations is laudable in all; but I mistook pride for that which is more noble, and I am punished. Do not blame me,' she pleaded piteously, 'but give me your pity, and when I am gone, think with tenderness upon the poor little Wild-flower who knew, when too late, that her place was best and happiest when among the humble blossoms by the peaceful hedgerow!'