I mourn my Love with bitter tears, Lying on many a plain; Above him sighs the winter wind And weeps the summer rain-- The nation's holy ground, where low Her martyr sons are lain. To and fro, to and fro, Man must reap as well as sow: You and I, ah! well we know Grain shall to the ripening grow. Though long miles lie between, I stand Beside my Love, she said; No couch of roses, wet with dew, The wounded soldier's bed, When fever-flushes, crown of thorns, Rest on the martyr's head. Soft and low, soft and low, Woman's footsteps come and go: You and I, ah! well we know Woman's love and woman's woe. With folded hands the maiden sat, And toward the South looked she, Over the field, over the flood, Over the restless sea. And I shall go to my love, she said, Though he may not come to me. To and fro, to and fro, Sweeps the tide in ebb and flow: You and I, ah! well we know Death brings peace to all below. FLOWER-ARRANGING. I want to speak of the art of arranging flowers. Of the _art_, I say, for it _is_ one. Do any of my readers comprehend the fact? They certainly would, had they dawdled away hours more than grave moralists would approve, fussing with me over the darlings of garden and greenhouse. Don't come to the conclusion now, that I am in the habit of making up those small, round, or flat, stiff bouquets to be obtained for a compensation (not slight) from market-gardeners and the like. I repudiate the artificialities! Who wants camellias tied on false stems? Who would be thankful for such a mosaic of 'nature's gems'? _Mosaic_, that's the word exactly for such French bouquets. And _gems_, in truth, far too stony in their setting for blithe springing blossoms! I'll have nothing to do with such abominations. No; _I_ mean by the 'art of flower-arranging' that process by which the various characteristics of flowers are brought out and combined according to artistic rules. Does this sound metaphysical or--aesthet-i-cal? Why is the effect produced by the 'bunch of posies' stuck clumsily into a broken-nosed pitcher on the kitchen window-sill, different from that of the same carefully disposed in an elegant receptacle on the drawing-room table? The nosegay is bright and fragrant in either place. Why then do not the plebeian and patrician bouquets equally please? In the one case, you say, the charms are inharmoniously dispersed, and nearly neutralized by meaner surroundings, while in the other they are enhanced by every advantage of position and appropriate accessories. Should you not be grateful, then, for the working of my theory of development and manifestation? Would you now like to understand a little its operation?