She was a good oldmaiden lady! she lived yonder, behind the Exchange. She always had asprig or a few blossoms in water, let the winter be ever so severe.I could smell the violets, even while I was placing warm pennypieces against the frozen panes to make peep-holes, and a prettyview it was on which I peeped. Out in the river lay the ships,icebound, and forsaken by their crews; a screaming crow representedthe only living creature on board. But when the breezes of springcame, everything started into life. Amidst shouting and cheers theships were tarred and rigged, and then they sailed to foreign lands.
  "I remain here, and always shall remain, sitting at my post at thepolice office, and letting others take passports to distant lands.Yes, this is my fate," and he sighed deeply. Suddenly he paused. "Goodgracious, what has come over me? I never felt before as I do now; itmust be the air of spring. It is overpowering, and yet it isdelightful."
  He felt in his pockets for some of his papers. "These will give mesomething else to think of," said he. Casting his eyes on the firstpage of one, he read, "'Mistress Sigbirth; an original Tragedy, inFive Acts.' What is this?- in my own handwriting, too! Have Iwritten this tragedy?" He read again, "'The Intrigue on the Promenade;or, the Fast-Day. A Vaudeville.' However did I get all this? Someone must have put them into my pocket. And here is a letter!" It wasfrom the manager of a theatre; the pieces were rejected, not at all inpolite terms.
  "Hem, hem!" said he, sitting down on a bench; his thoughts werevery elastic, and his heart softened strangely. Involuntarily heseized one of the nearest flowers; it was a little, simple daisy.All that botanists can say in many lectures was explained in amoment by this little flower. It spoke of the glory of its birth; ittold of the strength of the sunlight, which had caused its delicateleaves to expand, and given to it such sweet perfume. The struggles oflife which arouse sensations in the bosom have their type in thetiny flowers. Air and light are the lovers of the flowers, but lightis the favored one; towards light it turns, and only when lightvanishes does it fold its leaves together, and sleep in the embracesof the air."
  "It is light that adorns me," said the flower.
  "But the air gives you the breath of life," whispered the poet.
  Just by him stood a boy, splashing with his stick in a marshyditch. The water-drops spurted up among the green twigs, and the clerkthought of the millions of animalculae which were thrown into theair with every drop of water, at a height which must be the same tothem as it would be to us if we were hurled beyond the clouds. Asthe clerk thought of all these things, and became conscious of thegreat change in his own feelings, he smiled, and said to himself, "Imust be asleep and dreaming; and yet, if so, how wonderful for a dreamto be so natural and real, and to know at the same time too that it isbut a dream. I hope I shall be able to remember it all when I waketomorrow. My sensations seem most unaccountable. I have a clearperception of everything as if I were wide awake. I am quite sure if Irecollect all this tomorrow, it will appear utterly ridiculous andabsurd. I have had this happen to me before. It is with the cleveror wonderful things we say or hear in dreams, as with the gold whichcomes from under the earth, it is rich and beautiful when we possessit, but when seen in a true light it is but as stones and witheredleaves."
  "Ah!"