Under the lilacs

A HAPPY TEA. 79" Sweet are the flowers of lifeWhen the lamps are lighted at night ;Sweet are the flowers of lifeWhen the flowers of summer bloomed." Sweet are the flowers of lifeDead with the snows of winter ;Sweet are the flowers of lifeWhen the days of spring come on." That s all of that one. I made another one when1 digged after the turtle. I will say that. It is avery pretty one," observed the poet with charmingcandor ; and, taking a long breath, he tuned his littlelyreafresh:" Sweet, sweet days are passingO'er my happy home,Passing on swift wings through the valley of life.Cold are the days when winter comes again.When my sweet days were passing at my happy home,Sweet were the days on the rivulet's green brink ;Sweet were the days when I read my father's books ;Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing.""Bless the baby! where did he get all that?" exclaimedMiss Celia, amazed ;while the children giggledas Tennyson, Jr., took a bite at the turtle instead of thehalf-eaten cake, and then, to prevent further mistakes,crammed the unhappy creature into a diminutive pocketin the most business-like way imaginable." It comes out of my head. I make lots of them,"oegan the imperturbable one, yielding more and more tothe social influences of the hour."Here are the peacocks coming to be fed," inter-