A storm of applause followed this little extempore speech,--
applause accompanied by an odorous rain of flowers. There were
many women in the crowd, and these had pressed eagerly forward to
catch every word that dropped from the Poet-Laureate's mellifluous
lips,--now, moved by one common impulse, they hastily snatched off
their posies and garlands, and flung them in lavish abundance at
his feet. Some of the blossoms chancing to fall on Theos and cling
to his garments, he quickly shook them off, and gathering them
together, presented them to the personage for whom they were
intended. He, however, gayly rejected them, moving his small
sandalled foot playfully among the thick wealth of red and white
roses that lay waiting to be crushed beneath his tread.

"Keep thy share!" he said, with an amused flash of his glorious
eyes. "Such offerings are my daily lot! ... I can spare thee one
handful from the overflowing harvest of my song!"

It was impossible to be offended with such charming self-
complacency,--the naive conceit of the man was as harmless as the
delight of a fair girl who has made her first conquest, and Theos
smiling, kept the flowers. By this time the surrounding throng had
broken up into little knots and groups,--all ill-humor on the part
of the populace had completely vanished,--and large numbers were
now leaving the embankment and dispersing in different directions
to their several homes. All those who had been within hearing
distance of Sah-luma's voice appeared highly elated, as though
they had enjoyed some special privilege and pleasure, ... to be
reproved by the Laureate was evidently considered better than
being praised by any one else. Many persons pressed up to Theos,
and shaking hands with him, offered their eager excuses and