Indeed, from what travelers like yourself have told me, I think the country lies not upon this earth.

But the story is at an end, and we must applaud with the rest.

It sounded sweetly, after all,--though it was only a lying song.

What next ?" Her father, from his station beside the May Queen, caught the question, and broke the flow of his smiling compliments to answer it.

"A race between young girls, my love,--the lucky fair who proves her descent from Atalanta to find, not a golden apple, but a golden guinea.