346 THE FLOEAL WOELD AND GAEDEN GUIDE. 



"I have no little red petals to be continually dropping about and making dis- 

 order; but my leaves contain such a blending of brilliant colours, that I am always 

 in bloom, and any flowers, however lich and gorgeous, would only spoil me; and as 

 for love, I never heard mention of you in a bride's bouquet, and I am often chosen 

 for a border for the white flowers to rest upon. And I know you are never taken 

 to a wedding, if anything better can be had; everybody does not admire vulgar red." 

 "I am not vulgar; you find me in every conservatory, and eve^y garden, with 

 any pretension to taste; and there is nothing to surpass my great round, long- 

 enduring scarlet heads, towering over my dark green horse-shoe leaves." 



"You only look, at best, like a slow-burning fire, reminding people of heat when 

 they wish to be cool. If you could come out in that style at Christmas, why, then 

 I would yield the palm to you. I have seen many a fair one turn away with aching 

 eyes from such as you, and rest them long and tenderly on me, short, and thick, 

 and stumpy as you deem me." 



" That is all because you are newer, just in the fashion ; not that there is much 

 merit in you. Why, half the people looking at you would never see your fine 

 blendings, unless they wore spectacles, or carried an opera-glass; and out in the 

 bordei's you are not w^orth much, unless it rains every day, or a gardener stands 

 over you with his watering-can. Wait until you have passed through as many and 

 various seasons as I have, and then what will you be worth ?" 



"Just as much as now, perhaps more, for I make slow but sure growth. I won- 

 der what you are worth during wet cold seasons, when all you do is to put forth 

 big melancholy green leaves on thick succulent, and, for propagating purposes, use- 

 less branches. And then, what an ugly name you have — Punch. Why, one cannot 

 hear it without thinking of barking, and biting, and discordant noises." 



"You are very much mistaken; I am named after 'Punch, the London Cha- 

 livari,' the piquant, the graceful, the vivacious," 



"Ah! well, not very much different. He, too, can make a noise in the world, 

 and can rap hard where he knows it will hurt. Look at my name, how true it is to 

 me, and how pleasant — Sunset." 



"I see no connecting link between you and your name — not the least." 

 "I suppose, then, you never look out of the west window, when day is changing 

 into night, and the sky is full of beautiful colours, all bars and streaks, too bright to 

 gaze upon long." 



"Ah! yes, I know the sort of skies you meanj just such nights as I have heard 

 say herald in wind and storms." 



But the geraniums' disputations were put an end to by the entrance of a gar- 

 dener, on the look-out for plants that could be spared, to fill up vacant places out of 

 doors. "Here's a splendid Sunset here, just the very thing;" and, without a noto 

 of warning, he took it up and carried it out. Poor Sunset drooped a little in sorrow 

 at the parting, for it was fond of the gay company of fuchsias and pelargoniums with 

 which it lived, and had not thought its turn would ever come to rough it in the 

 outer world. Punch looked on, and smiled a rather scornful good-bye, and won- 

 dered when they should meet again. Meantime, Sunset found the border soil moist 

 and cool, the air refreshing, with a sweet perfume of roses and stocks in it; nor was 

 it left alone, or unadmired ; gentle children came every day to look at the new plant, 

 and called it the dearest little thing they had ever possessed. So Sunset took heart 

 again, and strove to make the best of its altered circumstances, thrust its roots 

 deeper down into the soil, and spread out larger and more brightly-coloured leaves. 

 "Dear me ! how do you feel now, these dull October days?" said an old Scarlet 

 Geranium to a fine richly-veined Zonale a gardener had hastily potted, and placed 

 in the conservatory for shelter from the keen frosty air?" 



" Well, and strong, and brown enough, I can assure you, yet glad to be indoors 

 again, for the nights are growing cold," replied Sunset. " But how you are altered; 

 bow short, and thick, and stumpy you are, much broader than tall." 



" You see young Punches are scarce, so they cut me up into pieces to make more. 

 For a long time I thought it was over wnth me; they left me bleeding in the hot 

 sunshine, without even a drop of water. After a time I felt better, and took to 

 growing; so if no longer ornamental, I am useful." 



" And," replied^Sunset, grown wise by companionship with its superiors, " I have 

 heard say, that it is better to be a useful little thing than a useless big thing. And 

 it may be, that there is a corner in the world for us all, into which w^e can fit better 

 than anybody else." Claude. 



