THE FLOWERS PERSONIFIED. 



429 



*' If the reader would accompany us 

 thither, he must suffer his eyes to be band- 

 aged. "We must also examine his pockets; 

 lest, like Tom Thumb, he scatter seeds on 

 his way, to identify his path. Now we 

 have commenced our journey, and the band- 

 age may drop as soon as we arrive. 



" Do )'ou not feel around your brows a 

 softer and sweeter air than you ever breath- 

 ed before ? Do you not perceive, in spite 

 of the obscurity which veils your sight, a 

 light more brilliant, and penetrating, and 

 delightful, even than that which shines on 

 your native land ? It is because our jour- 

 ney is accomplished. We are now in the 

 domains of the Flower Fairy. 



" Here is a garden where the productions 

 of every zone and clime are \mited, and 

 live together in friendly brotherhood. The 

 brilliant tropical flower is seen by the side 

 of the violet, the aloe near the periwinkle. 

 Palm trees spread their fan- like leaves 

 above a grove of acacias, whose white flow- 

 ers are faintly tinged with red. Jasmines 

 and pomegranates mingle their silver stars 

 and their crimson glow. The rose, the 

 pink, the lily, and a thousand flowers which 

 arrest the eye, but which we need not name 

 here, mingle in harmonious groups, or form 

 beautiful arabesques. All these flowers live, 

 breathe, and converse, as they interchange 

 odors. 



" Round the feet of the trees, shrubs, 

 and plants, countless little rills flow, wildly 

 meandering. The water runs over dia- 

 monds, whose light flickers and plays, as it 

 comes reflected with tints of gold, of azure, 

 and of opal. Here butterflies of every shape 

 and hue, shun and chase each other in their 

 mingled flight. Now they float — now 

 wheel — now alight — and now rise, with 

 wings of amethyst, of onyx, of turquoise, 

 and of sapphire. There is not a bird in the 

 garden ; yet you seem to be enveloped by 



a universal harmony, as in one of those 

 concerts which we hear in our dreams ; 

 and this is the breeze which sighs, mur- 

 murs, plays, and sings some melody to eve- 

 ry flower. 



" The palace of the fairy is not unworthy 

 of this wondrous place. A genius, who is 

 her friend, has collected those threads of 

 silver and of gold, which, in the mornings 

 of early spring, float from plant to plant. 

 These he has braided, interwoven, and 

 formed into graceful festoons. The whole 

 palace is composed of thi3 charming fila- 

 gree. Rose leaves form the roof, while the 

 blue bird-weed fills the interstices of the 

 light trellis, which extends like a curtain 

 round the fairy, who, indeed, is seldom at 

 home : occupied, as she is, in visiting her 

 flowers, and watching their happiness. 



"Does anyone think that a flower can 

 never be unhappy? It would seem to be 

 impossible ; and j'et nothing is more cer- 

 tain. One fairy found this by her own ex- 

 perience. 



"One fine spring evening, as the Flower 

 Fairy was gently rocking in her hammock 

 of interwoven convolvuli, idly thinking of 

 these other mysterious flowers, which we 

 call stars, suddenly she thought she heard 

 a distant rustling — a confused noise. * It 

 is the sylphs,' thought she, ' who come to 

 woo the flowers ;' and she relapsed into her 

 revery. Rut soon the sounds became loud- 

 er, and the golden sand resounded under 

 steps more and more distinct. The fairy- 

 sat erect, and beheld approaching a long 

 succession of flowers. They were of all 

 ages, and of every rank. Full-blown Ro- 

 ses, already on their decline ; these walked 

 surrounded by their young families of buds. 

 All distinctions were overlooked. The aris- 

 tocratic Tulip gave her arm to the vulgar 

 and plebeian Pink. The Geranium, proud 

 as a financier, walked side by side with the 



