Air-Castles. 7 



stow ; yet she pines in the midst of them. The fruits 

 of her rare gardens have no flavor for her — Dead Sea 

 fruits indeed, which fall to ashes on her lips. She has 

 entered for the race of Fashion, and her soul is ab- 

 sorbed in its jealousies and disappointments. You may 

 speak to her as of old ; tell her there is something noble 

 in that domain of human life where duties grow — 

 something not only beyond but different from Fashion, 

 higher than dress or show. She understands you not. 



" Hand her a bunch of violets. Does she learn 

 their lesson with their odor (which her dog scents as 

 well as she) ? Comes there to her the inner meaning, 

 the scent of the new-mown hay that speaks of past 

 hours of purity, of the fresh breeze that fanned her 

 cheek in childhood's halcyon days, the love of all 

 things of the green earth and the sense of the goodness 

 of God which his flowers ever hold within their petals 

 for those who know their language ? ' They will deco- 

 rate me to-night for the ball ! ' That is the be-all and 

 the end-all of her ladyship's love for flowers. 



" Show her a picture with more of heaven than 

 earth in it, and glimpses of the light that never shone 

 on sea or shore. If the artist be in fashion she will 

 call it * pretty,' when it is grand. Give her music. Is 

 it the opera ? Oh yes, she will attend. It is the fash- 

 ion. But place within her reach the soul-moving orato- 

 rio (with more religion in it than in twenty sermons) or 

 the suggestive symphony. No, a previous engagement 



