. 









./ 



Go out now in the hot, sunny 

 noon-time, and stroll among 

 your withered primroses, and 

 learn your lesson in humility. 



Is this a mere withered, use- 

 less blossom that droops upon 

 its stem ? Is it not rather the 

 prettiest luminous fairy tent that ever 

 sheltered a day-dream? Last night, 

 when its four green sepals burst from 

 their cone, and sprang backward to 

 release their bright, glossy petals, a 

 small moth quickly caught the signal, and settled in 

 quivering contentment, sipping at its throat. Its wings 

 were of the purest rose- pink, bordered with yellow. 



