A CARNIVAL OF GOLD 129 



joyous that none can turn back their message of faith to 

 the soul. 



The yellow sprite repeats its scheme beyond a misty 

 cloud of gypsophila, in a lowlier mass of calendulas 

 stocky and sturdy, varying the yellows from pale lemon 

 to copper; and as in music the melody will flow on and 

 on to culminate in a splendid harmony, so the golden 

 thread enters a web amid a clump of French marigolds 

 spreading their living hues above emerald foliage, a 

 green of deep-sea depths brightening the prisoned sun- 

 shine in the frilled flowers. 



For the sake of contrast the white Shasta daisies per- 

 mit a snowy interval, and then the yellow ribbon drops 

 to the ground and climbs the fence in a wilderness of 

 nasturtiums. It repeats every yellow note known in the 

 scale of color, and plays upon them with variations. 

 When twilight falls they exhale the finest perfume, which 

 is wanting among the other yellow blossoms of this sea- 

 son, though the marigolds have a bitter, pungent odor not 

 at all unpleasant if you accept it alone and out of doors. 

 The golden-leafed feverfew has crept from its bed to act 

 as a restraining friend to the nasturtiums, and a little 

 aloof on the other side of its rich growth rise the pride of 

 present days, the giant snapdragons, velvety and golden- 

 lipped, paler than the nasturtiums in yellows, but radiant 

 as the purest lemon tints among flowers. 



Here and there lesser plants join the carnival of gold. 



