THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 121 



flowers — next year the columns before the house will be taller 

 and larger. 



And what is the use of this velvet? Of no other use 

 but to preserve from the rain, which glides over its silk, the 

 poor straw of the poor inhabitants of that poor house ! There 

 is a luxury ! Oh, yes ! God loves the poor ! Unfortunately, 

 man is very stupid ; he disdains gratuitous riches, in order to 

 wear out his life in the pursuit of expensive poverties. 



Certainly, the man who would live alone in a desert i§le, 

 would not trouble himself about rich clothes or sumptuous 

 furniture. Then it is in order to exhibit them to others that 

 we procure for ourselves, often with so much pain, and some- 

 times with so much infamy, all that can be called luxuiy. 

 Well, and what effect does this magnificent exhibition pro- 

 duce upon others ? No other but to inspire them with envy 

 and hatred, and set them on the watch for your vices and 

 your foUies. 



Let us return to the banks of our rivulet — traveller, and at 

 the same time sedentary that I am ! 



With its foot in the water, the forget-me-not presents to us 

 its spikes of little blue flowers. This pretty plant has received 

 pretty names from unknown godfatiiers and godmothers, — 

 from young godfathers, no doubt, from godfathers in love, 

 and fr'om charming and beloved godmothers too. The Ger- 

 mans call it, Vergiss-mein-nicht; the French, Ife m'ovbliez 

 pas; and the English, Forget-me-not. 



I have related to you, my friend, a long time ago, that two 

 lovers, who were to be married the next day, were walking at 

 sunset on the banks of the Danube. The maiden perceived a 

 bunch of Vergiss-mein-nicht, and wished to have it, to keep 

 as a memorial of that beautiful and happy evening. The 

 lover, in endeavouring to obtain it, fell into the river, and 

 feeling his strength fail him — oppressed, stifled by the water — 

 he threw to the bank the bunch of flowers, which he had 

 pulled up in his efforts to save himself; he then sunk beneath 

 the waves for ever. This adieu has been translated into the 

 words which have from that time been the name of the 

 flower, Yergiss-mein-nicht, or Ne m'oubliez pas. 



Cattle which graze where it grows, are exceedingly fond of it, 



