A TALK WITH FLORA Al^TD POMONA. 23 



harmonious people, the Greeks, no one seems to know any thing of 

 the heauty of the garland. Now in fact nothing is more beautiful 

 or becoming than flowers woven into tasteful garlands or chaplets. 

 The form a circle — ^that emblem of eternity, so full of dread and 

 mystery to you mortals — and the size is one that may be carried in 

 the hand or hung up, and it always looks lovely. Believe me, 

 nothing is prettier in my eyes, which, young as they look, have had 

 many thousands of your years of experience, than a fresh, green 

 garland woven with bright roses." 



As she said this, she seized a somewhat common basket that lay 

 near us, and passing her delicate fingers over it, as she plucked a 

 few flowers from the surrounding plants, she held it, a picture of 

 magical verdure and blossoms, aloft in the air over our heads, while 

 on her arm she hung a garland as exquisitely formed and propor- 

 tioned as if cut in marble, with, at the same time, all the airiness 

 which only flowers can have. The effect was ravishing ! simplicity, 

 deUcacy, gracefulness, and perfume. The goddess moved around us 

 with an air and in an attitude compared with which the glories of 

 Titian and Raphael seem tame and cold, and as the basket was again 

 passing over our head, we were just reaching out our hand to detain 

 the lovely vision, when, unluckily, the parti-oolored dog that guards 

 our demesne, broke into a loud bark ; Pomona hastily seized her 

 golden apple ; Flora dropped onr basket (which fell to the ground in 

 its wonted garb of plain willow), and both vanished intti th^ dusky 

 gloom of the night shadows ; at that moment, suddenly rising up 

 in our hammock, we found we had been — dreaming. 



