A RIOTOUS FANTASY AMONG THE "FLORISTS' FLOWERS. 



NOTES FROM ST. FEREAL DE PNOSONBY. 



OUNTBRIAND is an en- 

 tliusiast ; recent reve- 

 lations he has confided 

 to me strongly confirm 

 this view. He is the 

 captive of the catalogues, 

 and when poring over the 

 fascinating pages, their 

 strange hypnotic influ- 

 ence transports him into 

 an occult floral world, and the startling catchy 

 titles of these later days suggest to him situations 

 as weirdly grotesque as those encountered by 

 Alice in Wonderland, and they are accepted with 

 child-like faith and tranquil nonchalance. 



The shadows of the night have not yet been lifted 

 from his garden, when he saunters forth to commune 

 with nature in her moments of mysterious silence 

 and repose. At length the faint roseate light that breaks 

 in the east, by almost imperceptible gradations of ful- 

 ness, announces that the reign of night is past, and he 

 beholds the Day-break lily dispense the lingering gloom 

 of morning. Then the stately Sun-flowers slowly rise, 

 and fitly crown the Morning Glory. Warmed by their 

 ardent beams the Vegetable Caterpillars shake off their 

 slumberous torpor and, evidently on food intent, move 

 in the direction of the lettuce bed. The striped Ja- 

 panese corn, clad (as usual) in uniform green, bends 

 its capacious ears to catch the familiar twitterings of the 

 Canary Bird Flowers, while bevies of gaudy Butterfly 

 orchids, lulled by the musical blare of the Trumpet 

 Flowers, float in languorous grace on the broad expanse 

 of ambient air, scornfully repelling the timid advances 

 of their plebeian rivals, the Butterfly pansies, to enter 

 within their charmed circle. 



Here and there, clumps of fern with Venus Looking 

 Glass in hand, are busily engaged arranging their lus- 

 trous Maiden Hair in bewitching bangs, while that gay 

 deceiver, Sweet William, languidly watches their graceful 

 movements as he tranquilly smokes a Dutchman's Pipe. 

 Marigold has unfortunately lost her Bachelor's Button, 

 and is pinning Jacob's Coat with a Flowering Thorn, for 

 which friendly service, he presents her with a pair of 

 Ladies Slippers, elaborately embroidered in gold thread. 

 By a most fortuitous circumstpnce the Ice King poppy, 

 meets the Mourning Bride in the Virgin's Bower. Her 

 lovely cheeks, at sight of him, are mantled with a Maid- 

 en's Blush, but she moans incessantly; "Alas, alas, 

 my Love Lies Bleeding. " Her royal lover attempts to con- 

 sole her, by offering a Crown Imperial, and a gorgeous 



Golden Rod, and this lavish munificence so wins her 

 favor, that Jack-in-the-Pulpit marries them on the spot, 

 first donning a Monk's Hood for the solemn ceremony, 

 and they immediately ascend a Balloon Vine, to spend 

 the honeymoon in chasing Comet Asters. Just as they are 

 about to disappear in the Air plants. Jack frantically 

 shrieks, "Forget-me-not," upon which they derisively 

 fling him a Shepherd's Purse with very little Moneywort 

 in it ; which niggardly fee so incenses him that he 

 spitefully omits to wish the Travellers Joy. 



At this juncture, Bouncing Bet rushes on the scene to 

 announce that the Cow-slipped and spilled all the Milk 

 Weed, so we sha'n't have a thing for breakfast but Butter 

 and Eggs. This unexpected disaster causes the willow 

 to weep bitterly, while Job's Tears are positively heart- 

 rending. (The Russian mulberry tries at first to weep 

 in a hypocritical sort of way, but cannot succeed until 

 a se\ ere glance from Mr. Teas, who is peeping over the 

 fence, quickly causes it to outdo the willow.) 



While everybody's attention is engaged, the old Hen 

 and Chickens, from a motive of professional jealousy, 

 slyly take advantage of the opportunity to scratch up 

 all the Egg Plants, but their malicious design is soon de- 

 tected by the vigilant eye of an Early Rose potato, that 

 promptly sends a lot of Scarlet Runners, accompanied 

 by their fierce Horehounds to rout them out. He had 

 previously requested Rosemary to do it, but she pleaded 

 that she hadn't any Thyme, as she was busy preparing a 

 low necked evening dress for the coming Snow Ball, to 

 be given by the fashionable Hercules Club and she 

 wouldn't miss it for the world, because the beautiful 

 I^ucretia Dewberry, a young lady of real old Virginia 

 stock, was to make her debut on the occasion, and 

 Strauss' lovely waltzes were to be played by the famous 

 String Bean's band (of Boston), an organization which 

 couldn't be Beet for dance music, Hops and other Capers. 



All at once an appalling commotion arises, in which 

 nothing is heard but fierce battle cries, and the ringing- 

 metallic clang of sword and lance. The traditional feud 

 between the Lancifolium and the Sword lilies had broken 

 out afresh ; and but for the thymely intervention of the 

 ancient Sage, whose Honesty couldn't be questioned, 

 there might have been Bleeding Hearts, on both sides, 

 especially had he not, with remarkable presence of mind, 

 pronounced those potent words " let there be Peas be- 

 tween you." As the Lances had rather worsted the 

 Swords, the impartial old gentleman permitted the 

 latter, as a slight compensation for their bruises, the 

 privilege of choosing the variety of peas to be planted 

 between the rival factions. They, with commendable 

 prudence selected the Telephone, alleging that that var- 



