88 
ing ashes in an urn, they could find nothing but a 
flower, like this one you are looking at. 
“ I should like very well to look at myself in the 
water, but I am very happy here with my cousins 
the Hyacinths, for we can talk together of our beau¬ 
tiful homes by the dEgean Sea, where the souls of 
men love to linger in flowery forms after their own 
are destroyed by time and death. The humming 
bird comes to sip nectar from our cups, when he trav¬ 
els southward with the sun ; and the sparrows find 
among our flowers the insects they love to eat. We 
are not so much beloved as the Hyacinths are, for 
our fragrance deadens the thoughts of men. A Gre¬ 
cian poet called us the Garlands of the Infernal gods, 
because he thought we were a fitting crown for those 
who were dulled by death.” 
Mary wondered if he did not know that our 
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