95 
is Rainbow, bright and beautiful as they look this 
sweet morning;—for my mourning dress is the tie 
which binds me to the sorrowing heart. I thank 
the Sun for giving me the power to draw forth its 
pent up waters. 
If you would like to hear about the brilliant 
Irises that reflect all the colors of heaven and earth, 
I doubt not they will tell you. There is the White 
Fleur-de-lis of France—the badge of kings. She 
concentiates all colors, and will talk to you of regal 
splendors.” 
As she was speaking, a bee came on his zigzag 
course through the air, and hovered over the vari¬ 
egated band of flowers. Many an Iris hoped his 
first visit would be to her, and each rejoiced in the 
gay colors she wore; but the bee honored the 
stranger with his first salutation. He thrust him¬ 
self gently under the leaf-like stigma, to find the 
