THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 29 
that art cannot imitate, and yet almost 
seems too beautiful to be real. I gazed 
with rapture upon her budding lips, 
that seemed for ever to be nursing 
between them an arch smile, and sug¬ 
gested to you the idea of a young 
love cradled in a just opening rose. 
In the ardency of my regards, I am 
sensible that I lost my manners ; and 
my heart would have gone after them, 
had I not remembered suddenly that, 
peradventure, I might be conferring 
with a phantom. I turned pale — 
perhaps, I trembled. 
“ Madam,'” said I, with all the cau¬ 
tious observance that we are sure to 
pay to those whom we dread, “ I am 
d 3 
