THE FLOUAL TELEGRAPH. 39 
“ Search not for it, my dear Mr. 
Honeycomb,” said my blooming com¬ 
panion. “ It is not worth the finding. 
How can you possibly delight in the 
dust of a dead and rank weed, whilst 
you can regale yourself with a living 
fragrance rich as is this ?” and she 
plucked from her girdle the only 
flower about her person, a glowing 
Rose, and held it towards me. I 
begged the p:ssession of it, and could 
only gain it by solemnly forswearing 
snuff. 
From that day to this, the titillating 
particles have been strangers to my 
nostrils. Ladies, is not this a proof 
irrefutable, that the occurrences of 
