THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 15 
a little way off, actually embowered 
with the tree so sacred to Phoebus, 
the never-fading Laurel. 
The cast of the Medicean Venus 
was decently if not very gracefully 
clothed in a dark green dress, relieved 
by a profusion of red berries. There 
was a large snail fixed in one of her 
beautiful down-looking eyes, which 
I regarded as a profanation so scan¬ 
dalous, that I poked him out with 
the end of my cane. I thought, as 
the abomination rustled through the 
foliage in its fall, upon what vile 
things will fasten upon beauty, should 
it be compelled to undergo scorn or 
be left to neglect. The idea was 
