132 THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 
mans of gold. Beauteous indeed she 
was, and arrayed in all that wealth 
could furnish to adorn such beauty ; 
but diamonds found no lustre, pearls 
were as dross. All that art could 
offer, and which was profusely scat¬ 
tered round her chamber, had no 
power; her eyes were fixed, were 
fascinated by the simple bouquet 
which was beyond all price ; for Love 
had culled each flower, and Memory 
pointed out to her the feelings which 
they would impart. 
“ Again and again did she read it 
over — sighed, and placed them in 
her bosom, and fell into a sad and 
pleasing reverie, and I also mused 
