10 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
depths of the loneliest woods he went, visiting deep 
dells and deserted dingles, where the graceful Lilies- 
of-the-Valley grew, telling them they were not for¬ 
gotten, hut should yet be proudly worn in many a 
fond breast that sighed for a Keturn of Happiness. 
Beside the Marigold, which closed its eyes as if for 
very Sorrow, he planted the Celandine, and leaving 
the Hawthorn, Hope, to cheer them and keep watch, 
he promised that, whilst ever the golden star shone 
there, it should be the image of Joys to Come. 
From flower to flower he flew on his peaceful pil¬ 
grimage : through them reconciling lovers who had 
long been estranged, and bringing back many a 
wandering affection that had often sighed for a fond 
heart to dwell within. 
Thus Love restored a language which, for undated 
centuries, had been lost,—which the sweet tongue 
of woman had made music of before the beauty of 
the early world was submerged beneath the waters. 
For Time had all but blotted out the few records 
which told that there ever existed a language 
between Love and the Flowers. 
Amid the broken and crumbling ruins over which 
Time has marched, he has only left the sculptured 
capital of some column, or shattered pedestal, where 
we can trace, among a hundred rude hieroglyphics, 
the rough outline of some flower, which was either 
sacred to their religion or their love. In the ruins 
