42 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
purified, that if looked into by the eye of an angel, 
he could not discover within, either blot or blemish, 
nor aught that varied from his own divinity, but the 
fond humanity of love. Musing, she might conjure 
up some grey old Saxon abbey, nestling amid the 
silence of a green, sequestered valley, with its quiet 
graves, around which the Rosemary grew, hallowed 
the more in its remembrance, through having been 
brought by holy men across the pathless sea; and 
she might think that even as that plant put forth 
its flowers in the dead midnight of winter, so 
through the deep clouds which hung over and dark¬ 
ened her native land, the morning of peace might 
yet break, and see many a battle-field again over¬ 
grown with flowers. 
It was in those days that Love and Constancy 
set out together to visit the world, and look for 
the abode of Happiness: for there were rumours 
abroad that she had concealed herself somewhere in 
the earth, and they were fearful that Happiness 
had long pined for their society, and grown weary 
in waiting for their coming. Humility went with 
filiem; and Affectionate Remembrance, a lovely 
maiden, who sighed as often as she smiled, was 
also their attendant. Many a time would she have 
sunk by the way, had not Love and Constancy con¬ 
soled her ; while Humility led her by the hand and 
whispered words of hope, whenever she felt low and 
