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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
merry cavalcade went on singing “How sweet is 
flowery May !” 
Surely we err in calling these the dark and 
barbaric ages, while they paid such worship to the 
flowers. Although they might lack the light of 
that knowledge, which has since broken out and 
illuminated the earth, still they had a fine taste 
for the beautiful—a simple and earnest adoration 
for the lovely flowers of the field ; and wherever 
such a feeling exists, whether in the palace or in 
the cottage, it points out a refined mind, an elegant 
perception, and a heart alive to all that is pure 
and beautiful. How natural that so sweet-scented 
and common a blossom should be selected as the 
image of Hope ! for who could behold it without 
trusting that there were still better days in store 1 
The disappointed or separated lover, while wander¬ 
ing in the cool shadows of green lanes, would, as 
he inhaled its fragrance, feel a new kind of joy 
breaking through the dark despondency of the heart, 
and hear Hope again whisper that the time might 
come, when she, whose presence had hallowed with 
love every pathway he traversed, should again be 
his companion, and make those rural rambles the 
happiest hours of his existence. The fair maiden, 
pale with love,—the citadel of whose heart had 
been stormed and won, only to be deserted and left 
desolate,—might find some comfort while wandering 
