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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
atmosphere, where Love would never he able to 
breathe, and Affection could never open the smallest 
of its beautiful buds. For in that heart which pines 
only for riches, Love can, at best, but find only 
a brief dwelling-place—no blossom can ever come 
into full bloom amid such darkness! Mammon 
alone dwells there : he is the sole god of those 
cheerless dominions : and ever doth he sit alone, 
with his aching head pillowed upon a wedge of gold. 
The cold, faint light of the unfeeling riches that 
surround him makes him shiver—he can find no 
warmth in his bright icy diamonds—he freezes in 
his mail of silver—and when it is too late, learns 
that the warm and beating heart of a loving woman 
is the richest gem that the angels ever dropped 
into the world ; that without her Happiness cannot 
exist : that there is no true Love where she is not: 
that real Friendship lives nowhere long, unless 
nursed within her gentle breast: that when tender 
Pity returned to heaven, she threw her mantle over 
the white shoulders of woman, and bade her ever 
wear it for her sake : that Sorrow and Sincerity 
pressed her lips ere they soared away together, hand 
in hand ; they left her not hidden by a curtain 
of gold, but kneeling with her long hair unbound, 
and her white supplicating hands uplifted, praying 
for some one to come and comfort her. That after 
a time an angel, with averted head, led forth man, 
