158 
THE LADIES’ FLORAL CABINET. 
at Panama. She is always at his side, and has been his 
chief help and support throughout his arduous conflicts 
with the politicians, money-lenders, inquirers and la¬ 
borers. 
All over the world do homes of comfort and poverty 
alike contain hearts that smile into the hearts of the flow¬ 
ers. This thought winds in and out among humanity, a 
flowery chain, connecting all nations and taking into its 
circlejmany a rough mortal unsuspected of tenderness. 
The modest little violet found an ardent admirer in the 
person of Napoleon Bonaparte ; he often presented Jose¬ 
phine with bouquets of violets, which she greatly admired ; 
and when misfortune had compelled her to return to Mal- 
maison, gardening was her favorite employment, the vio¬ 
let her favorite flower, and when she died violets were 
planted on her grave. When Napoleon was banished to 
St. Helena, he planted and cultivated the violet, and when 
his remains were returned to France his coffin was lit¬ 
erally covered with bouquets of his favorite flower. 
Flowers have been appropriately associated with the 
most touching epoch of our existence. In olden times 
roses were employed to decode churches, and hence the 
expression sub rosa , meaning “ under the rose,” applied 
to an avowal as secret as the confessional. It originated 
in the rose being among the ancients as a symbol of se¬ 
crecy ; hence it was their custom to hang it up at enter¬ 
tainments as a token that nothing which was said there 
should be divulged. Zenaida. 
A DAY OF JUNE. 
I could write such a beautiful poem 
About this summer day, 
If my pen could catch the beauty 
On every leaf and spray, 
And the music all about me 
Of brook and breeze and birds— 
But the greatest poet living 
Cannot put them into words. 
So I may not write down the poem 
As it came from the hand of God 
In the wonderful wordless language 
He writes on sky and sod. 
In words that we tell our thoughts in, 
That will make you feel and see 
The beautiful, beautiful poem 
This day has been to me. 
If I might, you would hear all through it 
The melody of the breeze, 
Like a fine and far-off echo 
Of the ocean harmonies ; 
You would hear the song of the robins 
Aswing in the apple-tree, 
And the voices of running waters 
In their search for the great gray sea. 
You would breathe the fragrance of clover 
In the words of every line, 
And incense out of the censers 
Of hillside larch and pine ; 
You would see through the words the roses, 
With, deep in their hearts of gold, 
The sweets of a thousand summers,— 
But words are so weak, so cold ! 
If I only could write the color 
Of the lilac’s tossing plumes, 
And make you feel, in a sentence, 
The spell of its sweet perfumes ; 
If my pen could paint the glory . 
Of the blue and tender sky, 
And the peace that crowns the mountains, 
My poem would never die ! 
Eben E. Rexford, 
SALLY EARLE’S THIRD. 
S ALLY EARLE was a born coquette. She could not 
so much as lift her eyes to a young man’s face with¬ 
out setting his nerves to tingling and his heart to beating 
like a trip-hammer. Her great beseeching gray eyes 
seemed drawing his heart straight out of his immacu¬ 
late linen and unimpeachable pepper-and-salt or diagonal. 
Even the careless rings of her naturally curly hair, as 
they, rippled over her forehead or clung about her small 
ears, seemed like the coils of a serpent, ready to enfold 
its victim. Her very lips, whether they pouted or smiled, 
said pretty nothings or were silent, tempted the beholder 
to kiss them ; her graceful movements invited admiration. 
Surely, Sally could not help it. Even her voice was 
against her; for, though she was a charming singer, no 
sooner did she lift up her voice in song than straightway 
each young man present, though there were fifty of them, 
was certain she was singing to him alone. If she talked, 
the one who was at the moment her companion was 
shown that only to him could she express her real senti¬ 
ments and her most sacred feelings. 
Among the moths who hovered about this luminary, to 
the great detriment of their wings, were three who were 
scorched beyond hope of recovery. From these three it 
was evident to all observers that Sally would choose her 
