CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 101 , 
ing even the infant in the nurse’s arms to snatch 
at flowers and laugh in the sunshine !” These 
are the words of Miss Twamley, one, whose 
name we cannot mention, but straightway there 
rise before us visions of floral loveliness, filled with 
all fair shapes and rainbow hues ; we breathe an j 
atmosphere of perfume, and our sense of hearing j 
becomes so acute, that we can even distinguish, 
amid the grand symphony of nature, the pecu¬ 
liar chime of the harebells, which this lady 
likens to fairy music,—a symphonious peal, 
rung out just as twilight steals over the land¬ 
scape, to summon the tiny folk to their revels, 
when they 
“-Knit hands, and beat the ground 
In a light fantastic round.” 
But why, oh, lady fair!” say “ all, except 
positive idiots?'* Have these no share, think 
ye, in the poetry of existence ?” Do they 
not love to inhale the perfume, and gaze on the 
forms and hues of flowers ? Do they not listen 
with delight to the singing of birds, the gurg¬ 
ling of running streams, and the waving of leafy 
9* 
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