32 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
accosting each other, though they were ever sighing 
when alone to be made one. Until one day Love°, 
emboldened, left a posy upon her favourite rural' 
seat, hiding himself while he watched the Violet of 
the Valley untwining her sister flowers. As she 
held them in her hand the Moss-rose fell against her 
bosom, and she felt a strange fluttering from within, 
which told her that Love was folding his wings, and 
taking possession of his new abode. While from her 
heaving heart arose this confession, her cheek be¬ 
came blanched until it was paler than the blossoms 
of the Jasmine; then over all arose a flushing 
warmth, the pearly pinkness of blushing love, mant¬ 
ling her cheek, and making it more beautiful than 
the most delicate crimson with which the Moss-rose 
was dyed and from that day Love and Modesty 
dwelt together, their abode embowered about with 
Jasmine, and trailing Loses, and Violets, sweet as 
the perfumes of Paradise. 
Love could not have found a happier nor a more 
peaceful home. The very spot in which they dwelt 
was a land of perfect poetry, and within it her 
simple wishes were bounded; for she knew no more 
about what the world calls rank, and splendour, 
and fashion, than the modest Violet, after which 
she was named, does of the flowers that are 
forced into bloom and beauty within the unnatural 
atmosphere of a hothouse. “The heart,” says an 
