LANGUAGE OP PLOWEES. 
gazed tenderly upon them, he felt a hushed and 
holy awe about his heart, such as had never 
touched those innocent flowers, that for ever 
remain in their childhood. Filled with sad and 
pleasing Thoughts, which gathered around him 
whilst he slept beside a bed of Pansies, he awoke 
and winged his way to a grey, old, ruined fortress, 
thinking that he there might ponder over the 
lessons he had learnt from the flowers. But on the 
mouldering battlements he beheld the wild Wall¬ 
flowers blowing ; and when he inquired, why they 
still haunted such a scene of decay and desolation ? 
they answered, that they had outlived all that was 
once lovely and happy; and although Beauty no 
longer reigned there, and the banquet-hall was 
deserted, and the voice of the lute had ceased to 
sound in the lady’s bower—they were still Faithful 
amid all the storms of Adversity. 
Long did Love brood over the new language 
which he had discovered, and many a day did he sit 
pondering to himself, as if hesitating whether or not 
he should trust Woman with the secret. “She is 
already armed with beauty,” reasoned Love, as he 
sat with his elbow pillowed on a bed of flowers, his 
how unstrung, and his arrows scattered at random 
by his side; “ there is a language in her eyes, and a 
sweet music in her voice, and shall I now teach her 
to converse through flowers—to give a tongue to 
