78 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
What faith and what confidence must there have 
been between man and man in the olden time, 
when only the presence of a flower was needed to 
prevent the maligning whisper—to freeze up slan¬ 
der’s hateful slime— and destroy that venom which, 
when once circulated, proves so fatal to human 
happiness! Beyond the circle to which the ex¬ 
pressive text was assigned, that wound about the 
Bose, not a whisper wandered; the pleasure only 
was remembered, the painful word forgotten ere it 
had gathered utterance—or if remembered at all, 
it was only as having existed for a moment “ under 
the Bose.” Truest test of friendship! inviolable 
bond of brotherhood! Sacred altar, on which heart 
was sworn to heart, thou didst need no golden 
chains to bind thee to thy trust,—no solemn vow, 
sworn but to be broken,—nothing but a simple 
White Bose to bind these men of true hearts and 
strong faith together. 
The Heath was'well chosen as the emblem of 
Solitude. It could scarcely be otherwise, adorning, 
as it does, the lonely waste, and waving over weary 
miles of desolate moorland, where scarcely a tree 
breaks the long level line of the low hanging sky, 
and a human habitation but rarely heaves up to 
cheer the monotony of the scene. It recalls many 
a wild landscape: the bleak, broad mountain-side, 
which throughout the long winter and the slow- 
