86 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
graceful Fuchsia in his hand, and, sitting down 
beneath the shadow of a gigantic oak in a lonely 
forest-glade, he took up the broad-leaved Fern to fan 
and cool himself, for the air around was hot. Then 
throwing it down across his bow, he stretched 
himself upon the greensward, and, playing idly with 
one of his arrows, he thoughtlessly cut down the 
blue Harebells and tall white Daisies which grew 
around him, with the point of his weapon, until 
startled from his musing and listless mood by the 
sound of the bugle-horn, and the baying of dogs in 
the distance, he sprang up hurriedly from his velvet 
couch, gathered together his bow and arrows, and 
the handful of flowers at random, and flew off into 
another solitude far away from the clamorous din 
of the hunters. It was then that his eye first 
alighted upon the group of flowers which he had in 
his hand. On the broad, green background of the 
Fern rested the sky-dyed Harebells; before these, 
like a cluster of stars, spread the white Daisies, 
while over all drooped the scarlet cups of the 
Fuchsia in elegant festoons; and he smiled as he 
looked at the graceful finish which the drooping 
Fuchsia gave to the wild flowers that represented 
Innocence and Eetirement, and the broad Fern that 
grew up of its own accord, a true image of Old 
Sincerity. 
Through the dew of many a spring morning, ere 
