ONE warm morning in June, just as the sun returned from his long but
rapid journey to the distant east, and sailed majestically up
through the clear blue sky, the many bright flowers of one of the
prettiest little parterres in the world, who had opened their
eyes--those bright flowers--to smile at the sunbeams which came to
kiss away the tears night had shed over them, were very much
surprised, and not a little offended to find in their very midst an
individual who, though most of them knew her, one might have
supposed, from their appearance, was a perfect stranger to them all.
The parterre, I have said, was small, for it was in the very heart
of a great city, where land would bring almost any price; but the
gentleman and lady who lived in the noble mansion which fronted it,
would not, for the highest price which might have been offered them,
have had those sweet flowers torn up, and a brick pile reared in the
place--their only child, the dear little Carie, loved the garden so
dearly, and spent so much of her time there.
Oh, it was a sweet little place, though it was in the midst of a
great city where the air was full of dust and coal smoke; for the
fountain which played in the garden kept the atmosphere pure and
cool, and every day the gardener showered all the plants so that
their leaves were green and fresh as though they were blooming far
away in their native woods and dells. There were sweet roses of
every hue, from the pure Alba to the dark Damascus; and pinks, some
of the most spicy odour, some almost scentless, but all so beautiful
and so nicely trimmed. The changeless amaranth was there, the pale,
sweet-scented heliotrope, always looking towards the sun; the pure
lily; and the blue violet, which, though it had been taught to bloom
far away from the mossy bed where it had first opened its meek eye
to the light, had not yet forgotten its gentleness and modesty; and
not far from them were the fickle hydrangea, the cardinal flower
with its rich, showy petals, and the proud, vain, and ostentatious,
but beautiful crimson and white peonias. The dahlias had yet put
forth but very few blossoms, but they were elegant, and the swelling
buds promised that ere long there would be a rich display of
brilliant colours. Honeysuckles, the bright-hued and fragrant, the
white jasmine, and many other climbing plants, were latticing the
little arbour beside the clear fountain, half hiding their
jewel-like pensile blossoms and bright red berries among the smooth
green leaves which clustered so closely together as to shut out
completely the hot sun from the little gay-plumaged and sweet-voiced
songsters whose gilt cage hung within the bower. But I cannot speak
of the flowers, there were so many of them, and they were all so
beautiful and so sweet-scented.
Well, this June morning, as I was saying, when the flowers, as they
were waked from their sleep by the sunbeams which came to kiss away
the tears night had shed over them, opened their eyes and looked
about them, they were surprised and offended to see a stranger in
their company.
There had been, through all the season, some little rivalries and
jealousies among the flowers; but from the glances which they turned
on each other, this morning, it was evident that their feelings
towards the stranger were exactly alike. However, as might be
expected from their different dispositions, they expressed their
dislike and contempt for her in different ways; but at first all
hesitated to address her, for no one seemed to find language strong
enough to express the scorn they felt for her; until the balsam, who
never could keep silent long, inquired of the stranger, in a very
impatient tone, what was her name, and how she came there.
The poor thing hesitated an instant, and her face grew very red; she
must have known that her presence in that company was very much
undesired, and when she spoke, it was in a low and embarrassed tone.
"My name is Papaver, and--"
But the Marygold laughed aloud. "Papaver!" she repeated in her most
scornful tone; "she is nothing more nor less than a Poppy--a great
offensive Poppy, whose breath fairly makes me sick. Long ago,
when--"
But here the Marygold stopped short, it would not do, to confess to
her genteel friends, that she had formerly been acquainted with the
disreputable stranger. They did not heed her embarrassment, however,
for every one, now that the silence was broken, was anxious to
speak; all but the Mimosa, who could not utter a word, for she had
fainted quite away--the red Rose who was very diffident, and the
Dahlia who was too dignified to meddle with such trifling affairs.
"You great, red-faced thing!" said the Carnation, "how came you here
in your ragged dress? Do you know what kind of company you are in?
Who first saw her here?"
"I saw her," said the Morning Glory, who usually waked quite early,
"I saw her before she had got her eyes open; and what do you suppose
she had on her head? Why a little green cap which she has just
pulled off and thrown away. There it lies on the ground now. Only
look at it! no wonder she was ashamed of it. Can you think what she
wore it for?"
"Why, yes!" said the Ladies' Slipper. "She is so handsome and so
delicate that she was fearful the early hours might injure her
health and destroy her charms!"
"No, no!" interrupted another; "she was afraid the morning breeze
might steal away her sweet breath!"
"You had better gather up your sweet leaves, and put on your cap
again," said the London Pride. "I see a golden-winged butterfly in
Calla's cup; your spicy breath will soon bring him here to drink of
your nectar!"
The most of the flowers laughed, but the Carnation still called
out--"How came she here?"
The Amaranth, however, who never slept a wink through the whole
night, would not answer the question, though the flowers were
certain that she could, were she so inclined.
"I do not see how you who are in her immediate neighbourhood, can
breathe!" said the Syringa, who was farthest removed from the poor
Poppy.
"I do feel as if I should faint!" said the Verbena.
"And I feel a cold chill creeping over me!" said the Ice Plant.
"That is not strange!" remarked the Nightshade, who had sprung up in
the shadow of the hedge, "she carries with her, everywhere she goes,
the atmosphere of the place whence she comes. Do you know where that
is?"