Parables from Flowers

by Gertrude P. Dyer

'Is this the place to which I am destined?' she muttered complainingly. 'Oh dear! no one will see me here. I wish I had remained in the lane, for there was a chance of my being admired by some passer-by. What is the use of my ambitious hopes, if this is to be the end of them?'

Fortunately there was no flower or even a plant near to be wearied with her repinings, so on she grumbled, until at last her misery reached its climax, when she was taken and pressed tightly into a horrible flower-pot, then carefully watered, and afterwards put into a dark corner to take root. Had she been capable of shedding tears, no water would have been required, such as was given to revive her; for the sorrow she felt was almost too great to be borne. Here was a life to lead after all her high aspirations, and her slender roots, too, were so cramped and squeezed it was something dreadful! Oh for the once despised hedgerow, with the soft, cool earth, in which she could stretch her delicate fibres!

But wait, impatient little flower! other days are coming.

One morning—at least so it proved to be, though at the time she did not know it, as in her dark dwelling she saw neither sunrise nor sunset—well, this morning of which we speak, to her intense delight, the gentleman came and carried her out into the open air, and surveyed her critically.

'Yes,' she heard him say, and how her heart bounded with pride, 'it is indeed a lovely flower, and may well take its place among those in the conservatory, for it is really exquisite.'

Here was a triumph! this was the hour to which she had so long looked forward.

'At last, at last!' she murmured. 'Oh, if my old acquaintances could but see me now, what would they say? I wish some of them were here.'

Not satisfied even yet! You see there is always an alloy in our greatest earthly pleasures or triumphs—always a something wanting. Yet so completely bewildered was she by this excess of gratified pride, that she knew not whither she was borne, until, when the delirium, for such it was, had passed, she found herself in a place which her wildest imaginings never could have supposed possible—a wondrous glass palace, filled with the most gorgeous flowers of all tints and forms, some deliciously perfumed, making the air fragrant; whilst in the centre of this palace a fountain rose and fell with soothing murmurs, scattering its silvery spray upon exquisite blossoms that floated in the marble basin. It was almost too lovely, and our little wayside friend sighed with a sense of overpowering astonishment at the wondrous beauties around, beauties that dazzled her unaccustomed eyes. Her place, however, was upon one of the lower shelves, and above her head waved the feathery leaves of tropical plants, which throve wonderfully well in the heated atmosphere of this (to her) paradise.

Then she was left alone with her new associates—alone! how much that word conveys!

After some time the other flowers became aware of a stranger having come among them, and a flutter (as much as such well-bred creatures deigned to evince) stirred their leaves and petals.