he was often terribly taken in. His mania being notorious, the flower merchants asked of him the most exorbitant prices; while some rascals would even stick cut flowers into a flower-pot, and impose upon him with a rootless plant. But nothing would cure him of his infatuation, and eventually he found himself master of a superb pleasure-ground, full of his choicest favourites. It was surrounded by a bamboo-fence grown all over with red, white, and yellow roses, clematis, almonds, rose-mallows, touch-me-nots, cocks'-crests, sun-flowers, golden lilies, white lilies, pinks, carnations, princes'-feathers, white butterflies, night-falling gold-moneys, camellias, peonies, and a host of others. When they were all in full bloom, they looked like a great screen blazing with a mass of different colours; and by the time one began to fade another opened. The path leading to the house was bordered with bamboos, and the house itself was surrounded by the rarest plants. An eternal spring reigned in this delightful spot. Here flourished the water-sprite flower—as clear as ice and exquisitely pure as jade; the moutan,[1] with its heavenly fragrance and royal tint; pear-blossoms as white as moonlight, peach-blossoms ruddy as the sun, tea-flowers more precious than pearls, and roses in a blushing cloud.
It was not long before the fame of this wonderful garden spread over all the country side, and people came flocking every day to get a furtive peep over the stone wall which ran around it. No annoyance, however, occurred until one afternoon, when the recluse was sitting, as usual, in the midst of his little paradise. Suddenly he looked up, and saw a coarse, disagreeable face peering
- ↑ The Chinese peony.
