THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as may be supposed, he
wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers. He glanced, with a
very critical eye, at all the flower-beds.
He found that the flowers were seatd quietly and demurely on their stalks, just
as maidens should sit before they are engaged; but there was a great number of them, and it
appeared as if his search would become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too
much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The french call this flower "Marguerite,"
and they say that the little daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck
each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: "Does he or she love me?- Ardently?
Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?" and so on. Every one speaks these words in his
own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her
leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to be done by
kindness.
"Darling Marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the wisest woman of all the flowers. Pray
tell me which of the flowers I choose for my wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will
fly directly to her, and propose."
But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he should call her a woman when she
was only a girl; and there is a great difference. He asked her a second time, and then a third;
but she remained bumb, and answered not a word. Then he would wait on longer, but flew away, to
commence his wooing at once. It was in the early spring, when the crous and the snowdrop were in
full bloom.
"They are very pretty," thought the butterfly;" charming little lasses; but they are rather
formal."
Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the elder girls. He next flew to the anemones;
these were rather sour to his taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The lime-blossoms,
too small, and besides, there was such a large family of them. The apple-blossoms, though they
looked like roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the first wind that blew;
and he thought that a marriage with one of them might last too short a time. The pea-blossom
29pleased him most of all; she was white and red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those
domestic maidens who have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was just
about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw a pod, with withered flower
hanging at the end.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"That is my sister," replied the pea-blossom.
"Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day," said he; and he flew away directly, for he
felt quite shocked.