A child once stood at the door of a beautiful palace. To her wondering gaze it looked like magic within—all lights, and color and flowers. A desire seized her to go in, and catch the odor of all that world of bloom. A voice from within urged her to enter," Look at the lilies," it said, "the lotus, the orange-flowers. The perfume will lift you into ecstacy. Come." Just as she was about to enter, another voice, gentle and firm, from without whispered,". Do not yield -to that desire. In the heart of every flower is an adder, and you will be wounded. There is no real joy there."
The child paused, but a strain of music caught her ear, and she darted in. All round her the beauty and light seemed perfect, and the flowers waved her a welcome. She turned to a bed of glowing blossoms, and stooped to inhale the delicious fragrance, when quickly, from beneath the leaves, flashed the glitter of a serpent, and the child recoiled in terror and pain. "You chose the wrong flower" said the voice, "go on to others. There are no more serpents."
"All will harm you," came the soft voice from the doorway, "Oh! do not go farther." But on and on she wandered; ever a moment of hope that the next flower would hide no adder-thrust, ever a pang of sorrow, pain and disappointment. Ever the voice within, with fair promises, urged her to go on,— ever the voice at the door, though growing fainter, besought her to return.
