There were the rose-coloured blossoms of the wild althea, and the brilliant orange of Californian poppies--glancing among the green leaves like so many balls of fire-- while lower upon the surface grew the humble violas, sparkling like azure gems.
The glorious sun was shining over all; and the late rain that had washed them seemed to have added to the fragrance and brilliancy.

Millions of butterflies flew over them, or rested in their soft cups, not less brilliant than the flowers themselves.

Some of these were of vast dimensions, their downy wings speckled and striped with varied and gorgeous tints.

There were other insects of gay colours and glancing wings.

The giant spider-fly flew around, now poised on whirring wing, and now darting off like a thread of lightning to some other part of the boundless garden.