38 THE FLOKAL WORLD AND GAEDEN GUIDE. 



affection and reverence for many things, yet they fail altogether to 

 augment our love for this little beauty ; for who does not know that 

 to attempt 



" To gild refined gold, to paint the lily. 

 Or throw a perfume on the violet," 



is wasteful and ridiculous excess ? 'No one who has ever possessed 

 a spark of love for any of the works of nature, can look upon a 

 violet without feeling their hearts overflow with love. Those who 

 reside in the country can scarcely conceive the gush of tenderness 

 with which their city brethren behold it. Many a time have we 

 known the receipt of a few violets in a letter during the bleak month 

 of March light up a whole dwelling with joy, while the care with 

 which they have been preserved, as though they were the most 

 precious jewels the earth could yield, told of the flood of pleasant 

 recollections awakened in the hearts of those who saw them and 

 inhaled their fragrance, and reminded them of places where — 



''Daisies pied, and violets blue, 

 And lady-smocks all silver white, 

 And cuckoo buds of yellow hue. 

 Do paint the meadows with delight." 



Indeed, we have had such a vivid picture of the charms of country 

 life presented to our mind's eye by such a welcome present, that 

 afterwards the appearance of the bare, bleak walls, the forest of 

 chimneys, and the narrow, interminable streets of the city, have 

 caused an involuntary sigh for those days wlien without a care to 

 trouble us we could wander about the fields, or rest upon 



"A hank whereon the wild thyme blows, 

 Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows, 

 Quite over-canopied with luscious wciodbine. 

 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine," 



and there give ourselves up to the delights of a book, unconscious of 

 aught beside ; or lie with our face turned up to the sky, picturing a 

 brilliant future ; or listen to the thousand delightful voices of the 

 birds, and leaves, and trees, or 



" The sweet sound 

 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 

 Stealing and giving odour." 



And there is no other flower which can awaken such a crowd of 

 endearing recollections. Even the pearly snowdrop, with all its 

 innocence and purity, fails to do it, for it reminds one too forcibly of 

 the visage of stern old winter to permit its associations to be those 

 of unalloyed pleasure ; and however early in the season the snowdrop 

 may be found in the garden, still somewhere in the wood, in a warm 

 snug nook, sheltered by a high bank, or the gnarled trunks of some 

 old trees, may be discovered the doubly-welcome violet. / 



" Ye violets that first appear, 



By your pure purple mantles known, 

 like the proud virgins of the year, 



As if the spring were all your own." — Sir S. Wotton, 



