240 THE FLORIST, 



consciously holds the bouquet in her gloved hand and the sweet na- 

 ture it represents, rob the flowers of their legitimate claim. Indeed, 

 like all truly beautiful things, they demand the appropriate as a 

 sphere. The east wind, in Boston, on the last national holiday, and 

 the grave faces of the children, to say nothing of the idea that appro- 

 bativeness and acquisitiveness were the organs mainly called in play 

 in their little overworked brains, utterly dispelled all genuine romance 

 and grateful illusion from the floral procession. Something analogous 

 in character, atmosphere, and occasion, is needed to render the 

 ministry of flowers aflTecting and complete. 



We instinctively identify our acquaintances with flowers. The 

 meek and dependent are as Lilies of the Valley, and, like them, need 

 the broad and verdant shield of affectionate nurture ; sycophants are 

 parasites ; exuberant and glowing beauty and feeling are more like 

 the Damask Rose than any thing in nature ; the irritable annoy us 

 like Nettles ; the proud emulate the Crown Imperial ; the graceful 

 are lithe as Vine- sprays ; the loving wind round our hearts like ten- 

 drils ; and the cheerful brighten the dim background of life like the 

 scarlet blossoms of the Woodbine. Not a flower in the cornucopia 

 of the floral goddess but hath its similitude and its votary. The boy's 

 first miracle is to press the seed-vessels of the Balsam ine till it snaps 

 at his touch ; or to shout, as he runs from bed to the garden, at the 

 sight of the rich chalice of the Morning-glory, planted by his own 

 little hand, that has opened while he slept. The Clover's pink globe, 

 and the deep crimson bloom of the Sumac ; the exquisite scent of the 

 Locust, and the auspicious blooming of the Lilac ; the hood-like purple 

 of the Foxglove, and the dainty tint of the Sweet Pea, stir, whenever 

 they re-appear, those dormant memories of early and unalloyed con- 

 sciousness, which 



" Xeither man nor boy. 



Nor all that is at enmity with joy. 



Can utterly abolish or destroy." 



Thus, from the first, perverted mortal ! thou wert indebted to 

 flowers. As a wayward urchin, loitering on the way to school, thou 

 whistled shrilly against the edge of a Grass-blade, held a Butter- cup 

 to the chin of thy little comrade, or puffed away the feathery seed- 

 blossom of the Dandelion to ascertain if thy secret wish would be con- 

 summated; — as a youth, with quivering pulses and flushed brow, thou 

 wert not ashamed to seek the choicest flowers as interpreters of thy 

 feelings towards one before whom thy words were tremulous, yet fond ; 

 — and in thy prime, when positive knowledge and accurate deduction 

 constituted thy felicity, it was, or might have been, to thee a rational 

 pastime to study the botanical relations, laws, and habits of these 

 poetic effusions of the earth, causing them to gratify thee through 

 analysis, as they once did through sentiment. And " in that Indian 

 summer of the soul," that descends on frosty age, how do flowers 

 serve as the magic connecting bond that unites senility and child- 

 hood ! The eye of age softens as it beholds the shower of blossoms 

 from the fruit-trees, thinks of its own flowery day, and is thankful 

 for a serene maturity. Thus have flowers an utterance everywhere 



