40 



AN ESSAY ON FLOWERS. 



of tlie sweet south, and musical with the far- 

 off chime of the vesper-bells. The scent of 

 this grape blossom is associated with the hos- 

 pitality of a villa below Fiesole ; and that 

 heliotrope makes me think of a fair invalid 

 with whom I wandered among the ilexes of a 

 palace-garden, in whose grassy walks the 

 vanilla flower grew profusely, I saved the 

 reedy leaf that is stitched to the opposite 

 page, as one of the countless proofs of the 

 thoughtful care of my motherly hostess at 



. She stuck it in my window on Palm 



Sunday. When gleaned in a field near Luc- 

 ca, this little flax-blossom held a dew-drop, 

 and looked like the tearful blue eye of a 

 child. Arid as it is, the pink, star-like flower 

 beneath whispers of romance. At a pic-nic, 

 a friend of mine who has an extreme impa- 

 tience of tenter-hooks, determined to have his 

 position with a certain fair one defined, as, 

 after some encouragement, she seemed half 

 inclined for another. With true feminine 

 tact she avoided an interview, though they 

 constantly met. I believe she either could 

 not decide between the two, or hat^d to give 

 up my friend. He laughingly proposed, while 

 we were resting in a meadow, to make his 

 favorite a sybil, and handed her a knot of 

 these starry flowers, to pluck the leaves one 

 by one, and reveal the hearts of the company, 

 according to a familiar game. When the 

 time came to apply the test to her own senti- 

 ments, she was "s^sibly embarrassed. He fixed 

 his calm eyes upon her face, and I, knowing 

 at once his delicacy and his superstition, felt 

 that this was a crisis. The lovely creature's 

 voice trembled, when, half petulantly, and 

 with visible disappointment, she plucked away 

 the last leaf, which proved her only his well- 

 wisher. The omen was accepted, and my 

 friend soon had 



" a roufflier task in hand 



Than lo drive liking lo the name of love." 



Flowers are the most unobjectionable and 

 welcome of gifts. There is a delicacy in se- 

 lecting an ofi"ering, whether of gratitude, kind- 

 ness, or affection, that sometimes puzzles a 

 considerate mind ; but where any such hesi- 

 tancy occurs, we can turn to flowers with 

 complacency. Nature furnishes them, and 

 all her beautiful products may bravely chal- 

 lenge fastidiousness. No human being not 

 utterly perverted, can scorn flowers : nor can 

 they be offered, even to the spoiled child of for- 

 tune, without an implied compliment to taste. 

 The fairest of Eve's daughters, and the proudest 

 scion of nobility, as well as the village beauty, 

 the most gifted and least cultivated — provided 

 either imagination or heart exists — must feel 

 gratified at such a tribute, whether from de- 

 pendent or equal, new acquaintance or faith- 

 ful lover. Like all spontaneous attractions, 

 that of flowers gives them immunity from or- 

 dinary rules. They are so lovely and so frail, 

 that, like children, they bespeak indulgence 

 ere they offend. Of all material things, they 

 excite the most chivalric sentiment ; and 

 hence, are given and received, scattered and 

 woven, cultivated and gathered, worn and 

 won, with a more generous and refined spirit 

 than any other ornaments. They are radiant 

 hieroglyphics sculptured on the earth's bo- 

 som ; perhaps the legacy of angels, but cer- 

 tainly oveiffowing with messages of love that 

 are apart from the work-day scenes and pro- 

 saic atmosphere of common life, and allied to 

 better moments ; to the sweet episodes of ex- 

 istence, to the promises of love, and the 

 memories of youth : and hence they are con- 

 secrated, and like " the quality of mer- 

 cy," bless " him that gives and her that 

 takes.'' 



