321 



The following translation after Martial, from the 

 same hand, and in a different style, may possibly 

 not displease the reader. 



Go mingle Arabia's gums 



With the spices all India yields ; 

 Go crop each young flower as it blooms ; 



Go ransack the gardens and fields. 



Let Paestum, so fragrant and gay, 



Its roses profusely bestow; 

 Go catch the light breezes that play 



Where the wild thyme and marjoram grow. 



Let every pale night-scented flower, 



Sad emblem of passion forlorn, 

 Resign its appropriate hour, 



To enhance the rich breath of the morn. 



All that art or that nature can find 



Not half so delightful would prove, 

 Nor their sweets all together combined, 



Half so sweet as the breath of my love. 



Sir J. E. Smith to Mr. Roscoe. 



My dear Sir, Norwich, January 16, 1804. 



I congratulate you sincerely on beginning to 

 print your great work ; but I must not yet begin to 

 think of reading it, — that will serve to make me an- 

 ticipate next winter with pleasure. I hope very soon 

 to bring out the third volume of my Flora ; it is 

 small compared to your work, but the labour of the 

 Mosses was very great. I can scarcely hope that you 

 will find a moment to look at that part ; I must be 

 content with the quiet approbation of half a score 

 hard-working Germans, and they will I am sure see 



VOL. II. y 



