122 AN ESSAY ON FLOWERS. 



flowers, the cool appearance of the dark green leaves of some 

 species, and the beautiful tints and varied forms of others, are sin- 

 gularly grateful to the sight, and refreshing at the same time. 

 Vases of Etruscan mould, containing plants of the commonest kind, 

 offer those lines of beauty which the eye delights in following ; and 

 variform leaves hanging festooned over them, and shading them if 

 they be of a light colour, with a soft grateful hue, add much to 

 their pleasing effect. These decorations are simple and cheap. 



Lord Bacon, whose magnificence of mind exempts him from 

 every objection as a model for the rest of mankind, (in all but the 

 unfortunate error to which, perhaps, his sordid pursuit in life led 

 him, to the degradation of his nobler intellect,) was enthusiastically 

 attached to flowers, and kept a succession of them about him in his 

 study and at his table. Now the union of books and flowers is 

 more particularly agreeable. Nothing, in my view, is half so de- 

 lightful as a library set off with these beautiful productions of the 

 earth during summer, or, indeed, any season of the year. A library 

 or study, opening on green turf, and having the view of a distant 

 rugged country, with a peep at the ocean between hills, a small 

 fertile space forming the nearest ground, and an easy chair and 

 books, is just as much of local enjoyment as a thinking man can 

 desire. I reck not if under a thatched or slated roof, to me it is 

 the same thing. A favourite author on my table, in the midst of 

 my bouquets, and I speedily forget how the rest of the world wags. 

 I fancy I am enjoying nature and art together, a consummation 

 of luxury that never palls upon the appetite — a desert of uncloying 

 sweets. 



There is something delightful in the use which the Eastern 

 Poets, particularly the Persian, make of flowers in their poetry. 

 Their allusions are not casual, and in the way of metaphor and 

 simile only; they seem really to hold them in high admiration. 

 I am not aware that the flowers of Persia, except the rose, are 

 more beautiful or more various than those of other countries. 

 Perhaps England, including her gardens, green-houses, and fields, 

 having introduced a vast variety from every climate, may exhibit a 

 list unrivalled, as a whole, in odour and beauty. Yet flowers are 

 not with us held in such high estimation as among the Orientals, 

 if we are to judge from their poets. 

 Bowers of roses and flowers are perpetually alluded to in the 



