NOVEMBER 89 



don't care for greenhouse plants ; I only like hardy 

 things.' This surely is a mistake. Cowper, that now- 

 neglected poet, says : 



Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too. 



Unconscious of a less propitious clime, 



There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, 



While the winds whistle and the snows descend. 



The spiry Myrtle, with unwithering leaf, 



Shines there and nourishes. The Golden Boast 



Of Portugal and Western India there, 



The ruddier Orange and the paler Lime, 



Peep through their polish 'd foliage at the storm, 



And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 



The Amomum there, with intermingling flowers 



And Cherries, hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts 



Her crimson honours, and the spangled Bean, 



Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. 



All plants, of every leaf that can endure 



The winter's frown if screen'd from its shrewd bite, 



Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 



Levantine regions these ; the Azores send 



Their Jessamine, her Jessamine remote 



Caffraria. Foreigners from many lands, 



They form one social shade, as if convened 



By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. 



Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 



But by a master's hand, disposing well 



The gay diversities of leaf and flower, 



Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, 



And dress the regular yet various scene. 



Plant behind plant aspiring : in the van 



The dwarfish ; in the rear retired, but still 



Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 



In spite of what I consider the excellent gardening 

 spirit in these lines, how curiously non-poetical they are 

 according to the ideas of our day ! In my edition of 

 Cowper there is a footnote to the word 'Ficoides,' ex- 

 plaining it as 'Ice -plant,' which is an annual Mesembri- 

 anthemum ; whereas he probably meant some of the 



