THE POETRY OF GARDENING. 99 



fond of flowers ? " Yet, if you have borne with me thus far, 

 I may well presume that you love them. Indeed, I say of 

 flowers, as the poet has said of music ; he that hath no love 

 of them in his soul, 



" Let not that man be trusted." 



Nor do I believe that I am singular in my opinion. I 

 remember hearing the health of a very good friend of mine 

 proposed at a public dinner, which was neither a Political 

 nor a Horticultural one, in which, after some other remarks, 

 his merits were summed up in these words, "he is an 

 excellent Conservative, and fond of flowers." The guests 

 fully appreciated this philosophic eulogium, and may be 

 said literally to have stamped their approbation by the 

 enthusiasm of their applause. 



If then a true brother of the trowel and rake, if, 

 in chubby childhood, you ever strung daisy necklaces, 

 " bonnie gems," for your pet sister, if you ever tested 

 your brother's taste for butter by the chin-applied king- 

 cup^ and told nurse what hour it was by the dandelion- 

 clock ; if you ever sowed your own or your sweetheart's 

 initials in mustard-and-cress, frightened the baby with 

 a snap-dragon, mercilessly watered to death an often- 

 potted primrose, soaked your nankeens to the skin in 

 fetching water for mamma, or watched with unavailing 

 assiduity the expected crop of long-sown siugar-plums : if, 

 in boyhood, you ever screamed for joy at the discovery of 

 a bee-orchis, hunted the wortleberry and the pig-nut to 

 their retreats, and returned home from the copse wood 

 loaded with blue-bells and wild anemones for the children's 

 garden : if afterwards, under 



" The lime at eve 

 Diffusing odours," 



you braided the white bind- weed and the glossy leaves 



H2 



