CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE SNOW-DROP. 



Botany is doubtless a very delightful study ; bat 

 a botanical treatise is one of the last things that 

 I should be found engaged in. Truth shall be 

 told : my love of flowers — for each particular petal 

 — is such, that no thirst after scientific knowledge 

 could ever prevail with me to tear the beautiful 

 objects in pieces. 1 love to see the bud bursling 

 into maturity; I love to mark the deepening tints 

 with which the beams of heaven paint the expand- 

 ed flower ; nay, with a melancholy sort of pleas- 

 ure, I love to watch that progress towards decay, 

 so endearingly bespeaking a fellowship in man's 

 transient glory, w^iich, even at its height, is but as 

 " the flower of grass." I love to gaze upon these 

 vegetable gems — to marvel and adore, that such 

 relics of pai-adise are yet permitted to brighten a 

 path where the iniquity of rebellious sinners has 

 sown the ihorn and the thistle, under the blighting 



