THE POETRY OF RURAL LIFE. 



157 



THE POETRY OF RURAL LIFE. 



The Howitts, Mary, aa well as her kinsman, 

 are deserving of honorary membership in every 

 society formed for promoting attention to Agri- 

 culture and Horticulture — though they are prob- 

 ably incapable of deciding critically between 

 the merits of Devons and Durhams — though 

 they may not he able to determine, at a glance, 

 the best one in a drove of hogs — one virhich will 

 take on tlie most fat, in the shortest time, on the 

 least swiU. It can hardly be doubted that their 

 writings are as well fitted to produce a taste for 

 rural pursuits, as though they dwelt exclusively 

 on the peculiar excellencies of certain classes 

 of animals w^hen brought to the test of the milk 

 pail or meat market. Not that we underrate 

 these last — far from it. We go for the useful 

 as well as and even a little before the beautiful, 

 and in no way do we think we can more effect- 

 ually promote the useful, than by.Jtimbellisliing 

 it with the beautiful associations of the culti- 

 vated minds. It is the very unmitigated gross- 

 ness tliat does, or is thought to, characterise too 

 exclusively all farming pursuits, which disgust 

 many men and women, whose example if en- 

 couraged would tend essentially to render farm- 

 ing what it ought to be, the most delightful of all 

 pursuits to vi^hich taste and intellect can be de- 

 voted. We envy not the utilitarianism that ex- 

 cludes every thing of the imagmative from the 

 studies of the school and the farm-house ; and so 

 far from emulating such a course, we shall act 

 in accordance with our belief that the best in- 

 terests of Agriculture can be most effectually 

 benefited by contributing to invest countiy life 

 with all the attractions that can purify the taste, 

 refine the manners, and elevate the intellect of 

 man and woman. 



It is in this frame of mind that we seize on a 

 paragraph from some daily paper, eulogising 

 THE TASTK FOR Flowers, as an introduction to 

 the beautiful lines of Mary Howitt, on a simi- 

 lar subject. " We want no better evidence of 

 a good heart than the passionate love of flowers," 

 says tlie editor, whose name (if we knew it) 

 should have honorable notice at our hands — " a 

 lover of beautiful flowers — flowers in all their 

 elegant variety," he continues, "must needs be 

 a lover of the human species, with a heart open 

 to the griefs of his fellow-beings, and an ear 

 ever ready to hear others' misfortunes, that he 

 may relieve them either by kind sympathy or 

 more substantial demonstrations. We can easily 

 iinagine every good quality of the human heart 

 (313) 



wedded to a proper estimation of flowers. A 

 maiden in her garden is secure from insult and 

 protected against libertine de.sires. In such a 

 position she can excite no impure thought A 

 boquet, it seems to us, is a talisman which all 

 ladies would do well to carry. * * * During 

 the week flowers have been plentiful. The 

 markets each morning teemed with the various 

 hues in whfch Nature has painted her prettiest 

 productions. These flowers were made up, 

 quite tastily, in bunches, and sold for a mere 

 trifle. Consequently ahnost every market has, 

 for three or four daj-s, been appropriately and 

 refreshingly decorated. We would that June 

 — the month of flowers — had three hundred and 

 sixty days, instead of thirty, allotted to it. Hu- 

 manity is always more what it should be in June 

 than at any other period." 



And now for the beautiful philosophy of Mary 

 Howitt — the more beautiful that it is clothed in 

 Poeti-y — as a handsome (by which we mean 

 intelligent) face never looks handsomer than 

 when peeping from under a quaker bonnet 

 THE USE OF FLOWERS. 



B# MAEY HOWITT. 



God might have made the earth bring forth 

 Enough for great and small — 



The oak tree and the cedar tree — 

 Without a flower at all. 



We might have had enough, enough 



For every want of ours. 

 For luxury, medicine and toil. 



And yet have had no flowers. 



The ore witliin the mountain mine 



Requireth none to grow, 

 Nor does it need the lotus flower 



To make the river flow. 



And clouds might give abundant rain, 



The nightly dews might fall, 

 And the herb that keepeth life in man 



Might yet have drunk them all. 



Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, 

 And dyed with rainbow light. 



All fashioned with supremest grace. 

 Up-springing day and night — 



Springing in valleys green and low, 



And on the mountain high, 

 And in the silent wilderness. 



Where no man passeth by ? 



Our outward life requires thera not — 

 Then wherefore had they birth ? 



To minister delight to man — 

 To beautify the earth — 



To comfort man, to wliisper hope 



Whene'er his faith is dim, 

 For, mkofio carefh for tite flowers. 



Will much mare care for Him. 



