LOVE OF FLOWERS. 71 



tives of a deified object, or been bowed down to 

 with divine honours. The worship of the one true 

 Being could never have been polluted by any sym- 

 bol suggested by the open flowers and lily- work of 

 the temple. 



The love of flowers seems a naturally implanted 

 passion, without any alloy or debasing object as a 

 motive : the cottage has its pink, its rose, its poly- 

 anthus; the villa, its geranium, its dahlia, and its 

 clematis : we cherish them in youth, we admire 

 them in declining days; but, perhaps, it is the 

 early flowers of spring that always bring with 

 them the greatest degree of pleasure, and our 

 affections seem immediately to expand at the 

 sight of the first opening blossom under the 

 sunny wall, or sheltered bank, however humble 

 its race may be. In the long and sombre months 

 of winter our love of nature, like the buds of vege- 

 tation, seems closed and torpid ; but, like them, it 

 unfolds and reanimates with the opening year, and 

 we welcome our long-lost associates with a cordiality, 

 that no other season can excite, as friends in a fo- 

 reign clime. The violet of autumn is greeted with 

 none of the love with which we hail the violet of 

 spring ; it is unseasonable, perhaps it brings with 

 it rather a thought of melancholy than of joy ; we 

 view it with curiosity, not affection : and thus the 

 late is not like the early rose. It is not intrinsic 

 beauty or splendour that so charms us, for the fair 

 maids of spring cannot compete with the grander 



