PREFACE 



Who is there that loves not flowers ? Who is there that can look upon 

 these gems of nature, inhale their fragrance, and not feel his heart expand, 

 and his soul quicken with pleasing emoiions ? If there be such an one, un- 

 bending indeed must be his nature, cold his affections, and we feel inclined to 

 place him among those of whom the immortal bard of Avon has said — having 

 no music in their souls — " are fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils." 



Flowers have ever been emblems of the impulses and feelings of the heart, 

 as well as symbols of the affections, passions and sorrows of the soul. They 



" are love's truest language ; they betray 



Like the divining rods of Magi old 



Where priceless wealth lies buried, not of gold, 



But love — strong love, that never can decay !" 



They speak of love in tones more eloquent and winning than the choicest 

 phrases or the roundest periods. Who does not know that the Rose is the 

 flowers of Venus, the flower of love ? Who does not know that when that 

 fragrant, blushing symbol, a Hose Bud, is placed in the hand of the fair one 

 who has ensnared the heart of the donor, it whispers 



" I die for thy sweet love, the ground 

 Not panteth for the Summer rain, 

 As I for one soft look of thine .'" 



The tale of love thus sweetly told, has won the heart it sought ; the " layde 

 faire" places the beauteous missive upon her snowy breast, from her garden 

 culls a messenger which blushingly tells the enraptured lover, " your senti- 

 ments meet with a return," and a China Star bears to his delighted gaze the 

 reply of his mistress — 



" Yes I am thine ! Upon thy bosom leaning, 

 No grief hath power to damp my fervent bliss 

 Nor can such love to thee be overwheening — 

 Thou art deserving all, and more than this !" 



