1838-39. DELIGHT FROM SPRING FLOWERS. 179 



dise have no feet, and, according to poets, a lying set of men, 

 never roost ; physiologists, a presumptuous set of men, declare 

 they have as good pedal extremities as geese or ganders ; mil- 

 liners, a foolish set of women, evidently support the poets, 

 and unfeet them. Where, I wonder, do the feetless birds of 

 paradise roost or slumber ? We might send out a balloon 

 on a voyage of discovery. Till I can blow a soap-bubble 

 large enough to carry Samuel Brown and me after them, I'll 

 believe that they slumber among the ruins of the castles in the 

 air. 



" I was out at Westham last Wednesday, and what do you 

 think I got from S. ? A kiss eh ? Perhaps I did, but I won't 

 say anything about that. I got from her two snowdrops. I 

 was quite amazed when she put in my buttonhole two of these 

 lovely flowers. I'm thinking of making some verses on them, 

 involving and evolving a new theory of snowdrop births ; but I 

 don't think it would be quite fair to send them to you till she 

 has gotten them ; besides, I have got some verses on the stocks 

 solely and specially for yourself, which, as soon as my hobbling 

 muse helps me out with them, shall be sent to you. Let me re- 

 turn, however, to the flowers. I always experience a strange 

 and delightful exhilaration when I meet with flowers out of 

 their season; they catch me by surprise, and ministering to 

 that efficient cause of strong and keen-felt sensations, the 

 novelty of impressions felt, they awaken all kinds of happy 

 emotions. I got no good of the flowers somehow last summer. 

 I made a few new acquaintances among them, and acknow- 

 ledged the return of old friends ; but as a whole, the season was 

 so much spent among rottenness and disease on the one hand, 

 and among fumes and noxious odours on the other, that the 

 steaming fragrance of the flowers found my nostrils deadened to 

 their delicacy, and the beauty of their petals was wasted on my 

 smarting eyes. Do you remember the forget-me-nots I ga- 

 thered for you among the rocks of Arthur Seat ? That is a 

 pleasing exception to the flowerless year. Have they all died 

 away, and sunk into the earth ? Is there any sign of awaking 

 from sleep ? any signal of their slumbers breaking into a glori- 

 ous resurrection ? Flowers lead to my telling how glad I was 



