G 
THE LANGUAGE OK FLOWER?. 
“ From the first hud, whose verdant head 
The winter’s lingering tempest braves, 
To those, which 'mid the foliage dead, 
Shrink latest to their annual graves ; 
All are for use, for health, for pleasure given, 
All speak, in various ways, the bounteous hand of 
Heaven.” 
Charlotte Smith. 
These are the sentiments of a pure mind and 
a lofty imagination, and the authoress of the 
following words may well claim sisterhood 
with her from whom they emanated : — “ And 
who dare say that flowers do not speak a lan- 
guage, a clear and intelligible language ? Ask 
Wordsworth, for to him they have spoken, 
until they excited ‘ thoughts that lie too deep 
for tears ask CHAUCER, for he held com- 
panionship with them in the meadows ; ask 
any of the poets, ancient or modem. Observe 
them, reader, love them, linger over them, 
and ask your own heart if they do not speak, 
affection, benevolence, and piety ?” In confir- 
mation of this, we also quote some stanzas 
from another poet, whose volumes, as this 
authoress truly observes, “ are like a beautiful 
