The love of flowers, says the author of the Flora Domestica, is a sentiment common alike to the great 
and to the little ; to the old and to the young ; to the learned and the ignorant, the illustrious and the 
obscure. While the simplest child may take delight in them, they may also prove a recreation to the most 
profound philosopher. Lord Bacon himself did not disdain to bend his mighty intellect to the subject of 
their culture. 
Lord Burleigh also found recreation from the cares of state in his flower-garden. Ariosto, although 
utterly ignorant of botanical science, took even an infantine pleasure in his little garden ; and we are in- 
formed by his son, that after sowing a variety of seeds, he would watch eagerly for the springing of the 
plants, would cherish the first peep of vegetation, and having for many days watered and tended the young 
plant, discover at last that he had bestowed all this tenderness upon a weed ; a weed, perhaps, which had 
choked the plant for which he had mistaken it. 
“ He treated his garden as he did his verses, never leaving any thing three months in the same place. 
Whenever he planted or sowed any thing, he went so often to see if it sprouted, that at last he broke the 
shoot : and having little knowledge of plants, he took any leaves that appeared near the place where he had 
sown his seed for the plants sown, and tended them with the greatest diligence, till his mistake was clear 
beyond doubt. I remember once when he had sown some capers, he went every day to look at them, and 
Avas delighted to see them thrive so well. At last he found these thriving plants were young elders, and 
that none of the capers had appeared.” — Notes by Virginio Ariosto, for a Life of his Father. 
Who can read this anecdote of so great a man, and not feel an additional interest in him ! In how 
amiable a light it represents him ! Was a cruel, unfeeling, or selfish man ever known to take pleasure in 
working in his own garden ? Surely not. This love of nature in detail (if the expression may be allowed) is 
a union of affection, good taste, and natural piety. 
How amiable a man was Cowper ! — and Evelyn too, and Evelyn’s friend, Cowley, who addressed to 
him a poem entitled The Garden. Gessner also is represented as of a kindred sweetness of nature. They 
all worked in their own gardens, and with enthusiastic pleasure. 
Barclay, the author of the Argenis, rented a house near the Vatican, in Rome, with a garden in Avhich 
he planted the choicest flowers, principally such as grow from bulbs, which had never been seen in Rome 
before. He was extremely fond of flowers, particularly of the bulbous kind, which are prized chiefly for 
their colours, and purchased the bulbs at a high price. 
Pope had the same taste, and was assisted in his horticultural amusements by Lord Peterborough. 
One of the most interesting descriptions of him represents him as being seen before dinner in a small suit 
of black, very neat and gentlemanly, with a basket in his hand containing flowers for the Miss Blounts. 
Rousseau, who has written some interesting Letters on Botany, of which among his other accomplishments 
he was master, found friends in the flowers, when he thought he had no others. 
The great operations of nature during this month, says Dr. Aikin, seem to be, to dry up the super- 
abundant moisture of February, thereby preventing the roots and seeds from rotting in the earth ; and 
gradually to bring forward the process of evolution in the sivelling buds, whilst, at the same time, by the 
Avholesome severity of chilling blasts, they are kept from a premature disclosure, which would expose 
their tender contents to injury from the yet unsettled season. This effect is beautifully touched upon in a 
simile of Shakespear’s : — 
And like the tyrannous breathings of the north, 
Checks all our buds from blowing. 
This seeming tyranny, however, is to be regarded as the most useful discipline ; and. those years gene- 
rally prove most fruitful, in which the pleasing appearances of Spring are the latest. 
The sun has now acquired so much power, that on a clear day we often feel all the genial influence of 
Spring, though the naked shrubs and trees still give the landscape the comfortless appearance of Winter. 
But soft pleasant weather in March is seldom of long duration. 
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, 
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 
Deform the day delightless. 
As soon as a few dry days haA r e made the land fit for working, the farmer goes to the plough ; and if 
the fair weather continues, proceeds to sowing oats and barley, though this business is seldom finished till 
the next month. The importance of a dry season for getting the seed early and favourably into the ground, 
is expressed in the old proverb : — 
A bushel of March dust is worth a king’s ransom. 
