262 
TUE FLORIST. 
i ^ ^ ' 
the night-blowing Cereus, the scarlet Geranium, the Fuchsia, the 
Lobelia, the Camellia, the Arum, and the China Rose, are mingled 
with a thousand other beautiful flowers. And sweeter still to walk in 
the garden, where, in their appropriate seasons, we may see the lovely 
Rose, the gaudy Tulip, the stately Hollyhock, the magnificent Tiger 
Lily, the gorgeous Pseony, the Anemones, Dahlias, Carnations, Rockets, 
Stocks, and Marigolds. 
“ And still sweeter than all to roam at liberty in the sunlit fields and 
sequestered dells, where the modest Primrose, the golden Buttercup, 
the splendid Foxglove, the dancing Dafibdil, and the sweet-scented 
Violet, are profusely scatvered! Did you ever lie at your length 
at mid-day on the side of the broad-breasted mountain, decked with 
Heath flower, entranced with silent ecstacy? or sit on a shady bank, 
gazing on the earliest Primrose of the year with admiring wonder ? or 
bend in a retired nook, with intensity of interest, over the blue minute 
flower of the Forget-me-not? If you have not done these things you 
know not the pleasure, the joy, the delight, that may be excited by a 
flower. 
“ Were the flowers of the world to be taken away they would leave 
a blank in the creation. Imagination cannot suggest a substitute for 
them. Be grateful for the gift of flowers. 
“ Look at the stateliest room in the stateliest mansion ; see it 
decorated with carvings and gilding, with paintings and sculpture, with 
china vases, ornaments, and costly drapery; fair though they be, the 
flowers in the light wicker basket on the stand are fairer still. 
“ Though all around be rich and rare, ' 
The flowers are fairest of the fair ; 
And voiceless, as they are, impart 
Sweet music to the eye and heart. 
‘‘ The blushing maiden, elegantly dressed, who trips along yonder, 
with a light heart and a sparkling eye, steals ever and anon a glance 
at the Moss Rose-bud blooming at her breast. We will not inquire 
who gathered and placed it there, though, while his hand was employed, 
his heart breathed the prayer that he never might plant any thorn 
in her bosom. She could tell you if she would; nay, look at her 
happy face, and you may know without her telling you, how much of 
calm delight and peaceful pleasure may be crowded into the petals of a 
flower. 
“ The poor aged widow in the almshouse must also have her flower. 
Old, and poor, and lonely as she is, she has not forgotten the time when 
she had a garden of her own ; and now she sticks a bunch of Gilliflowers 
in her broken blue jug, and, placing it in the window, looks upon it 
with satisfaction. And why should she not ? May her flowers bloom, 
and her hopes of Heaven brighten. 
“The aged labourer, too, who held the plough in his boyhood, and 
who now has near fourscore years on his forehead, when his blue 
Sunday coat, with the broad skirts and big buttons, is taken out of the 
oaken coffer, cannot wear it in peace to the house of God unless it has 
a Sweet William or Pink in the button-hole.” 
***** 
