294 30tal of jfloixirrk. 
So, in those isles of delight, that rest 
Far off in a breezeless main, 
Which many a hark with a weary guest 
Has sought, but still in vain. 
Yet is not life, in its real flight, 
Marked thus—even thus—on earth, 
By the closing of one hope’s delight, 
And another’s gentle birth ? 
Oh! let us live so that, flower by flower, 
Shutting in turn, may leave 
A lingerer still for the sunset hour, 
A charm for the shaded eve! 
Hemans. 
When a plant is approaching its state of perfection, 
when its organs of nourishment are completely deve¬ 
loped, and its vegetation is most luxuriant, then arrives 
the time of flowering, which has been aptly termed 
“the joy of plants.” The most superficial observer 
must have noticed how different is the season of flower¬ 
ing of individual plants, and how each month is adorned 
with its particular flowers. When the intense cold of 
January confines us to our houses, the Black Helle¬ 
bore, or Christmas Rose, unfolds its dazzling white 
blossoms; in February, the innocent Snowdrop presents 
to us her elegant cup. In the same month the Hazel 
puts forth its catkins, and not rarely the early-blooming 
Crowfoot shows the blue tips of its clusters of blossom. 
March boasts a richer Flora; then the Violet delights 
us with its fragrance; the Mezereon offers its peach- 
