66 
hued clusters of Ben Jonson or Spenser; but I must leave this 
enigma to be solved by abler minds than mine- 
The Snowdrop is hailed year after year wth unchanged 
delight, as our earliest of 
Spring’s voluptuous paintings, when she breathes 
Her first sweet kisses, 
and, as a native of our soil, “ The fair maid of February” (for 
by that sweet name is she sometimes known) has an undisputed 
claim to a chief place in our list of floral friends. In real 
unpoetical tnitli, I believe the yellow aconite is “ the ae first 
flower springs either in moor or dale;” but to acknowledge 
such precedence in any but a solely botanical work, would seem 
like robbing the heiress of her birthright; and poetry cannot 
suffer Spring’s fair and virgin queen to be deposed in favour 
of any less qualified representative, or the Christmas Rose, 
which gladdens even a drearier season, might justly lay claim 
to more celebration than she now gains. It would thus appear 
that simple Audrey’s suspicions of “oiu-craft” ai’e somewhat 
too well founded, when she enquires of Touchstone, if “poetical 
means honest in word and deed ? ” 
The Crocus is fancied by Prior as the bridegi'oom of the 
Lady Snowdrop. It is a graceful conceit, for they are a most 
faithful couple; rarely severed during their short lives. Toge¬ 
ther they rise from the snow—together bide the storm, or bask 
in the sunshine—and when one droops and dies, we know that 
both are leaving us. 
