DIAL OF FLOWERS. 
6° 
Or 
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Which many a bark 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 gentile birth ? 
Oh! let us live so that, flower by fiower, 
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 per- 
fection, when its organs of nourishment are 
completely developed, 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 flowering of indi- 
vidual plants, and how each month is adorned 
with its particular flowers. When the intense 
cold of January confines us to our houses, the 
Black Hellebore, 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 


