THE LOVE OF FLOWERS.
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The love of flowers seems naturally implanted passion, without any alloy or de- passing object as motive: the cottage has its pink, its rose, its polyanthns the villa its geranium, its dalila, and its clemantis i; we cherish them in youth, we admire them in declining days; but perhaps, it is the early flowers of spring that always bring with them the greatest degree of pleasure, and our affections seem immediately to ex- pand at the sight of the first opening blos- som under the sunny wall or sheltered bank, however humble its race may be- In the long and sombre months of winter our love ofnature, like the buds of vegeta- ton, seems closed and torpid but, like them, it unfolds and reanimates with the O. pcning year, and we welcome our long-lost associates with cordiality that no other season can excite, as friends in a foreign cline. The violet of autumn is greeted with none of the love with which we hail the violet of spring: it is unreasonable 1; perhaps it brings with it rather thought of melancholy than of joy; we view it with curiosity, not affection and thus the late IS not like the early rose. 1t is not in- trinsic beauty or splendor that so charms us; for the fair maids of spring cannot compete with the grander matrons of the advanced year they would be unheeded, perhaps lost, in the rosy bowers of summer and of autumn no: it is our first meet ing with a long lost friend, the reviving glow of a natural affection, that SO warns us at this season. To maturity they give pleasure, as harbiuger of the renewal of life, signal of awakening nature, or of a higher promise to youth, they are expan- ding being, opening years, hilaFity and joy; and the child let loose from the house, riots in the AowoFy meads and is-

 "HIouarch of all hs mrveys."

 There is not pret,ier emblem of spring