, that his herbarium may be increased--the
poet, that he may make them vehicles of expression, of emotion. The
savant counts the stamens, numbers the pistils, delineates the leaves,
marks the manner of growth, classifies, affixes a name, and is
satisfied;--the poet studies the whole character of the plant,
considering each of its attributes as a vehicle of expression, an
ethical lesson; he notes its color, he seizes on its lines of grace or
energy, rigidity or repose, remarks the feebleness or vigor, the
serenity or tremulousness of its hues, observes its local habits, its
love or fear of peculiar places, associating it with the features of the
situations it inhabits, and the ministering agencies necessary to its
support. It becomes to him a _living_ creature, with histories written
on its leaves, and passion breathing in its tremulous stems. He
associates and identifies it with the history and emotions of humanity.
Feeling that even these fragile flowers are symbolic of a moral world,
he crowns the bride with white roses, orange buds, or snowy myrtle
wreaths, to typify that innocence and chastity are essential to a love
that is to last as long as life endures. He wreathes the redeemed with
undying amaranth, unfading palms, to symbolize that their meek triumph
is for eternity; while he places in the hands of the angels the
sculptured chalice of the snowy lily, with its breath of incense and
stamens of molten gold, as an imperfect type of the perfect purity,
sweet peace, and glorious golden splendor of the Heavenly City.

The pages of the poets are full of beautiful lessons and tender
illustrations drawn from the fragile flowers. We cite Lowell's lines to
one of our most common flowers:

TO THE DANDELION.

Dear common flower that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome May,
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they
An Eldorado in the grass have found,
Which not the rich earth's ample round
May match in wealth--thou art more dear to me
Than all the prouder summer blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
Nor wrinkled the lean brow
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease;
'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now
To rich and poor alike with lavish hand,
Though most hearts never un