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“ The hope, in dreams of a happier hour,

That alights on misery's brow,
Springs out of the silvery almond flower

That blooms on a leafless bough.”—MOORE.

In the writings of D'Israeli, occurs the following allusion to night-blooming flowers :

“ Active enjoyments in the decline of life constitute the happiness of literary men. The study of the arts and literature spreads a sunshine over the winter their days; and their own works may be as delightful to themselves, as roses plucked by the Norwegian amidst his snows. In the solitude, and the night of human life, they discover that unregarded kindness of nature, which has given flowers that only open in the evening, and only bloom through the night season :"

“Like timid jasmine buds, that keep

Their odour to themselves all day,
And when the sunlight dies away,
Let the delicious secret out
To every breeze that roams about.”

As the modern Anacreon poetically says, and cheering, indeed, is it to the jaded and world-wearicd spirit, to find such flowers breathing their fragrance upon the evening of life, blossoming upon the downward path which leads to the cold grave, and giving beauty and freshness to the winter season.

“The rose is fragrant, but it fades in time;

The violet sweet, but quickly past its prime ;
White lilies hang their heads and soon decay,
And whiter snow in minutes melts away;
Such, and so withering, is our blooming youth.


The simile of the Persian poet here occurs to our

mind :

wer -MOORE

Youth, like a thin anemone, displays

Its silken leaves, and in a morn decays.'


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And still inore forcibly are we reminded of the Greek lines, of which the lines by Dryden would almost seem to be a translation, so closely are they followed :

"Fragrant the rose, but soon it fades away;

The violet's sweet, but quickly will decay;
The lily fair a transient beauty wears ;
And the white snow soon melts away in tears :
Such is the bloom of beuuty, cropt by time,
Full soon it fades, and withers in its prime."


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and then again we have the words of an old English
Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew,

Whose short refresh upon the tender green,
Cheers for a time but till the sun doth show,

And straight 'tis gone, as it had never been.
Soon does it fade that makes the fairest flourish,

Short is the glory of the blushing rose;
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish,
Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose."

DANIEL. Such is the morn of existence—the joyous period when we look into the blue distance with admiring eyes, and imagine that the world we are about to enter is a scene of enchantment, but this soon passes away ; and has the pride and the strength of manhood a firmer tenure of existence ? Oh, no! of the whole period of our earthly being we may well say :


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“What is life? like a flower, with the bane in its bosom,

To-day full of promise-to-morrow it dies !
And health--like the dew-drop that hangs in its blossom,

Survives but a night, and exhales to the skies ! -
How oft ’neath the bud that is brightest and fairest,

The seeds of the canker in embryo lurk !
How oft at the root of the flower that is rarest-
Secure in its ambush the worm is at work ?"


This allusion to the insidious spoiler which works destruction on that which shelters it, brings to memory the words of the Prince of Denmark:

Vtrtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes,

The canker galls the infants of the spring
Full oft before their buttons be disclosed."


This likening of life to a flower, has ever been a favourite metaphor with the poets. Take another very beautiful example :

“This life of ours is like a rose,

Which, whilst it beauties rare array,
Doth then enjoy the least repose;
When virgin-like, its blush we see,

Then is't of every hand the prey,

And by each wind is blown away;
Yea, though from violence 'scaped free,

Yet doth it languish and decay.

So, whilst the courage hottest boils,
And that our life seems best to be,

It is with danger compass'd still,
Of which, though none it chance to kill,
As nature fails, the body falls.”


As life then is so short, we should so live and labour that we may have pleasing remembrances to console and cheer us at its close; let us work earnestly and diligently, not only for our own good, but for that of our fellow-creatures :

“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. Mrs. JAMESON, in drawing a parallel between the characters of SCHILLER's Thekla, and SHAKSPERE'S Juliet, thus writes :-“ The timidity of Thekla in her first scene, her trembling silence in the commencement, and the few words she addresses to her mother, remind us of the unobtrusive simplicity of Juliet's first appearance; but the expression is different; the one is the shrinking violet, the other the unexpanded rosebud.” Again, of the love of Juliet, she says:-“In Juliet alone we find it exhibited under every variety of aspect, and every gradation of feeling, it could possibly assume in a delicate female heart: as we ser the rose, when passed through the colours of the prism, catch and reflect every tint of the divided ray, and still it is the same sweet rose.” The maiden here alluded to tells Romeo,

“This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath

May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet." And her father, lamenting over her, says,

"Death lies on her like an untimely frost

Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.” Poor maiden! to her may we well apply the words, which have immortalized Margaret, the heroine of the old bailad:

“Her bloom was like the springing flower,

That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budding in her cheek

Just opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker worm,

Consumed her early prime ;
The rose grew pale and left her cheek,

She died before her time.”-MALLET.

But to return to the authoress above quoted, who also beautifully observes, “ Juliet, like Portia, is the fosterchild of opulence and splendour ; she dwells in a fair city—she has been nurtured in a palace—she clasps her robe with jewels—she braids her hair with rainbowcoloured pearls; but in herself she has no more connection with the trappings around her, than the lovely exotic transplanted from some Eden-like climate, has with the carved and gilded conservatory which has reared and sheltered its luxuriant beauty.” Again, in her remarks upon the character of Miranda, in the Tempest, she gives us the following felicitous floral simile:

:-“Her bashfulness is less a quality than an instinct, it is like the self-folding of a flower, spontaneous and unconscious.” Of her charms we might aptly say, in the language of the old dramatists :

“What a sweet modesty dwells round about them,
And like a nipping morn pulls in their blossoms."

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. And with a poet of the present day repeat, as we reflected on her history ;

“ Withdrawn was she from passing eyes

By more than fortune's outward law
By bashful thoughts, like silent sighs,

By feeling's lone retiring awe

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