our belief of an external world. It may be remarked of these two classes of sensations, now considered, that they have a greater mutual resemblance, than our sensations of any other kind. It is only a _blind_ man who thinks, that what is called _scarlet_ is like the sound of a trumpet; but there are _tastes_ which we consider as like _smells_, in the same manner as we consider them to be like other tastes; and, if we had not acquired a distinct knowledge of the seats of our different organs, and had yet known that smells and tastes arose from external causes acting upon some one or other of these, we should probably have been greatly puzzled, in many cases, in our attempt to refer the particular sensation to its particular organ. In considering the advantages which we derive from our organs of _smell_ and _taste_, the mere pleasures which they directly afford, as a part of the general happiness of life, are to be regarded, from their frequent occurrence, as of no considerable amount. The fragrance of the fields enters largely into that obscure but delightful group of images, which rise in our minds on the mere names of _spring_, _summer_, the _country_, and seems to represent the very form of ethereal purity, as if it were the breath of heaven itself. If we imagine all the innumerable flowers which nature pours out, like a tribute of incense to the God who is adorning her, again to be stripped, in a single moment, of their odour, though they were to retain all their bright diversities of colouring, it would seem as if they were deprived of a spirit which animates them,--how cold and dead would they instantly become,--and how much should we lose of that vernal joy, which renders the season of blossoms almost a new life to ourselves. “In vain the golden Morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing; With vermeil cheek and whisper soft She woos the tardy Spring; Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground,”[75] It is by this delightful quality that the tribes of vegetable life seem to hold a sort of social and spiritual communion with us. It is, as it were, the voice with which they address us, and a voice which speaks only of happiness. To him who walks among the flowers which he has tended, “Each odoriferous leaf, Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.”