"We nowhere art do so triumphant see, As when it grafts or buds a tree; In other things we count it to excel If it a docile scholar can appear To nature, and but imitates her well: It overrules and is her master here: It imitates her Maker's power divine, And changes her sometimes, and sometimes does refine; It does like grace, the fallen tree restore To its blest state of Paradise before; Who would not joy to see his conquering hand O'er all the vegetable world command, And the wild giants of the wood, receive What laws he's pleased to give? He bids the ill-natured crab produce The gentle apple's winy juice, The golden fruit that worthy is Of Galatea's purple kiss; He does the savage hawthorn teach To bear the medlar and the pear; He bids the rustic plum to rear A noble trunk and be a peach; Even Daphne's coyness he does mock, And weds the cherry to her stock, Though she refused Apollo's suit, Even she, that chaste and virgin tree, Now wonders at herself to see That she's a mother made, and blushes in her fruit." V.--SWEET HERBS. "Thick growing thyme, and roses wet with dew, Are sacred to the sisterhood divine." As orchards to man, so are flowers and herbs to women. Indeed the garden appears celibate, as does the house, without womanly hands to plant and care for it. Here she is in place,--suggests lovely images of her personal accomplishments, as if civility were first conceived in such cares, and retired unwillingly, even to houses and chambers; something being taken from their elegancy and her nobleness by an undue absorption of her thoughts in household affairs. But there is a fitness in her association with flowers and sweet herbs, as with social hospitalities, showing her affinities with the magical and medical, as if she were the plant All-Heal, and mother of comforts and spices. Once the herb garden was a necessary part of every homestead; every country house had one well stocked, and there was a matron inside skilled in their secret virtues, having the knowledge of how her "Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they Have their acquaintance there," her memory running back to the old country from whence they first came, and of which they retained the fragrance. Are not their names refreshing? with the superstitions concerning the sign under which they were to be gathered, the quaint spellings;--mint, roses, fennel, coriander, sweet-cicely, celandine, summer savory, smellage, rosemary, dill, caraway, lavender, tanzy, thyme, balm, myrrh; these and many more, and all good for many an ail; sage, too, sovereign sage, best of all--excellent for longevity--of which to-day's stock seems running low,--for "Why should man die? so doth the sentence say, When sage grows in his garden day by day?"