Mr. Hunt was also a prose writer; and he wrote prose, to say the least, as well as he wrote poetry. His sketches and essays, which have appeared from time to time, and been collected under the names of "The Indicator and Companion" and "The Seer," are delightful compositions; full of genial feeling, graceful fancy, and an inextinguishable spirit of youth. He was also an admirable critic of poetry. His “Imagination and Fancy,” and "Wit and Humor,"-consisting of poetical extracts illustrating these qualities, with critical notices, —are written with earnest feeling, and a lively and discriminating sense of the merits of the authors he discusses. They have been republished in this country, and are commended to all who wish to acquire a good taste in poetical literature.] It is very WHY does not every one, who can afford it, have a geranium in his window, or some other flower? cheap; its cheapness is next to nothing, if you raise it from seed, or from a slip; and it is a beauty and a com5 panion. It sweetens the air, rejoices the eye, links you with nature and innocence, and is something to love. And if it cannot love you in return, it cannot hate you; it cannot utter a hateful thing even for your neglecting it; for, though it is all beauty, it has no vanity; and such being 10 the case, and living as it does purely to do you good and afford pleasure, how will you be able to neglect it? But, pray, if you choose a geranium, or possess but a few of them, let us persuade you to choose the scarlet kind, the old original" geranium, and not a variety of 15 it, not one of the numerous diversities of red and white, blue and white, or ivy-leaved. Those are all beautiful, and very fit to vary a large collection; but to prefer them to the originals of the race is to run the hazard of preferring the curious to the beautiful, and costliness to sound 20 taste. It may be taken as a good general rule, that the most popular plants are the best; for otherwise they would not have become such. And what the painters call "pure colors" are preferable to mixed ones, for reasons which 25 Nature herself has given when she painted the sky of one color, and the fields of another, and divided the rainbow itself into a few distinct colors, and made the red rose the queen of flowers. Variations in flowers are like variations in music, often beautiful as such, but almost always inferior to the theme on which they are founded the original air. And the rule holds good in beds of flowers, if they be not very large, or in any other small assemblage of them. Nay, the largest bed will look well, if of one beautiful color, while the most beautiful varieties may be inharmoniously mixed up. Contrast is a good thing, but we must observe the laws of harmonious contrast, and unless we have space O enough to secure these, it is better to be content with unity and simplicity, which are always to be had. We do not, in general, love and honor any one single color enough, and we are instinctively struck with a conviction to this effect, when we see it abundantly set forth. 45 The other day we saw a little garden wall completely cov ered with nasturtiums, and felt how much more beautiful they were than if anything had been mixed with them; for the leaves and the light and shade offer variety enough. The rest is all richness and simplicity united, which is the 20 triumph of an intense perception. Embower a cottage thickly and completely with nothing but roses, and nobody would desire the interference of another plant. Everything is handsome about the geranium, not excepting its name; which cannot be said of all flowers, 25 though we get to love ugly words when associated with pleasing ideas. The word "geranium" is soft and pleasant; the meaning is poor, for it comes from a Greek word which signifies a crane, the fruit having the form of a crane's head or bill. Cranesbill is the English name for 30 geranium, though the learned appellation has superseded the vernacular. But what a reason for naming a flower! as if the fruit were anything in comparison, or any one cared about it. Such distinctions, it is true, are useful to botanists; but as a plenty of learned names are sure to be 35 reserved for the freemasonry of the science, it would be well for the world at large to invent joyous and beautiful names for these images of joy and beauty. In some instances we have them; such as heartsease, honeysuckle, marigold, mignonette (little darling), daisy (day's eye) And many flowers are so lovely, and have associated names, 5 otherwise unmeaning, so pleasantly with one's memory, that no new ones would sound so well, or seem even to have such proper significations. In pronouncing the words lilies, roses, tulips, pinks, jonquils, we see the things themselves, and seem to taste 10 all their beauty and sweetness. Pink is a harsh, petty word in itself, and yet assuredly it does not seem so; for in the word we have the flower. It would be difficult to persuade ourselves that the word rose is not very beautiful. Pea is a poor, Chinese-like monosyllable; and brief 15 is rough and fierce, as it ought to be; but when we think of sweet-pea and sweet-brier, the words appear quite worthy of their epithets. The poor monosyllable becomes rich in sweetness and appropriation; the rough dissyllable also; and the sweeter for its contrast. 20 The names of flowers, in general, among the polite, are neither pretty in themselves, nor give us information. The country people are apt to do them more justice. Goldylocks, ladies'-fingers, rose-a-ruby, shepherd's-clock, shepherd's-purse, sauce-alone, scarlet-runners, sops-in-wine, 25 sweet-william, and many other names, give us some ideas, either useful or pleasant. But from the peasantry come many uncongenial names, as bad as those of the botanist. It is a pity that all fruits and flowers, and animals too, except those with good names, could not be passed in 30 review before somebody with a genius for christening, as the creatures were before Adam in paradise, and so have new names given them, worthy of their creation. Suppose flowers themselves were new! Suppose they had just come into the world, a sweet reward for some 35 new goodness, and that we had not yet seen them quite developed; that they were in the act of growing; had just issued, with their green stalks, out of the ground, and engaged the attention of the curious. Imagine what we should feel when we saw the first lateral stem bearing off from the main one, or putting forth a leaf. How we 5 should watch the leaf gradually unfolding its little graceful hand; then another, then another; then the main stalk rising and producing more; then one of them giving indications of astonishing novelty-a bud! then this mysterious bud gradually unfolding, like the leaf, amaz10 ing us, enchanting us, almost alarming us with delight, as if we knew not what enchantment were to ensue, till at length, in all its fairy beauty, and odorous voluptuousness, and mysterious elaboration of tender and living sculpture, shone forth 15 "The bright, consummate flower!" Yet this phenomenon, to a person of any thought and lovingness, is what may be said to take place every day; for the commonest objects are wonders at which habit has made us cease to wonder, and the marvellousness of which we may renew at pleasure, by taking thought. [JAMES MONTGOMERY was born at Irvine, in Scotland, November 4, 1771, and died in 1854. For the greater part of his life he resided at Sheffield, England, and was editor of a newspaper published there. He wrote a number of poems- some of considerable length. Among them are "The Wanderer in Switzerland," "The World before the Flood," "The West Indies," "The Pelican Island,” and “Greenland," besides many miscellaneous pieces. His poetry is distinguished for its purity of feeling, and its gentle, sympathetic spirit. His longer poems contain many noble descriptive passages, but he has not strength of wing for a protracted flight. His genius is essentially lyric, and many of his fugitive pieces are beautiful alike in sentiment and style. The following extract is from "The West Indies," a poem written in honor of the abolition of the African slave-trade, by the British legislature, in 1807.] THERE is a land, of every land the pride, "Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?” a patriot? - look around! O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, |