_The Song of Solomon_.

* * * * *

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
Almighty, Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!

_Milton_.

* * * * *

Soft roll your incense, herbs and fruits and flowers,
In mingled clouds to HIM whose sun exalts
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.

_Thomson_.

A taste for floriculture is spreading amongst Anglo-Indians. It is a
good sign. It would be gratifying to learn that the same refining taste
had reached the Natives also--even the lower classes of them. It is a
cheap enjoyment. A mere palm of ground may be glorified by a few radiant
blossoms. A single clay jar of the rudest form may be so enriched and
beautified with leaves and blossoms as to fascinate the eye of taste. An
old basket, with a broken tile at the top of it, and the root of the
acanthus within, produced an effect which seemed to Calimachus, the
architect, "the work of the Graces." It suggested the idea of the
capital of the Corinthian column, the most elegant architectural
ornament that Art has yet conceived.