| A Hindoo Belle, by J. E. P., | [322] |
| A Spring Carol, by Mrs. A. A. Barnes, | [326] |
| Cottage Furniture, | [329] |
| Develour, by Professor Charles E. Blumenthal, | 51, 102, 182, 257, [323], 377 |
| Editors' Table, | 65, 134, 201, 266, [330], 391 |
| Editors' Book Table, | 66, 135, 202, 267, [332], 392 |
| Etruscan Lace Cuff, | [328] |
| Fashions, | 70, 140, 205, 270, [336], 396 |
| Flowers, by G. H. Cranmer, | [284] |
| Garden Decorations, | 251, [282], 372 |
| Good For Evil, by Angele de V. Hull, | 252, [285] |
| Home; or, the Cot and the Tree, by Robert Johnson, | [295] |
| Incidents in the Life of Audubon, by the author of "Tom Owens, the Bee Hunter," | [306] |
| Knitted Flowers, | 61, 199, 263, [328], 386 |
| Model Cottages, | 4, 126, [283] |
| Moral Courage, by Alice B. Neal, | [316], 367 |
| Publisher's Department, | 269, [334], 394 |
| Sonnet, by Mrs. L. S. Goodman, | [281] |
| Sonnets, by William Alexander, | 42, 75, 169, 215, [277], 390 |
| Spring, by Fanny Fales, | [292] |
| Spring—a Ballad, by Mary Spenser Pease, | [278] |
| Susan Clifton; or, the City and the Country, by Professor Alden, | 29, 93, 170, 246, [302], 360 |
| Taking Care of Number One, by T. S. Arthur, | [320] |
| The Judge; a Drama of American Life, by Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, | 21, 88, 154, 237, [298] |
| The Language of Flowers, by Jno. B. Duffey, | [277] |
| The Last of the Tie-Wigs, by Jared Austin, | [296] |
| The Tiny Glove—a May-Day Story, by Blanche, | [280] |
| The Young Enthusiasts, by Frank I. Wilson, | [309], 346 |
| To A. E. B., or Her who Understands it, by Adaliza Cutter, | [297] |
| Undersleeves and Caps, | [327] |
| Various Useful Receipts, | 69, 139, 205, 270, [335], 396 |
| Women of the Revolution, by Mrs. E. F. Ellet, | [293] |
| Ye Come to me in Dreams, by Nilla, | [279] |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
MAY.
| [May-Day Morning.] |
| [The Language of Flowers.] |
| [Spring.] |
| "[Now be Careful.]" |
| [Music], &c. |
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.
BY JNO. B. DUFFEY.
([See Plate.])
As, wandering forth at rosy dawn,
When sparkling dew-drops deck the lawn,
From glen and glade, and river-side,
We bring young flowers—the morning's pride.
And, bound in wreaths, or posies sweet,
With flowers our favored ones we greet;
For flowers a silent language own,
That makes our maiden wishes known.
A language that by love was wrought,
And by fond love to mortals taught;
A language, too, that lovers know,
Where, watched by love, sweet flowers may blow.
A language richer, purer far
Than all the tongue-born dialects are;
And, as the flowers, devoid of art,
It is the language of the heart.
Thoughts that would perish all untold
Live on the tongues that flowers enfold:
Thus will the Tulip's crimson shell
The love of stammering youth unveil.
And happy will that trembler be,
If she, with cheek of modesty,
Shall give his soft avowal room,
And twine it with the Myrtle's bloom.
But, should her heart feel not his glow,
The mottled Pink may answer "No;"
Yet Friendship, in an Ivy wreath,
A balm upon the wound will breathe.
The Morning-glory's dewy bell
In mystic tones of hope may tell—
Tell of a struggle in the breast,
Where, warring, love 'gainst love is pressed.
The Heartsease, flower of purple hue,
Seeks an affection ever true;
And, in the Bay-leaf's still reply,
Speaketh a love will never die.
The little Daisy grows for her
Who heedeth not the flatterer;
And spotless Lilies love the breast
Where child-like Innocence is pressed.
Young Beauty's symbol is the Rose
Whose blushing petals half unclose;
And in the snowy Violet
Sweet Modesty her home hath set.
And thus of feeling, every shade
May be through voiceless flowers conveyed;
And all the fond endearments known
To deep-felt love, thus greet love's own.
