In this way came sea lavender in full bloom, crimson
monkey plant from the London window-box, and cuttings of
mesembryanthemum. They are all alive and thriving!
The bottle gourd and the annuals have had their day, and it is over;
but in the most unexpected places there still rise, like ghosts,
certain plants which completely puzzle me.[4] They have not blossomed,
but they grow on in spite of frost. Some of them are nearly as tall as
myself. They almost alarm me when I am dividing violas, and trifling
with alpines. They stand over me (without sticks) and seem to say, "We
are up, you see where we are! We shall grow as long as we think it
desirable."
Farewell for the present, Little Friend,
Yours, &c.
[Footnote 4: When fully grown these plants proved to be the
Tree-Mallow, _Lavatera arborea_; the seeds were gathered from
specimens on the shores of the Mediterranean.]
LETTER IV.
"When Candlemas Day is come and gone,
The snow lies on a hot stone."--_Old Saw_.
DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,
Among all the changes and chances of human life which go to make up
fiction as well as fact, there is one change which has never chanced
to any man; and yet the idea has been found so fascinating by all men
that it appears in the literature of every country. Most other fancied
transformations are recorded as facts somewhere in the history of our
race.
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