many disappointments, such as the loss of friends, the notes of birds cease to affect us as they did.
Feb. 6, 1841. One may discover a new side to his most intimate friend when for the first time he hears him *speak in public. He will be strange to him as he is more familiar to the audience. The longest intimacy could not foretell how he would behave then. When I observe my friend's conduct toward others, then chiefly I learn the traits in his character, and in each case I am unprepared for the issue. . . . How little do we know each other. Who can tell how his friend would behave on any occasion. . . .
What I am must make you forget what I wear. The fashionable world is content to be eclipsed by its dress, and never will bear the contrast. . . .
Lu ral lu ral lu—may be more impressively sung than very respectable wisdom talked. It is well timed, as wisdom is not always.
Feb. 6, 1852. . . . The artificial system has been very properly called the dictionary, and the natural method, the grammar of the science of botany, by botanists themselves. But are we to have nothing but grammars and dictionaries of this literature? Are there no works written in the language of flowers? I asked a learned and accurate naturalist, who is at the same time the courteous guardian of a public library, to
