Thomson.

THE SUN-FLOWER (Helianthus) was once the fair nymph Clytia. Broken-hearted at the falsehood of her lover, Apollo, (who has so many similar sins to answer for) she pined away and died. When it was too late Apollo's heart relented, and in honor of true affection he changed poor Clytia into a Sun-flower.[073] It is sometimes called Tourne-sol—a word that signifies turning to the sun. Thomas Moore helps to keep the old story in remembrance by the concluding couplet of one of his sweetest ballads.

Oh! the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to its close As the sun flower turns on her god when he sets The same look that she turned when he rose

But Moore has here poetized a vulgar error. Most plants naturally turn towards the light, but the sun-flower (in spite of its name) is perhaps less apt to turn itself towards Apollo than the majority of other flowers for it has a stiff stem and a number of heavy heads. At all events it does not change its attitude in the course of the day. The flower-disk that faces the morning sun has it back to it in the evening.

Gerard calls the sun-flower "The Flower of the Sun or the Marigold of Peru". Speaking of it in the year 1596 he tells us that he had some in his own garden in Holborn that had grown to the height of fourteen feet.

THE WALL-FLOWER

The weed is green, when grey the wall, And blossoms rise where turrets fall

Herrick gives us a pretty version of the story of the WALL-FLOWER, (cheiranthus cheiri)("the yellow wall-flower stained with iron brown")

Why this flower is now called so List sweet maids and you shall know Understand this firstling was Once a brisk and bonny lass Kept as close as Danae was Who a sprightly springal loved, And to have it fully proved, Up she got upon a wall Tempting down to slide withal, But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and bruised and died Love in pity of the deed And her loving, luckless speed, Turned her to the plant we call Now, 'The Flower of the Wall'

The wall-flower is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, because it attaches itself to fallen towers and gives a grace to ruin. David Moir (the Delta of Blackwood's Magazine) has a poem on this flower. I must give one stanza of it.

In the season of the tulip cup When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up And scent thee on the breeze; The butterfly is then abroad, The bee is on the wing, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing.

Lord Bacon observes that wall-flowers are very delightful when set under the parlour window or a lower chamber window. They are delightful, I think, any where.

THE JESSAMINE.

The Jessamine, with which the Queen of flowers, To charm her god[074] adorns his favorite bowers, Which brides, by the plain hand of neatness dressed— Unenvied rivals!—wear upon their breast; Sweet as the incense of the morn, and chaste As the pure zone which circles Dian's waist.

Churchill.

The elegant and fragrant JESSAMINE, or Jasmine, (Jasmimum Officinale) with its "bright profusion of scattered stars," is said to have passed from East to West. It was originally a native of Hindustan, but it is now to be found in every clime, and is a favorite in all. There are many varieties of it in Europe. In Italy it is woven into bridal wreaths and is used on all festive occasions. There is a proverbial saying there, that she who is worthy of being decorated with jessamine is rich enough for any husband. Its first introduction into that sunny land is thus told. A certain Duke of Tuscany, the first possessor of a plant of this tribe, wished to preserve it as an unique, and forbade his gardener to give away a single sprig of it. But the gardener was a more faithful lover than servant and was more willing to please a young mistress than an old master. He presented the young girl with a branch of jessamine on her birth-day. She planted it in the ground; it took root, and grew and blossomed. She multiplied the plant by cuttings, and by the sale of these realized a little fortune, which her lover received as her marriage dowry.

In England the bride wears a coronet of intermingled orange blossom and jessamine. Orange flowers indicate chastity, and the jessamine, elegance and grace.

THE ROSE.

For here the rose expands Her paradise of leaves.

Southey.

The ROSE, (Rosa) the Queen of Flowers, was given by Cupid to Harpocrates, the God of Silence, as a bribe, to prevent him from betraying the amours of Venus. A rose suspended from the ceiling intimates that all is strictly confidential that passes under it. Hence the phrase—under the Rose[075].

The rose was raised by Flora from the remains of a favorite nymph. Venus and the Graces assisted in the transformation of the nymph into a flower. Bacchus supplied streams of nectar to its root, and Vertumnus showered his choicest perfumes on its head.

The loves of the Nightingale and the Rose have been celebrated by the Muses of many lands. An Eastern poet says "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the Nightingale; yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved Rose."

The Turks say that the rose owes its origin to a drop of perspiration that fell from the person of their prophet Mahommed.

The classical legend runs that the rose was at first of a pure white, but a rose-thorn piercing the foot of Venus when she was hastening to protect Adonis from the rage of Mars, her blood dyed the flower. Spenser alludes to this legend:

White as the native rose, before the change Which Venus' blood did on her leaves impress.

Spenser.

Milton says that in Paradise were,

Flowers of all hue, and without thorns the rose.

According to Zoroaster there was no thorn on the rose until Ahriman (the Evil One) entered the world.

Here is Dr. Hooker's account of the origin of the red rose.

To sinless Eve's admiring sight The rose expanded snowy white, When in the ecstacy of bliss She gave the modest flower a kiss, And instantaneous, lo! it drew From her red lip its blushing hue; While from her breath it sweetness found, And spread new fragrance all around.

This reminds me of a passage in Mrs. Barrett Browning's Drama of Exile in which she makes Eve say—

—For was I not At that last sunset seen in Paradise, When all the westering clouds flashed out in throngs Of sudden angel-faces, face by face, All hushed and solemn, as a thought of God Held them suspended,—was I not, that hour The lady of the world, princess of life, Mistress of feast and favour? Could I touch A Rose with my white hand, but it became Redder at once?

Another poet. (Mr. C. Cooke) tells us that a species of red rose with all her blushing honors full upon her, taking pity on a very pale maiden, changed complexions with the invalid and became herself as white as snow.

Byron expressed a wish that all woman-kind had but one rosy mouth, that he might kiss all woman-kind at once. This, as some one has rightly observed, is better than Caligula's wish that all mankind had but one head that he might cut it off at a single blow.

Leigh Hunt has a pleasant line about the rose:

And what a red mouth hath the rose, the woman of the flowers!

In the Malay language the same word signifies flowers and women.

Human beauty and the rose are ever suggesting images of each other to the imagination of the poets. Shakespeare has a beautiful description of the two little princes sleeping together in the Tower of London.

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk That in their summer beauty kissed each other.

William Browne (our Devonshire Pastoral Poet) has a rosy description of a kiss:—

To her Amyntas Came and saluted; never man before More blest, nor like this kiss hath been another But when two dangling cherries kist each other; Nor ever beauties, like, met at such closes, But in the kisses of two damask roses.

Here is something in the same spirit from Crashaw.

So have I seen Two silken sister-flowers consult and lay Their bashful cheeks together; newly they Peeped from their buds, showed like the garden's eyes Scarce waked, like was the crimson of their joys, Like were the tears they wept, so like that one Seemed but the other's kind reflection.

Loudon says that there is a rose called the York and Lancaster which when, it comes true has one half of the flower red and the other half white. It was named in commemoration of the two houses at the marriage of Henry VII. of Lancaster with Elizabeth of York.

Anacreon devotes one of his longest and best odes to the laudation of the Rose. Such innumerable translations have been made of it that it is now too well known for quotation in this place. Thomas Moore in his version of the ode gives in a foot-note the following translation of a fragment of the Lesbian poetess.

If Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers The Rose would be the choice of Jove, And blush the queen of every grove Sweetest child of weeping morning, Gem the vest of earth adorning, Eye of gardens, light of lawns, Nursling of soft summer dawns June's own earliest sigh it breathes, Beauty's brow with lustre wreathes, And to young Zephyr's warm caresses Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, Till blushing with the wanton's play Its cheeks wear e'en a redder ray.

From the idea of excellence attached to this Queen of Flowers arose, as Thomas Moore observes, the pretty proverbial expression used by Aristophanes—you have spoken roses, a phrase adds the English poet, somewhat similar to the dire des fleurettes of the French.

The Festival of the Rose is still kept up in many villages of France and Switzerland. On a certain day of every year the young unmarried women assemble and undergo a solemn trial before competent judges, the most virtuous and industrious girl obtains a crown of roses. In the valley of Engandine, in Switzerland, a man accused of a crime but proved to be not guilty, is publicly presented by a young maiden with a white rose called the Rose of Innocence.

Of the truly elegant Moss Rose I need say nothing myself; it has been so amply honored by far happier pens than mine. Here is a very ingenious and graceful story of its origin. The lines are from the German.

THE MOSS ROSE

The Angel of the Flowers one day, Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay, The spirit to whom charge is given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven, Awaking from his light repose The Angel whispered to the Rose "O fondest object of my care Still fairest found where all is fair, For the sweet shade thou givest to me Ask what thou wilt 'tis granted thee" "Then" said the Rose, "with deepened glow On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused in silent thought What grace was there the flower had not? 'Twas but a moment—o'er the rose A veil of moss the Angel throws, And robed in Nature's simple weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed?

Madame de Genlis tells us that during her first visit to England she saw a moss-rose for the first time in her life, and that when she took it back to Paris it gave great delight to her fellow-citizens, who said it was the first that had ever been seen in that city. Madame de Latour says that Madame de Genlis was mistaken, for the moss-rose came originally from Provence and had been known to the French for ages.

The French are said to have cultivated the Rose with extraordinary care and success. It was the favorite flower of the Empress Josephine, who caused her own name to be traced in the parterres at Malmaison with a plantation of the rarest roses. In the royal rosary at Versailles there are standards eighteen feet high grafted with twenty different varieties of the rose.

With the Romans it was no metaphor but an allusion to a literal fact when they talked of sleeping upon beds of roses. Cicero in his third oration against Verres, when charging the proconsul with luxurious habits, stated that he had made the tour of Sicily seated upon roses. And Seneca says, of course jestingly, that a Sybarite of the name of Smyrndiride was unable to sleep if one of the rose-petals on his bed happened to be curled! At a feast which Cleopatra gave to Marc Antony the floor of the hall was covered with fresh roses to the depth of eighteen inches. At a fete given by Nero at Baiae the sum of four millions of sesterces or about 20,000l. was incurred for roses. The Natives of India are fond of the rose, and are lavish in their expenditure at great festivals, but I suppose that no millionaire amongst them ever spent such an amount of money as this upon flowers alone.[076]

I shall close the poetical quotations on the Rose with one of Shakespeare's sonnets.

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet Roses do not so; Of then sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth.

There are many hundred acres of rose trees at Ghazeepore which are cultivated for distillation, and making "attar." There are large fields of roses in England also, for the manufacture of rose-water.

There is a story about the origin of attar of Roses. The Princess Nourmahal caused a large tank, on which she used to be rowed about with the great Mogul, to be filled with rose-water. The heat of the sun separating the water from the essential oil of the rose, the latter was observed to be floating on the surface. The discovery was immediately turned to good account. At Ghazeepoor, the essence, atta or uttar or otto, or whatever it should be called, is obtained with great simplicity and ease. After the rose water is prepared it is put into large open vessels which are left out at night. Early in the morning the oil that floats upon the surface is skimmed off, or sucked up with fine dry cotton wool, put into bottles, and carefully sealed. Bishop Heber says that to produce one rupee's weight of atta 200,000 well grown roses are required, and that a rupee's weight sells from 80 to 100 rupees. The atta sold in Calcutta is commonly adulterated with the oil of sandal wood.

LINNAEA BOREALIS

The LINNAEA BOREALIS, or two horned Linnaea, though a simple Lapland flower, is interesting to all botanists from its association with the name of the Swedish Sage. It has pretty little bells and is very fragrant. It is a wild, unobtrusive plant and is very averse to the trim lawn and the gay flower-border. This little woodland beauty pines away under too much notice. She prefers neglect, and would rather waste her sweetness on the desert air, than be introduced into the fashionable lists of Florist's flowers. She shrinks from exposure to the sun. A gentleman after walking with Linnaeus on the shores of the lake near Charlottendal on a lovely evening, writes thus "I gathered a small flower and asked if it was the Linnaea borealis. 'Nay,' said the philosopher, 'she lives not here, but in the middle of our largest woods. She clings with her little arms to the moss, and seems to resist very gently if you force her from it. She has a complexion like a milkmaid, and ah! she is very, very sweet and agreeable!"

THE FORGET-ME-NOT

The dear little FORGET-ME-NOT, (myosotis palustris)[077] with its eye of blue, is said to have derived its touching appellation from a sentimental German story. Two lovers were walking on the bank of a rapid stream. The lady beheld the flower growing on a little island, and expressed a passionate desire to possess it. He gallantly plunged into the stream and obtained the flower, but exhausted by the force of the tide, he had only sufficient strength left as he neared the shore to fling the flower at the fair one's feet, and exclaim "Forget-me-not!" (Vergiss-mein-nicht.) He was then carried away by the stream, out of her sight for ever.

THE PERIWINKLE.

The PERIWINKLE (vinca or pervinca) has had its due share of poetical distinction. In France the common people call it the Witch's violet. It seems to have suggested to Wordsworth an idea of the consciousness of flowers.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The Periwinkle trailed its wreaths, And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

Mr. J.L. Merritt, has some complimentary lines on this flower.

The Periwinkle with its fan-like leaves All nicely levelled, is a lovely flower Whose dark wreath, myrtle like, young Flora weaves; There's none more rare Nor aught more meet to deck a fairy's bower Or grace her hair.

The little blue Periwinkle is rendered especially interesting to the admirers of the genius of Rousseau by an anecdote that records his emotion on meeting it in one of his botanical excursions. He had seen it thirty years before in company with Madame de Warens. On meeting its sweet face again, after so long and eventful an interim, he fell upon his knees, crying out—Ah! voila de la pervanche! "It struck him," says Hazlitt, "as the same little identical flower that he remembered so well; and thirty years of sorrow and bitter regret were effaced from his memory."

The Periwinkle was once supposed to be a cure for many diseases. Lord Bacon says that in his time people afflicted with cramp wore bands of green periwinkle tied about their limbs. It had also its supposed moral influences. According to Culpepper the leaves of the flower if eaten by man and wife together would revive between them a lost affection.

THE BASIL.

Sweet marjoram, with her like, sweet basil, rare for smell.

Drayton.

The BASIL is a plant rendered poetical by the genius which has handled it. Boccaccio and Keats have made the name of the sweet basil sound pleasantly in the ears of many people who know nothing of botany. A species of this plant (known in Europe under the botanical name of Ocymum villosum, and in India as the Toolsee) is held sacred by the Hindus. Toolsee was a disciple of Vishnu. Desiring to be his wife she excited the jealousy of Lukshmee by whom she was transformed into the herb named after her.[078]

THE TULIP.

Tulips, like the ruddy evening streaked.

Southey.

The TULIP (tulipa) is the glory of the garden, as far as color without fragrance can confer such distinction. Some suppose it to be 'The Lily of the Field' alluded to in the Sermon on the Mount. It grows wild in Syria.

The name of the tulip is said to be of Turkish origin. It was called Tulipa from its resemblance to the tulipan or turban.

What crouds the rich Divan to-day With turbaned heads, of every hue Bowing before that veiled and awful face Like Tulip-beds of different shapes and dyes, Bending beneath the invisible west wind's sighs?

Moore.

The reader has probably heard of the Tulipomania once carried to so great an excess in Holland.

With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart, At a vast price, with one loved root to part.

Crabbe.

About the middle of the 17th century the city of Haarlem realized in three years ten millions sterling by the sale of tulips. A single tulip (the Semper Augustus) was sold for one thousand pounds. Twelve acres of land were given for a single root and engagements to the amount of L5,000 were made for a first-class tulip when the mania was at its height. A gentleman, who possessed a tulip of great value, hearing that some one was in possession of a second root of the same kind, eagerly secured it at a most extravagant price. The moment he got possession of it, he crushed it under his foot. "Now," he exclaimed, "my tulip is unique!"

A Dutch Merchant gave a sailor a herring for his breakfast. Jack seeing on the Merchant's counter what he supposed to be a heap of onions, took up a handful of them and ate them with his fish. The supposed onions were tulip bulbs of such value that they would have paid the cost of a thousand Royal feasts.[079]

The tulip mania never leached so extravagant a height in England as in Holland, but our country did not quite escape the contagion, and even so late as the year 1836 at the sale of Mr. Clarke's tulips at Croydon, seventy two pounds were given for a single bulb of the Fanny Kemble; and a Florist in Chelsea in the same year, priced a bulb in his catalogue at 200 guineas.

The Tulip is not endeared to us by many poetical associations. We have read, however, one pretty and romantic tale about it. A poor old woman who lived amongst the wild hills of Dartmoor, in Devonshire, possessed a beautiful bed of Tulips, the pride of her small garden. One fine moonlight night her attention was arrested by the sweet music which seemed to issue from a thousand Liliputian choristers. She found that the sounds proceeded from her many colored bells of Tulips. After watching the flowers intently she perceived that they were not swayed to and fro by the wind, but by innumerable little beings that were climbing on the stems and leaves. They were pixies. Each held in its arms an elfin baby tinier than itself. She saw the babies laid in the bells of the plant, which were thus used as cradles, and the music was formed of many lullabies. When the babies were asleep the pixies or fairies left them, and gamboled on the neighbouring sward on which the old lady discovered the day after, several new green rings,—a certain evidence that her fancy had not deceived her! At earliest dawn the fairies had returned to the tulips and taken away their little ones. The good old woman never permitted her tulip bed to be disturbed. She regarded it as holy ground. But when she died, some Utilitarian gardener turned it into a parsley bed! The parsley never flourished. The ground was now cursed. In gratitude to the memory of the benevolent dame who had watched and protected the floral nursery, every month, on the night before the full moon, the fairies scattered flowers on her grave, and raised a sweet musical dirge—heard only by poetic ears—or by maids and children who

Hold each strange tale devoutly true.

For as the poet says:

What though no credit doubting wits may give, The fair and innocent shall still believe.

Men of genius are often as trustful as maids and children. Collins, himself a lover of the wonderful, thus speaks of Tasso:—

Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders that he sung.

All nature indeed is full of mystery to the imaginative.

And visions as poetic eyes avow Hang on each leaf and cling to every bough.

The Hindoos believe that the Peepul tree of which the foliage trembles like that of the aspen, has a spirit in every leaf.

"Did you ever see a fairy's funeral, Madam?" said Blake, the artist. "Never Sir." "I have," continued that eccentric genius, "One night I was walking alone in my garden. There was great stillness amongst the branches and flowers and more than common sweetness in the air. I heard a low and pleasant sound, and knew not whence it came: at last I perceived the broad leaf of a flower move, and underneath I saw a procession of creatures the size and color of green and gray grasshoppers, bearing a body laid out on a rose leaf, which they buried with song, and then disappeared."

THE PINK.

The PINK (dianthus) is a very elegant flower. I have but a short story about it. The young Duke of Burgundy, grandson of Louis the Fifteenth, was brought up in the midst of flatterers as fulsome as those rebuked by Canute. The youthful prince was fond of cultivating pinks, and one of his courtiers, by substituting a floral changeling, persuaded him that one of those pinks planted by the royal hand had sprung up into bloom in a single night! One night, being unable to sleep, he wished to rise, but was told that it was midnight; he replied "Well then, I desire it to be morning."

The pink is one of the commonest of the flowers in English gardens. It is a great favorite all over Europe. The botanists have enumerated about 400 varieties of it.

THE PANSY OR HEARTS-EASE.

The PANSY (viola tricolor) commonly called Hearts-ease, or Love-in-idleness, or Herb-Trinity (Flos Trinitarium), or Three-faces-under-a-hood, or Kit-run-about, is one of the richest and loveliest of flowers.

The late Mrs. Siddons, the great actress, was so fond of this flower that she thought she could never have enough of it. Besides round beds of it she used it as an edging to all the flower borders in her garden. She liked to plant a favorite flower in large masses of beauty. But such beauty must soon fatigue the eye with its sameness. A round bed of one sort of flowers only is like a nosegay composed of one sort of flowers or of flowers of the same hue. She was also particularly fond of evergreens because they gave her garden a pleasant aspect even in the winter.

"Do you hear him?"—(John Bunyan makes the guide enquire of Christiana while a shepherd boy is singing beside his sheep)—"I will dare to say this boy leads a merrier life, and wears more of the herb called hearts-ease in his bosom, than he that is clothed in silk and purple."

Shakespeare has connected this flower with a compliment to the maiden Queen of England.

That very time I saw (but thou couldst not) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed, a certain aim he took At a fair Vestal, throned by the west; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon— And the imperial votaress passed on In maiden meditation fancy free, Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell upon a little western flowers, Before milk white, now purple with love's wound— And maidens call it LOVE IN IDLENESS Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once, The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb and be thou here again, Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

The hearts-ease has been cultivated with great care and success by some of the most zealous flower-fanciers amongst our countrymen in India. But it is a delicate plant in this clime, and requires most assiduous attention, and a close study of its habits. It always withers here under ordinary hands.

THE MIGNONETTE.

The MIGNONETTE, (reseda odorato,) the Frenchman's little darling, was not introduced into England until the middle of the 17th century. The Mignonette or Sweet Reseda was once supposed capable of assuaging pain, and of ridding men of many of the ills that flesh is heir to. It was applied with an incantation. This flower has found a place in the armorial bearings of an illustrious family of Saxony. I must tell the story: The Count of Walsthim loved the fair and sprightly Amelia de Nordbourg. She was a spoilt child and a coquette. She had an humble companion whose christian name was Charlotte. One evening at a party, all the ladies were called upon to choose a flower each, and the gentlemen were to make verses on the selections. Amelia fixed upon the flaunting rose, Charlotte the modest mignonette. In the course of the evening Amelia coquetted so desperately with a dashing Colonel that the Count could not suppress his vexation. On this he wrote a verse for the Rose:

Elle ne vit qu'un jour, et ne plait qu'un moment. (She lives but for a day and pleases but for a moment)

He then presented the following line on the Mignonette to the gentle Charlotte:

"Ses qualities surpassent ses charmes."

The Count transferred his affections to Charlotte, and when he married her, added a branch of the Sweet Reseda to the ancient arms of his family, with the motto of

Your qualities surpass your charms.

VERVAIN.

The vervain— That hind'reth witches of their will.

Drayton

VERVAIN (verbena) was called by the Greeks the sacred herb. It was used to brush their altars. It was supposed to keep off evil spirits. It was also used in the religious ceremonies of the Druids and is still held sacred by the Persian Magi. The latter lay branches of it on the altar of the sun.

The ancients had their Verbenalia when the temples were strewed with vervain, and no incantation or lustration was deemed perfect without the aid of this plant. It was supposed to cure the bite of a serpent or a mad dog.

THE DAISY.

The DAISY or day's eye (bellis perennis) has been the darling of the British poets from Chaucer to Shelley. It is not, however, the darling of poets only, but of princes and peasants. And it is not man's favorite only, but, as Wordsworth says, Nature's favorite also. Yet it is "the simplest flower that blows." Its seed is broadcast on the land. It is the most familiar of flowers. It sprinkles every field and lane in the country with its little mimic stars. Wordsworth pays it a beautiful compliment in saying that

Oft alone in nooks remote We meet it like a pleasant thought When such is wanted.

But though this poet dearly loved the daisy, in some moods of mind he seems to have loved the little celandine (common pilewort) even better. He has addressed two poems to this humble little flower. One begins with the following stanza.

Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.

No flower is too lowly for the affections of Wordsworth. Hazlitt says, "the daisy looks up to Wordsworth with sparkling eye as an old acquaintance; a withered thorn is weighed down with a heap of recollections; and even the lichens on the rocks have a life and being in his thoughts."

The Lesser Celandine, is an inodorous plant, but as Wordsworth possessed not the sense of smell, to him a deficiency of fragrance in a flower formed no objection to it. Miss Martineau alludes to a newspaper report that on one occasion the poet suddenly found himself capable of enjoying the fragrance of a flower, and gave way to an emotion of tumultuous rapture. But I have seen this contradicted. Miss Martineau herself has generally no sense of smell, but we have her own testimony to the fact that a brief enjoyment of the faculty once actually occurred to her. In her case there was a simultaneous awakening of two dormant faculties—the sense of smell and the sense of taste. Once and once only, she enjoyed the scent of a bottle of Eau de Cologne and the taste of meat. The two senses died away again almost in their birth.

Shelley calls Daisies "those pearled Arcturi of the earth"—"the constellated flower that never sets."

The Father of English poets does high honor to this star of the meadow in the "Prologue to the Legend of Goode Women."

He tells us that in the merry month of May he was wont to quit even his beloved books to look upon the fresh morning daisy.

Of all the floures in the mede Then love I most these floures white and red, Such that men callen Daisies in our town, To them I have so great affection. As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie, That in my bedde there dawneth me no daie That I nam up and walking in the mede To see this floure agenst the Sunne sprede, When it up riseth early by the morrow That blisfull sight softeneth all my sorrow.

Chaucer.

The poet then goes on with his hearty laudation of this lilliputian luminary of the fields, and hesitates not to describe it as "of all floures the floure." The famous Scottish Peasant loved it just as truly, and did it equal honor. Who that has once read, can ever forget his harmonious and pathetic address to a mountain daisy on turning it up with the plough? I must give the poem a place here, though it must be familiar to every reader. But we can read it again and again, just as we can look day after day with undiminished interest upon the flower that it commemorates.

Mrs. Stowe (the American writer) observes that "the daisy with its wide plaited ruff and yellow centre is not our (that is, an American's) flower. The English flower is the

Wee, modest, crimson tipped flower

which Burns celebrated. It is what we (in America) raise in green-houses and call the Mountain Daisy. Its effect, growing profusely about fields and grass-plats, is very beautiful."

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY.

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786

Wee, modest, crimson tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour, For I maun[080] crush amang the stoure[081] Thy slender stem, To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem.

Alas! its no thy neobor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet[082] Wi' speckled breast, When upward springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east

Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble, birth, Yet cheerfully thou glinted[083] forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the patient earth Thy tender form

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's[084] maun shield, But thou beneath the random bield[085] O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie[086] stibble field[087] Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawye bosom sun ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise, But now the share up tears thy bed, And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled is laid Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life's rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given Who long with wants and woes has striven By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine—no distant date; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate, Full on thy bloom; Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom.

Burns.

The following verses though they make no pretension to the strength and pathos of the poem by the great Scottish Peasant, have a grace and simplicity of their own, for which they have long been deservedly popular.

A FIELD FLOWER.

ON FINDING ONE IN FULL BLOOM, ON CHRISTMAS DAY, 1803.

There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December's arms.

The purple heath and golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale.

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den.

Within the garden's cultured round It shares the sweet carnation's bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild-bee murmurs on its breast, The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, Light o'er the sky-lark's nest.

'Tis FLORA'S page,—in every place, In every season fresh and fair; It opens with perennial grace. And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The rose has but a summer-reign; The DAISY never dies.

James Montgomery.

Montgomery has another very pleasing poetical address to the daisy. The poem was suggested by the first plant of the kind which had appeared in India. The flower sprang up unexpectedly out of some English earth, sent with other seeds in it, to this country. The amiable Dr. Carey of Serampore was the lucky recipient of the living treasure, and the poem is supposed to be addressed by him to the dear little flower of his home, thus born under a foreign sky. Dr. Carey was a great lover of flowers, and it was one of his last directions on his death-bed, as I have already said, that his garden should be always protected from the intrusion of Goths and Vandals in the form of Bengallee goats and cows. I must give one stanza of Montgomery's second poetical tribute to the small flower with "the silver crest and golden eye."

Thrice-welcome, little English flower! To this resplendent hemisphere Where Flora's giant offsprings tower In gorgeous liveries all the year; Thou, only thou, art little here Like worth unfriended and unknown, Yet to my British heart more dear Than all the torrid zone.

It is difficult to exaggerate the feeling with which an exile welcomes a home-flower. A year or two ago Dr. Ward informed the Royal Institution of London, that a single primrose had been taken to Australia in a glass-case and that when it arrived there in full bloom, the sensation it excited was so great that even those who were in the hot pursuit of gold, paused in their eager career to gaze for a moment upon the flower of their native fields, and such immense crowds at last pressed around it that it actually became necessary to protect it by a guard.

My last poetical tribute to the Daisy shall be three stanzas from Wordsworth, from two different addresses to the same flower.

With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee, For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee!

* * * * *

If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure.

When, smitten by the morning ray, I see thee rise, alert and gay, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness; And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness.

It is peculiarly interesting to observe how the profoundest depths of thought and feeling are sometimes stirred in the heart of genius by the smallest of the works of Nature. Even more ordinarily gifted men are similarly affected to the utmost extent of their intellect and sensibility. We grow tired of the works of man. In the realms of art we ever crave something unseen before. We demand new fashions, and when the old are once laid aside, we wonder that they should ever have excited even a moment's admiration. But Nature, though she is always the same, never satiates us. The simple little Daisy which Burns has so sweetly commemorated is the same flower that was "of all flowres the flowre," in the estimation of the Patriarch of English poets, and which so delighted Wordsworth in his childhood, in his middle life, and in his old age. He gazed on it, at intervals, with unchanging affection for upwards of fourscore years.

The Daisy—the miniature sun with its tiny rays—is especially the favorite of our earliest years. In our remembrances of the happy meadows in which we played in childhood, the daisy's silver lustre is ever connected with the deeper radiance of its gay companion, the butter-cup, which when held against the dimple on the cheek or chin of beauty turns it into a little golden dell. The thoughtful and sensitive frequenter of rural scenes discovers beauty every where; though it is not always the sort of beauty that would satisfy the taste of men who recognize no gaiety or loveliness beyond the walls of cities. To the poet's eye even the freckles on a milk-maid's brow are not without a grace, associated as they are with health, and the open sunshine.

Chaucer tells us that the French call the Daisy La belle Marguerite. There is a little anecdote connected with the appellation. Marguerite of Scotland, the Queen of Louis the Eleventh, presented Marguerite Clotilde de Surville, a poetess, with a bouquet of daisies, with this inscription; "Marguerite d'Ecosse a Marguerite (the pearl) d'Helicon."

The country maidens in England practise a kind of sortilege with this flower. They pluck off leaf by leaf, saying alternately "He loves me" and "He loves me not." The omen or oracle is decided by the fall of either sentence on the last leaf.

It is extremely difficult to rear the daisy in India. It is accustomed to all weathers in England, but the long continued sultriness of this clime makes it as delicate as a languid English lady in a tropical exile, and however carefully and skilfully nursed, it generally pines for its native air and dies.[088]

THE PRICKLY GORSE.

—Yon swelling downs where the sweet air stirs The harebells, and where prickly furze Buds lavish gold.

Keat's Endymion.

Fair maidens, I'll sing you a song, I'll tell of the bonny wild flower, Whose blossoms so yellow, and branches so long, O'er moor and o'er rough rocky mountains are flung Far away from trim garden and bower

L.A. Tuamley.

The PRICKLY GORSE or Goss or Furze, (ulex)[089] I cannot omit to notice, because it was the plant which of all others most struck Dillenius when he first trod on English ground. He threw himself on his knees and thanked Heaven that he had lived to see the golden undulation of acres of wind-waved gorse. Linnaeus lamented that he could scarcely keep it alive in Sweden even in a greenhouse.

I have the most delightful associations connected with this plant, and never think of it without a summer feeling and a crowd of delightful images and remembrances of rural quietude and blue skies and balmy breezes. Cowper hardly does it justice:

The common, over-grown with fern, and rough With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deformed And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom And decks itself with ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleasing ramble.

The plant is indeed irregularly shaped, but it is not deformed, and if it is dangerous to the touch, so also is the rose, unless it be of that species which Milton places in Paradise—"and without thorns the rose."

Hurdis is more complimentary and more just to the richest ornament of the swelling hill and the level moor.

And what more noble than the vernal furze With golden caskets hung?

I have seen whole cotees or coteaux (sides of hills) in the sweet little island of Jersey thickly mantled with the golden radiance of this beautiful wildflower. The whole Vallee des Vaux (the valley of vallies) is sometimes alive with its lustre.

VALLEE DES VAUX.

AIR—THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

If I dream of the past, at fair Fancy's command, Up-floats from the blue sea thy small sunny land! O'er thy green hills, sweet Jersey, the fresh breezes blow, And silent and warm is the Vallee des Vaux!

There alone have I loitered 'mid blossoms of gold, And forgot that the great world was crowded and cold, Nor believed that a land of enchantment could show A vale more divine than the Vallee des Vaux.

A few scattered cots, like white clouds in the sky, Or like still sails at sea when the light breezes die, And a mill with its wheel in the brook's silver glow, Form thy beautiful hamlet, sweet Vallee des Vaux!

As the brook prattled by like an infant at play, And each wave as it passed stole a moment away, I thought how serenely a long life would flow, By the sweet little brook in the Vallee des Vaux.

D.L.R.

Jersey is not the only one of the Channel Islands that is enriched with "blossoms of gold." In the sister island of Guernsey the prickly gorse is much used for hedges, and Sir George Head remarks that the premises of a Guernsey farmer are thus as impregnably fortified and secured as if his grounds were surrounded by a stone wall. In the Isle of Man the furze grows so high that it is sometimes more like a fir tree than the ordinary plant.

There is an old proverb:—"When gorse is out of blossom, kissing is out of fashion"—that is never. The gorse blooms all the year.

FERN.

I'll seek the shaggy fern-clad hill And watch, 'mid murmurs muttering stern, The seed departing from the fern Ere wakeful demons can convey The wonder-working charm away.

Leyden.

"The green and graceful Fern" (filices) with its exquisite tracery must not be overlooked. It recalls many noble home-scenes to British eyes. Pliny says that "of ferns there are two kinds, and they bear neither flowers nor seed." And this erroneous notion of the fern bearing no seed was common amongst the English even so late as the time of Addison who ridicules "a Doctor that had arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern-seed." The seed is very minute and might easily escape a careless eye. In the present day every one knows that the seed of the fern lies on the under side of the leaves, and a single leaf will often bear some millions of seeds. Even those amongst the vulgar who believed the plant bore seed, had an idea that the seeds were visible only at certain mysterious seasons and to favored individuals who by carrying a quantity of it on their person, were able, like those who wore the helmet of Pluto or the ring of Gyges, to walk unseen amidst a crowd. The seed was supposed to be best seen at a certain hour of the night on which St. John the Baptist was born.

We have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible,

Shakespeare's Henry IV. Part I.

In Beaumont's and Fletcher's Fair Maid of the Inn, is the following allusion to the fern.

—Had you Gyges' ring, Or the herb that gives invisibility.

Ben Jonson makes a similar allusion to it:

I had No medicine, sir, to go invisible, No fern-seed in my pocket.

Pope puts a branch of spleen-wort, a species of fern, (Asplenium trichomanes) into the hand of a gnome as a protection from evil influences in the Cave of Spleen.

Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic band A branch of healing spleen-wort in his hand.

The fern forms a splendid ornament for shadowy nooks and grottoes, or fragments of ruins, or heaps of stones, or the odd corners of a large garden or pleasure-ground.

I have had many delightful associations with this plant both at home and abroad. When I visited the beautiful Island of Penang, Sir William Norris, then the Recorder of the Island, and who was a most indefatigable collector of ferns, obligingly presented me with a specimen of every variety that he had discovered in the hills and vallies of that small paradise; and I suppose that in no part of the world could a finer collection of specimens of the fern be made for a botanist's herbarium. Fern leaves will look almost as well ten years after they are gathered as on the day on which they are transferred from the dewy hillside to the dry pages of a book.

Jersey and Penang are the two loveliest islands on a small scale that I have yet seen: the latter is the most romantic of the two and has nobler trees and a richer soil and a brighter sky—but they are both charming retreats for the lovers of peace and nature. As I have devoted some verses to Jersey I must have some also on

THE ISLAND OF PENANG.

I.

I stand upon the mountain's brow— I drink the cool fresh, mountain breeze— I see thy little town below,[090] Thy villas, hedge-rows, fields and trees, And hail thee with exultant glow, GEM OF THE ORIENTAL SEAS!

II.

A cloud had settled on my heart— My frame had borne perpetual pain— I yearned and panted to depart From dread Bengala's sultry plain— Fate smiled,—Disease withholds his dart— I breathe the breath of life again!

III.

With lightened heart, elastic tread, Almost with youth's rekindled flame, I roam where loveliest scenes outspread Raise thoughts and visions none could name, Save those on whom the Muses shed A spell, a dower of deathless fame.

IV.

I feel, but oh! could ne'er pourtray, Sweet Isle! thy charms of land and wave, The bowers that own no winter day, The brooks where timid wild birds lave, The forest hills where insects gay[091] Mimic the music of the brave!

V.

I see from this proud airy height A lovely Lilliput below! Ships, roads, groves, gardens, mansions white, And trees in trimly ordered row,[092] Present almost a toy like sight, A miniature scene, a fairy show!

VI.

But lo! beyond the ocean stream, That like a sheet of silver lies, As glorious as a poet's dream The grand Malayan mountains rise, And while their sides in sunlight beam Their dim heads mingle with the skies.

VI.

Men laugh at bards who live in clouds— The clouds beneath me gather now, Or gliding slow in solemn crowds, Or singly, touched with sunny glow, Like mystic shapes in snowy shrouds, Or lucid veils on Beauty's brow.

VIII.

While all around the wandering eye Beholds enchantments rich and rare, Of wood, and water, earth, and sky A panoramic vision fair, The dyal breathes his liquid sigh, And magic floats upon the air!

IX.

Oh! lovely and romantic Isle! How cold the heart thou couldst not please! Thy very dwellings seem to smile Like quiet nests mid summer trees! I leave thy shores—but weep the while— GEM OF THE ORIENTAL SEAS!

D.L.R.

HENNA.

The henna or al hinna (Lawsonia inermis) is found in great abundance in Egypt, India, Persia and Arabia. In Bengal it goes by the name of Mindee. It is much used here for garden hedges. Hindu females rub it on the palms of their hands, the tips of their fingers and the soles of their feet to give them a red dye. The same red dye has been observed upon the nails of Egyptian mummies. In Egypt sprigs of henna are hawked about the streets for sale with the cry of "O, odours of Paradise; O, flowers of the henna!" Thomas Moore alludes to one of the uses of the henna:—

Thus some bring leaves of henna to imbue The fingers' ends of a bright roseate hue, So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream.

MOSS.

MOSSES (musci) are sometimes confounded with Lichens. True mosses are green, and lichens are gray. All the mosses are of exquisitely delicate structure. They are found in every part of the world where the atmosphere is moist. They have a wonderful tenacity of life and can often be restored to their original freshness after they have been dried for years. It was the sight of a small moss in the interior of Africa that suggested to Mungo Park such consolatory reflections as saved him from despair. He had been stripped of all he had by banditti.

"In this forlorn and almost helpless condition," he says, "when the robbers had left me, I sat for some time looking around me with amazement and terror. Whichever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I found myself in the midst of a vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season—naked and alone,—surrounded by savages. I was five hundred miles from any European settlement. All these circumstances crowded at once upon my recollection; and I confess that my spirits began to fail me. I considered my fate as certain, and that I had no alternative, but to lie down and perish. The influence of religion, however aided and supported me. I reflected that no human prudence or foresight could possibly have averted my present sufferings. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still under the eye of that Providence who has condescended to call himself the stranger's friend. At this moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small Moss irresistibly caught my eye; and though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and fruit, without admiration. Can that Being (thought I) who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not.—Reflections like these would not allow me to despair. I started up; and disregarding both, hunger and fatigue, traveled forward, assured that relief was at hand; and I was not disappointed."

VICTORIA REGIA.

On this Queen of Aquatic Plants the language of admiration has been exhausted. It was discovered in the first year of the present century by the botanist Haenke who was sent by the Spanish Government to investigate the vegetable productions of Peru. When in a canoe on the Rio Mamore, one of the great tributaries of the river Amazon, he came suddenly upon the noblest and largest flower that he had ever seen. He fell on his knees in a transport of admiration. It was the plant now known as the Victoria Regia, or American Water-lily.

It was not till February 1849, that Dr. Hugh Rodie and Mr. Lachie of Demerara forwarded seeds of the plant to Sir W.T. Hooker in vials of pure water. They were sown in earth, in pots immersed in water, and enclosed in a glass case. They vegetated rapidly. The plants first came to perfection at Chatsworth the seat of the Duke of Devonshire,[093] and subsequently at the Royal gardens at Kew.

Early in November of the same year, (1849,) the leaves of the plant at Chatsworth were 4 feet 8 inches in diameter. A child weighing forty two pounds was placed upon one of the leaves which bore the weight well. The largest leaf of the plant by the middle of the next month was five feet in diameter with a turned up edge of from two to four inches. It then bore up a person of 11 stone weight. The flat leaf of the Victoria Regia as it floats on the surface of the water, resembles in point of form the brass high edged platter in which Hindus eat their rice.

The flowers in the middle of May 1850 measured one foot one inch in diameter. The rapidity of the growth of this plant is one of its most remarkable characteristics, its leaves often expanding eight inches in diameter daily, and Mr. John Fisk Allen, who has published in America an admirably illustrated work upon the subject, tells us that instances under his own observation have occurred of the leaves increasing at the rate of half an inch hourly.

Not only is there an extraordinary variety in the colours of the several specimens of this flower, but a singularly rapid succession of changes of hue in the same individual flower as it progresses from bud to blossom.

This vegetable wonder was introduced into North America in 1851. It grows to a larger size there than in England. Some of the leaves of the plant cultivated in North America measure seventy-two inches in diameter.

This plant has been proved to be perennial. It grows best in from 4 to 6 feet of water. Each plant generally sends but four or five leaves to the surface.

In addition to the other attractions of this noble Water Lily, is the exquisite character of its perfume, which strongly resembles that of a fresh pineapple just cut open.

The Victoria Regia in the Calcutta Botanic Garden has from some cause or other not flourished so well as it was expected to do. The largest leaf is not more than four feet and three quarters in diameter. But there can be little doubt that when the habits of the plant are better understood it will be brought to great perfection in this country. I strongly recommend my native friends to decorate their tanks with this the most glorious of aquatic plants.

THE FLY-ORCHIS—THE BEE-ORCHIS.

Of these strange freaks of nature many strange stories are told. I cannot repeat them all. I shall content myself with quoting the following passage from D'Israeli's Curiosities of Literature:—

"There is preserved in the British Museum, a black stone, on which nature has sketched a resemblance of the portrait of Chaucer. Stones of this kind, possessing a sufficient degree of resemblance, are rare; but art appears not to have been used. Even in plants, we find this sort of resemblance. There is a species of the orchis found in the mountainous parts of Lincolnshire, Kent, &c. Nature has formed a bee, apparently feeding on the breast of the flower, with so much exactness, that it is impossible at a very small distance to distinguish the imposition. Hence the plant derives its name, and is called, the Bee-flower. Langhorne elegantly notices its appearance.

See on that floweret's velvet breast, How close the busy vagrant lies? His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast, Th' ambrosial gold that swells his thighs. Perhaps his fragrant load may bind His limbs;—we'll set the captive free— I sought the living bee to find, And found the picture of a bee,'

The late Mr. James of Exeter wrote to me on this subject: 'This orchis is common near our sea-coasts; but instead of being exactly like a BEE, it is not like it at all. It has a general resemblance to a fly, and by the help of imagination, may be supposed to be a fly pitched upon the flower. The mandrake very frequently has a forked root, which may be fancied to resemble thighs and legs. I have seen it helped out with nails on the toes.'

An ingenious botanist, a stranger to me, after reading this article, was so kind as to send me specimens of the fly orchis, ophrys muscifera, and of the bee orchis, ophrys apifera. Their resemblance to these insects when in full flower is the most perfect conceivable; they are distinct plants. The poetical eye of Langhorne was equally correct and fanciful; and that too of Jackson, who differed so positively. Many controversies have been carried on, from a want of a little more knowledge; like that of the BEE orchis and the FLY orchis; both parties prove to be right."[094]

THE FUCHSIA.

The Fuchsia is decidedly the most graceful flower in the world. It unfortunately wants fragrance or it would be the beau ideal of a favorite of Flora. There is a story about its first introduction into England which is worth reprinting here:

'Old Mr. Lee, a nurseryman and gardener, near London, well known fifty or sixty years ago, was one day showing his variegated treasures to a friend, who suddenly turned to him, and declared, 'Well, you have not in your collection a prettier flower than I saw this morning at Wapping!'—'No! and pray what was this phoenix like?' 'Why, the plant was elegant, and the flowers hung in rows like tassels from the pendant branches; their colour the richest crimson; in the centre a fold of deep purple,' and so forth. Particular directions being demanded and given, Mr. Lee posted off to Wapping, where he at once perceived that the plant was new in this part of the world. He saw and admired. Entering the house, he said, 'My good woman, that is a nice plant. I should like to buy it.'—'I could not sell it for any money, for it was brought me from the West Indies by my husband, who has now left again, and I must keep it for his sake.'—'But I must have it!'—'No sir!'—'Here,' emptying his pockets; 'here are gold, silver, copper.' (His stock was something more than eight guineas.)—'Well a-day! but this is a power of money, sure and sure.'—''Tis yours, and the plant is mine; and, my good dame, you shall have one of the first young ones I rear, to keep for your husband's sake,'—'Alack, alack!'—'You shall.' A coach was called, in which was safely deposited our florist and his seemingly dear purchase. His first work was to pull off and utterly destroy every vestige of blossom and bud. The plant was divided into cuttings, which were forced in bark beds and hotbeds; were redivided and subdivided. Every effort was used to multiply it. By the commencement of the next flowering season, Mr. Lee was the delighted possessor of 300 Fuchsia plants, all giving promise of blossom. The two which opened first were removed into his show-house. A lady came:—'Why, Mr. Lee, my dear Mr. Lee, where did you get this charming flower?'—'Hem! 'tis a new thing, my lady; pretty, is it not?'—'Pretty! 'tis lovely. Its price?'—'A guinea: thank your ladyship;' and one of the plants stood proudly in her ladyship's boudoir. 'My dear Charlotte, where did you get?' &c.—'Oh! 'tis a new thing; I saw it at old Lee's; pretty, is it not?'—'Pretty! 'tis beautiful! Its price!'—'A guinea; there was another left.' The visitor's horses smoked off to the suburb; a third flowering plant stood on the spot whence the first had been taken. The second guinea was paid, and the second chosen Fuchsia adorned the drawing-room of her second ladyship The scene was repeated, as new-comers saw and were attracted by the beauty of the plant. New chariots flew to the gates of old Lee's nursery-ground. Two Fuchsias, young, graceful and bursting into healthy flower, were constantly seen on the same spot in his repository. He neglected not to gladden the faithful sailor's wife by the promised gift; but, ere the flower season closed, 300 golden guineas clinked in his purse, the produce of the single shrub of the widow of Wapping; the reward of the taste, decision, skill, and perseverance of old Mr. Lee.'

Whether this story about the fuchsia, be only partly fact and partly fiction I shall not pretend to determine; but the best authorities acknowledge that Mr. Lee, one of the founders of the Hammersmith Nursery, was the first to make the plant generally known in England and that he for some time got a guinea for each of the cuttings. The fuchsia is a native of Mexico and Chili. I believe that most of the plants of this genus introduced into India have flourished for a brief period and then sickened and died.

The poets of England have not yet sung the Fuschia's praise. Here are three stanzas written for a gentleman who had been presented, by the lady of his love with a superb plant of this kind.

A FUCHSIA.

I.

A deed of grace—a graceful gift—and graceful too the giver! Like ear-rings on thine own fair head, these long buds hang and quiver: Each tremulous taper branch is thrilled—flutter the wing-like leaves— For thus to part from thee, sweet maid, the floral spirit grieves!

II.

Rude gods in brass or gold enchant an untaught devotee— Fair marble shapes, rich paintings old, are Art's idolatry; But nought e'er charmed a human breast like this small tremulous flower, Minute and delicate work divine of world-creative power!

III.

This flower's the Queen of all earth's flowers, and loveliest things appear Linked by some secret sympathy, in this mysterious sphere; The giver and the gift seem one, and thou thyself art nigh When this glory of the garden greets thy lover's raptured eye.

D.L.R.

"Do you know the proper name of this flower?" writes Jeremy Bentham to a lady-friend, "and the signification of its name? Fuchsia from Fuchs, a German botanist."

ROSEMARY.

There's rosemary—that's for remembrance: Pray you, love, remember.

Hamlet

There's rosemarie; the Arabians Justifie (Physitions of exceeding perfect skill) It comforteth the brain and memory.

Chester.

Bacon speaks of heaths of ROSEMARY (Rosmarinus[095]) that "will smell a great way in the sea; perhaps twenty miles." This reminds us of Milton's Paradise.

So lovely seemed That landscape, and of pure, now purer air, Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair. Now gentle gales Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the blest, with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.

Rosemary used to be carried at funerals, and worn as wedding favors.

Lewis Pray take a piece of Rosemary Miramont I'll wear it, But for the lady's sake, and none of your's!

Beaumont and Fletcher's "Elder Brother."

Rosemary, says Malone, being supposed to strengthen the memory, was the emblem of fidelity in lovers. So in A Handfull of Pleasant Delites, containing Sundrie New Sonets, 16mo. 1854:

Rosemary is for remembrance Between us daie and night, Wishing that I might alwaies have You present in my sight.

The poem in which these lines are found, is entitled, 'A Nosegay alwaies sweet for Lovers to send for Tokens of Love.'

Roger Hochet in his sermon entitled A Marriage Present (1607) thus speaks of the Rosemary;—"It overtoppeth all the flowers in the garden, boasting man's rule. It helpeth the brain, strengtheneth the memorie, and is very medicinable for the head. Another propertie of the rosemary is, it affects the heart. Let this rosemarinus, this flower of men, ensigne of your wisdom, love, and loyaltie, be carried not only in your hands, but in your hearts and heads."

"Hungary water" is made up chiefly from the oil distilled from this shrub.

* * * * *

I should talk on a little longer about other shrubs, herbs, and flowers, (particularly of flowers) such as the "pink-eyed Pimpernel" (the poor man's weather glass) and the fragrant Violet, ('the modest grace of the vernal year,') the scarlet crested Geranium with its crimpled leaves, and the yellow and purple Amaranth, powdered with gold,

A flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life Began to bloom,

and the crisp and well-varnished Holly with "its rutilant berries," and the white Lily, (the vestal Lady of the Vale,—"the flower of virgin light") and the luscious Honeysuckle, and the chaste Snowdrop,

Venturous harbinger of spring And pensive monitor of fleeting years,

and the sweet Heliotrope and the gay and elegant Nasturtium, and a great many other "bonnie gems" upon the breast of our dear mother earth,—but this gossipping book has already extended to so unconscionable a size that I must quicken my progress towards a conclusion[096].

I am indebted to the kindness of Babu Kasiprasad Ghosh, the first Hindu gentlemen who ever published a volume of poems in the English language[097] for the following interesting list of Indian flowers used in Hindu ceremonies. Many copies of the poems of Kasiprasad Ghosh, were sent to the English public critics, several of whom spoke of the author's talents with commendation. The late Miss Emma Roberts wrote a brief biography of him for one of the London annuals, so that there must be many of my readers at home who will not on this occasion hear of his name for the first time.

A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF INDIAN FLOWERS, COMMONLY USED IN HINDU CEREMONIES.[098]

A'KUNDA (Calotropis Gigantea).—A pretty purple coloured, and slightly scented flower, having a sweet and agreeable smell. It is called Arca in Sanscrit, and has two varieties, both of which are held to be sacred to Shiva. It forms one of the five darts with which the Indian God of Love is supposed to pierce the hearts of young mortals.[099] Sir William Jones refers to it in his Hymn to Kama Deva. It possesses medicinal properties.[100]

A'PARA'JITA (Clitoria ternatea).—A conically shaped flower, the upper part of which is tinged with blue and the lower part is white. Some are wholly white. It is held to be sacred to Durga.

ASOCA. (Jonesia Asoca).—A small yellow flower, which blooms in large clusters in the month of April and gives a most beautiful appearance to the tree. It is eaten by young females as a medicine. It smells like the Saffron.

A'TASHI.—A small yellowish or brown coloured flower without any smell. It is supposed to be sacred to Shiva, and is very often alluded to by the Indian poets. It resembles the flower of the flax or Linum usitatissimum.[101]

BAKA.—A kidney shaped flower, having several varieties, all of which are held to be sacred to Vishnu, and are in consequence used in his worship. It is supposed to possess medicinal virtues and is used by the native doctors.

BAKU'LA (Mimusops Etengi).—A very small, yellowish, and fragrant flower. It is used in making garlands and other female ornaments. Krishna is said to have fascinated the milkmaids of Brindabun by playing on his celebrated flute under a Baku'la tree on the banks of the Jumna, which is, therefore, invariably alluded to in all the Sanscrit and vernacular poems relating to his amours with those young women.

BA'KASHA (Justicia Adhatoda).—A white flower, having a slight smell. It is used in certain native medicines.

BELA (Jasminum Zambac).—A fragrant small white flower, in common use among native females, who make garlands of it to wear in their braids of hair. A kind of uttar is extracted from this flower, which is much esteemed by natives. It is supposed to form one of the darts of Kama Deva or the God of Love. European Botanists seem to have confounded this flower with the Monika, which they also call the Jasminum Zambac.

BHU'MI CHAMPAKA.—An oblong variegated flower, which shoots out from the ground at the approach of spring. It has a slight smell, and is considered to possess medicinal properties. The great peculiarity of this flower is that it blooms when there is not apparently the slightest trace of the existence of the shrub above ground. When the flower dies away, the leaves make their appearance.

CHAMPA' (Michelia Champaka).—A tulip shaped yellow flower possessing a very strong smell.[102] It forms one of the darts of Kama Deva, the Indian Cupid. It is particularly sacred to Krishna.

CHUNDRA MALLIKA' (Chrysanthemum Indiana).—A pretty round yellow flower which blooms in winter. The plant is used in making hedges in gardens and presents a beautiful appearance in the cold weather when the blossoms appear.

DHASTU'RA (Datura Fastuosa).—A large tulip shaped white flower, sacred to Mahadeva, the third Godhead of the Hindu Trinity. The seeds of this flower have narcotic properties.[103]

DRONA.—A white flower with a very slight smell.

DOPATI (Impatiens Balsamina).—A small flower having a slight smell. There are several varieties of this flower. Some are red and some white, while others are both white and red.

GA'NDA' (Tagetes erecta).—A handsome yellow flower, which sometimes grows very large. It is commonly used in making garlands, with which the natives decorate their idols, and the Europeans in India their churches and gates on Christmas Day and New Year's Day.

GANDHA RA'J (Gardenia Florida).—A strongly scented white flower, which blooms at night.

GOLANCHA (Menispermum Glabrum).—A white flower. The plant is already well known to Europeans as a febrifuge.

JAVA' (Hibiscus Rosa Sinensis).—A large blood coloured flower held to be especially sacred to Kali. There are two species of it, viz. the ordinary Java commonly seen in our gardens and parterres, and the Pancha Mukhi, which, as its name imports, has five compartments and is the largest of the two.[104]

JAYANTI (Aeschynomene Sesban).—A small yellowish flower, held to be sacred to Shiva.

JHA'NTI.—A small white flower possessing medicinal properties. The leaves of the plants are used in curing certain ulcers.

JA'NTI (Jasminum Grandiflorum).—Also a small white flower having a sweet smell. The uttar called Chumeli is extracted from it.

JUYIN (Jasminum Auriculatum).—The Indian Jasmine. It is a very small white flower remarkable for its sweetness. It is also used in making a species of uttar which is highly prized by the natives, as also in forming a great variety of imitation female ornaments.

KADAMBA (Nauclea Cadamba).—A ball shaped yellow flower held to be particularly sacred to Krishna, many of whose gambols with the milkmaids of Brindabun are said to have been performed under the Kadamba tree, which is in consequence very frequently alluded to in the vernacular poems relating to his loves with those celebrated beauties.

KINSUKA (Butea Frondosa).—A handsome but scentless white flower.

KANAKA CHAMPA (Pterospermum Acerifolium).—A yellowish flower which hangs down in form of a tassel. It has a strong smell, which is perceived at a great distance when it is on the tree, but the moment it is plucked off, it begins to lose its fragrance.

KANCHANA (Bauhinia Variegata).—There are several varieties of this flower. Some are white, some are purple, while others are red. It gives a handsome appearance to the tree when the latter is in full blossom.

KUNDA (Jasminum pulescens).—A very pretty white flower. Indian poets frequently compare a set of handsome teeth, to this flower. It is held to be especially sacred to Vishnu.

KARABIRA (Nerium Odosum).—There are two species of this flower, viz. the white and red, both of which are sacred to Shiva.

KAMINI (Murraya Exotica).—A pretty small white flower having a strong smell. It blooms at night and is very delicate to the touch. The kamini tree is frequently used as a garden hedge.

KRISHNA CHURA (Poinciana Pulcherrima).—A pretty small flower, which, as its name imports resembles the head ornament of Krishna. When the Krishna Chura tree is in full blossom, it has a very handsome appearance.

KRISHNA KELI (Mirabilis Jalapa.)[105]—A small tulip shaped yellow flower. The bulb of the plant has medicinal properties and is used by the natives as a poultice.

KUMADA (Nymphaea Esculenta)—A white flower, resembling the lotus, but blooming at night, whence the Indian poets suppose that it is in love with Chandra or the Moon, as the lotus is imagined by them to be in love with the Sun.

LAVANGA LATA' (Limonia Scandens.)—A very small red flower growing upon a creeper, which has been celebrated by Jaya Deva in his famous work called the Gita Govinda. This creeper is used in native gardens for bowers.

MALLIKA' (Jasminum Zambac.)—A white flower resembling the Bela. It has a very sweet smell and is used by native females to make ornaments. It is frequently alluded to by Indian poets.

MUCHAKUNDA (Pterospermum Suberifolia).—A strongly scented flower, which grows in clusters and is of a brown colour.

MA'LATI (Echites Caryophyllata.)—The flower of a creeper which is commonly used in native gardens. It has a slight smell and is of a white colour.

MA'DHAVI (Gaertnera Racemosa.)—The flower of another creeper which is also to be seen in native gardens. It is likewise of a white colour.

NA'GESWARA (Mesua Ferrua.)—A white flower with yellow filaments, which are said to possess medicinal properties and are used by the native physicians. It has a very sweet smell and is supposed by Indian poets to form one of the darts of Kama Deva. See Sir William Jones's Hymn to that deity.

PADMA (Nelumbium Speciosum.)—The Indian lotus, which is held to be sacred to Vishnu, Brama, Mahadava, Durga, Lakshami and Saraswati as well as all the higher orders of Indian deities. It is a very elegant flower and is highly esteemed by the natives, in consequence of which the Indian poets frequently allude to it in their writings.

PA'RIJATA (Buchanania Latifolia.)—A handsome white flower, with a slight smell. In native poetry, it furnishes a simile for pretty eyes, and is held to be sacred to Vishnu.

PAREGATA (Erythrina Fulgens.)—A flower which is supposed to bloom in the garden of Indra in heaven, and forms the subject of an interesting episode in the Puranas, in which the two wives of Krisna, (Rukmini and Satyabhama) are said to have quarrelled for the exclusive possession of this flower, which their husband had stolen from the celestial garden referred to. It is supposed to be identical with the flower of the Palta madar.

RAJANI GANDHA (Polianthus Tuberosa.)—A white tulip-shaped flower which blooms at night, from which circumstance it is called "the Rajani Gandha, (or night-fragrance giver)." It is the Indian tuberose.

RANGANA.—A small and very pretty red flower which is used by native females in ornamenting their betels.

SEONTI. Rosa Glandulefera. A white flower resembling the rose in size and appearance. It has a sweet smell.

SEPHA'LIKA (Nyctanthes Arbor-tristis.)—A very pretty and delicate flower which blooms at night, and drops down shortly after. It has a sweet smell and is held to be sacred to Shiva. The juice of the leaves of the Sephalika tree are used in curing both remittant and intermittent fevers.

SURYJA MUKHI (Helianthus Annuus).—A large and very handsome yellow flower, which is said to turn itself to the Sun, as he goes from East to West, whence it has derived its name.

SURYJA MANI (Hibiscus Phoeniceus).—A small red flower.

GOLAKA CHAMPA.—A large beautiful white tulip-shaped flower having a sweet smell. It is externally white but internally orange-colored.

TAGUR (Tabernoemontana Coronaria).—A white flower having a slight smell.

TARU LATA.—A beautiful creeper with small red flowers. It is used in native gardens for making hedges.

K.G.

* * * * *

Pliny in his Natural History alludes to the marks of time exhibited in the regular opening and closing of flowers. Linnaeus enumerates forty-six flowers that might be used for the construction of a floral time-piece. This great Swedish botanist invented a Floral horologe, "whose wheels were the sun and earth and whose index-figures were flowers." Perhaps his invention, however, was not wholly original. Andrew Marvell in his "Thoughts in a Garden" mentions a sort of floral dial:—

How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new! Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run: And, as it works, th'industrious bee Computes its time as well as we: How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers?

Marvell[106]

Milton's notation of time—"at shut of evening flowers," has a beautiful simplicity, and though Shakespeare does not seem to have marked his time on a floral clock, yet, like all true poets, he has made very free use of other appearances of nature to indicate the commencement and the close of day.

The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch— Than we will ship him hence.

Hamlet.

Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Hamlet.

But look! The morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:— Break we our watch up.

Hamlet.

Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood.

Macbeth.

Such picturesque notations of time as these, are in the works of Shakespeare, as thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks in Valombrosa. In one of his Sonnets he thus counts the years of human life by the succession of the seasons.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned In process of the seasons have I seen; Three April's perfumes in three hot Junes burned Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.

Grainger, a prosaic verse-writer who once commenced a paragraph of a poem with "Now, Muse, let's sing of rats!" called upon the slave drivers in the West Indies to time their imposition of cruel tasks by the opening and closing of flowers.

Till morning dawn and Lucifer withdraw His beamy chariot, let not the loud bell Call forth thy negroes from their rushy couch: And ere the sun with mid-day fervor glow, When every broom-bush opes her yellow flower, Let thy black laborers from their toil desist: Nor till the broom her every petal lock, Let the loud bell recal them to the hoe, But when the jalap her bright tint displays, When the solanum fills her cup with dew, And crickets, snakes and lizards gin their coil, Let them find shelter in their cane-thatched huts.

Sugar Cane.[107]

I shall here give (from Loudon's Encyclopaedia of Gardening) the form of a flower dial. It may be interesting to many of my readers:—

'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours As they floated in light away By the opening and the folding flowers That laugh to the summer day.[108]

Mr. Hemans.

A FLOWER DIAL.

TIME OF OPENING. [109] h. m. YELLOW GOAT'S BEARD T.P. 3 5 LATE FLOWERING DANDELION Leon.S. 4 0 BRISTLY HELMINTHIA H.B. 4 5 ALPINE BORKHAUSIA B.A. 4 5 WILD SUCCORY C.I. 4 5 NAKED STALKED POPPY P.N. 5 0 COPPER COLOURED DAY LILY H.F. 5 0 SMOOTH SOW THISTLE S.L. 5 0 ALPINE AGATHYRSUS Ag.A. 5 0 SMALL BIND WEED Con.A. 5 6 COMMON NIPPLE WORT L.C. 5 6 COMMON DANDELION L.T. 5 6 SPORTED ACHYROPHORUS A.M. 6 7 WHITE WATER LILY N.A. 7 0 GARDEN LETTUCE Lec.S. 7 0 AFRICAN MARIGOLD T.E. 7 0 COMMON PIMPERNEL A.A. 7 8 MOUSE-EAR HAWKWEED H.P. 8 0 PROLIFEROUS PINK D.P. 8 0 FIELD MARIGOLD Cal.A. 9 0 PURPLE SANDWORT A.P. 9 10 SMALL PURSLANE P.O. 9 10 CREEPING MALLOW M.C. 9 10 CHICKWEED S.M. 9 10

TIME OF CLOSING. h. m. HELMINTHIA ECHIOIDES B.H. 12 0 AGATHYRSUS ALPINUS A.B. 12 0 BORKHAUSIA ALPINA A.B. 12 0 LEONTODON SEROTINUS L.D. 12 0 MALVA CAROLINIANA C.M. 12 1 DAINTHUS PROLIFER P.P. 1 0 HIERACIUM PILOSELLA M.H. 0 2 ANAGALLIS ARVENSIS S.P. 2 3 ARENARIA PURPUREA P.S. 2 4 CALENDULA ARVENSIS F.M. 3 0 TACETES ERECTA A.M. 3 3 CONVOLVULUS ARVENSIS S.B. 4 0 ACHYROPHORUS MACULATUS S.A. 4 5 NYMPHAEA ALBA W.W.B. 5 0 PAPAVER NUDICAULE N.P. 7 0 HEMEROCALLIS FULVA C.D.L. 7 0 CICHORIUM INTYBUS W.S. 8 9 TRAGOPOGON PRATENSIS Y.G.B. 9 10 STELLARIA MEDIA C. 9 10 LAPSANA COMMUNIS C.N. 10 0 LACTUCA SATIVA G.L. 10 0 SONCHUS LAEVIS S.T. 11 10 PORTULACA OLERACEA S.P. 11 12

Of course it will be necessary to adjust the Horologium Florae (or Flower clock) to the nature of the climate. Flowers expand at a later hour in a cold climate than in a warm one. "A flower," says Loudon, "that opens at six o'clock in the morning at Senegal, will not open in France or England till eight or nine, nor in Sweden till ten. A flower that opens at ten o'clock at Senegal will not open in France or England till noon or later, and in Sweden it will not open at all. And a flower that does not open till noon or later at Senegal will not open at all in France or England. This seems as if heat or its absence were also (as well as light) an agent in the opening and shutting of flowers; though the opening of such as blow only in the night cannot be attributed to either light or heat."

The seasons may be marked in a similar manner by their floral representatives. Mary Howitt quotes as a motto to her poem on Holy Flowers the following example of religious devotion timed by flowers:—

"Mindful of the pious festivals which our church prescribes," (says a Franciscan Friar) "I have sought to make these charming objects of floral nature, the time-pieces of my religious calendar, and the mementos of the hastening period of my mortality. Thus I can light the taper to our Virgin Mother on the blowing of the white snow-drop which opens its floweret at the time of Candlemas; the lady's smock and the daffodil, remind me of the Annunciation; the blue harebell, of the Festival of St George; the ranunculus, of the Invention of the Cross; the scarlet lychnis, of St. John the Baptist's day; the white lily, of the Visitation of our Lady, and the Virgin's bower, of her Assumption; and Michaelmas, Martinmas, Holyrood, and Christmas, have all their appropriate monitors. I learn the time of day from the shutting of the blossoms of the Star of Jerusalem and the Dandelion, and the hour of the night by the stars."

Some flowers afford a certain means of determining the state of the atmosphere. If I understand Mr. Tyas rightly he attributes the following remarks to Hartley Coleridge.—

"Many species of flowers are admirable barometers. Most of the bulbous-rooted flowers contract, or close their petals entirely on the approach of rain. The African marigold indicates rain, if the corolla is closed after seven or eight in the morning. The common bind-weed closes its flowers on the approach of rain; but the anagallis arvensis, or scarlet pimpernel, is the most sure in its indications as the petals constantly close on the least humidity of the atmosphere. Barley is also singularly affected by the moisture or dryness of the air. The awns are furnished with stiff points, all turning towards one end, which extend when moist, and shorten when dry. The points, too, prevent their receding, so that they are drawn up or forward; as moisture is returned, they advance and so on; indeed they may be actually seen to travel forwards. The capsules of the geranium furnish admirable barometers. Fasten the beard, when fully ripe, upon a stand, and it will twist itself, or untwist, according as the air is moist or dry. The flowers of the chick-weed, convolvulus, and oxalis, or wood sorrel, close their petals on the approach of rain."

The famous German writer, Jean Paul Richter, describes what he calls a Human Clock.

A HUMAN CLOCK.

"I believe" says Richter "the flower clock of Linnaeus, in Upsal (Horologium Florae) whose wheels are the sun and earth, and whose index-figures are flowers, of which one always awakens and opens later than another, was what secretly suggested my conception of the human clock.

I formerly occupied two chambers in Scheeraw, in the middle of the market place: from the front room I overlooked the whole market-place and the royal buildings and from the back one, the botanical garden. Whoever now dwells in these two rooms possesses an excellent harmony, arranged to his hand, between the flower clock in the garden and the human clock in the marketplace. At three o'clock in the morning, the yellow meadow goats-beard opens; and brides awake, and the stable-boy begins to rattle and feed the horses beneath the lodger. At four o'clock the little hawk weed awakes, choristers going to the Cathedral who are clocks with chimes, and the bakers. At five, kitchen maids, dairy maids, and butter-cups awake. At six, the sow-thistle and cooks. At seven o'clock many of the Ladies' maids are awake in the Palace, the Chicory in my botanical garden, and some tradesmen. At eight o'clock all the colleges awake and the little mouse-ear. At nine o'clock, the female nobility already begin to stir; the marigold, and even many young ladies, who have come from the country on a visit, begin to look out of their windows. Between ten and eleven o'clock the Court Ladies and the whole staff of Lords of the Bed-chamber, the green colewort and the Alpine dandelion, and the reader of the Princess rouse themselves out of their morning sleep; and the whole Palace, considering that the morning sun gleams so brightly to-day from the lofty sky through the coloured silk curtains, curtails a little of its slumber.

At twelve o'clock, the Prince: at one, his wife and the carnation have their eyes open in their flower vase. What awakes late in the afternoon at four o'clock is only the red-hawkweed, and the night watchman as cuckoo-clock, and these two only tell the time as evening-clocks and moon-clocks.

From the eyes of the unfortunate man, who like the jalap plant (Mirabilia jalapa), first opens them at five o'clock, we will turn our own in pity aside. It is a rich man who only exchanges the fever fancies of being pinched with hot pincers for waking pains.

I could never know when it was two o'clock, because at that time, together with a thousand other stout gentlemen and the yellow mouse-ear, I always fell asleep; but at three o'clock in the afternoon, and at three in the morning, I awoke as regularly as though I was a repeater. Thus we mortals may be a flower-clock for higher beings, when our flower-leaves close upon our last bed; or sand clocks, when the sand of our life is so run down that it is renewed in the other world; or picture-clocks because, when our death-bell here below strikes and rings, our image steps forth, from its case into the next world.

On each event of the kind, when seventy years of human life have passed away, they may perhaps say, what! another hour already gone! how the time flies!"—From Balfour's Phyto-Theology.

Some of the natives of India who possess extensive estates might think it worth their while to plant a LABYRINTH for the amusement of their friends. I therefore give a plan of one from London's Arboretum et Fruticetum Britannicum. It would not be advisable to occupy much of a limited estate in a toy of this nature; but where the ground required for it can be easily spared or would otherwise be wasted, there could be no objection to adding this sort of amusement to the very many others that may be included in a pleasure ground. The plan here given, resembles the labyrinth at Hampton Court. The hedges should be a little above a man's height and the paths should be just wide enough for two persons abreast. The ground should be kept scrupulously clean and well rolled and the hedges well trimmed, or in this country the labyrinth would soon be damp and unwholesome, especially in the rains. To prevent its affording a place of refuge and concealment for snakes and other reptiles, the gardener should cut off all young shoots and leaves within half a foot of the ground. The centre building should be a tasteful summer-house, in which people might read or smoke or take refreshments. To make the labyrinth still more intricate Mr. Loudon suggests that stop-hedges might be introduced across the path, at different places, as indicated in the figure by dotted lines.[110]



Of strictly Oriental trees and shrubs and flowers, perhaps the majority of Anglo Indians think with much less enthusiasm than of the common weeds of England. The remembrance of the simplest wild flower of their native fields will make them look with perfect indifference on the decorations of an Indian Garden. This is in no degree surprizing. Yet nature is lovely in all lands.

Indian scenery has not been so much the subject of description in either prose or verse as it deserves, but some two or three of our Anglo-Indian authors have touched upon it. Here is a pleasant and truthful passage from an article entitled "A Morning Walk in India," written by the late Mr. Lawson, the Missionary, a truly good and a highly gifted man:—

"The rounded clumps that afford the deepest shade, are formed by the mangoe, the banian, and the cotton trees. At the verge of this deep-green forest are to be seen the long and slender hosts of the betle and cocoanut trees; and the grey bark of their trunks, as they catch the light of the morning, is in clear relief from the richness of the back-ground. These as they wave their feathery tops, add much to the picturesque interest of the straw-built hovels beneath them, which are variegated with every tinge to be found amongst the browns and yellows, according to the respective periods of their construction. Some of them are enveloped in blue smoke, which oozes through every interstice of the thatch, and spreads itself, like a cloud hovering over these frail habitations, or moves slowly along, like a strata of vapour not far from the ground, as though too heavy to ascend, and loses itself in the thin air, so inspiring to all who have courage to leave their beds and enjoy it. The champa tree forms a beautiful object in this jungle. It may be recognized immediately from the surrounding scenery. It has always been a favourite with me. I suppose most persons, at times, have been unaccountably attracted by an object comparatively trifling in itself. There are also particular seasons, when the mind is susceptible of peculiar impressions, and the moments of happy, careless youth, rush upon the imagination with a thousand tender feelings. There are few that do not recollect with what pleasure they have grasped a bunch of wild flowers, when, in the days of their childhood, the languor of a lingering fever has prevented them for some weary months from enjoying that chief of all the pleasures of a robust English boy, a ramble through the fields, where every tree, and bush, and hillock, and blossom, are endeared to him, because, next to a mother's caresses, they were the first things in the world upon which he opened his eyes, and, doubtless, the first which gave him those indescribable feelings of fairy pleasure, which even in his dreams were excited; while the coloured clouds of heaven, the golden sunshine of a landscape, the fresh nosegay of dog-roses and early daisies, and the sounds of busy whispering trees and tinkling brooks presented to the sleeping child all the pure pleasure of his waking moments. And who is there here that does not sometimes recal some of those feelings which were his solace perhaps thirty years ago? Should I be wrong, were I to say that even, at his desk, amid all the excitements and anxieties of commercial pursuits, the weary Calcutta merchant has been lulled into a sort of pensive reminiscence of the past, and, with his pen placed between his lips and his fevered forehead leaning upon his hand, has felt his heart bound at some vivid picture rising upon his imagination. The forms of a fond mother, and an almost angel-looking sister, have been so strongly conjured up with the scenes of his boyish days, that the pen has been unceremoniously dashed to the ground, and 'I will go home' was the sigh that heaved from a bosom full of kindness and English feeling; while, as the dream vanished, plain truth told its tale, and the man of commerce is still to be seen at his desk, pale, and getting into years and perhaps less desirous than ever of winding up his concern. No wonder! because the dearest ties of his heart have been broken, and those who were the charm of home have gone down to the cold grave, the home of all. Why then should he revisit his native place? What is the cottage of his birth to him? What charms has the village now for the gentleman just arrived from India? Every well remembered object of nature, seen after a lapse of twenty years, would only serve to renew a host of buried, painful feelings. Every visit to the house of a surviving neighbour would but bring to mind some melancholy incident; for into what house could he enter, to idle away an hour, without seeing some wreck of his own family, such as a venerable clock, once so loved for the painted moon that waxed and waned to the astonishment of the gazer, or some favorite ancient chair, edged so nobly with rows of brass nails,