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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. ly errata ed to mt me pelure, Bipon A 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 T COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS, I ^ ^ ' ■«. ^ COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. BT THOMAS MILLER. ILLUSTRATED BT BIRKET FOSTER. LONDON: ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE, FAERINGDON STREET; AND 56, WALKER STREET, NEW YORK. I860. i^m. M ^k. aE£ XDHCND KVANS, BNOBAVEB AND PRINIEB, BAQCBT COVRT, FLEET BTBEEI, LONDOir. .-*• CONTENTS. 1 I Celandine; Snowdrop; BluoPoriwiukl,.; I{,.,ll),.ua.\ettIo,,.tr, . .'";" Prinu'oses . . . . . 11 Wild Hyacinth, or Bluo-boll of Spring; Ilorso-tuil ; Vetches . . . . ,o Violets ; a Calyx, or Flowcr-cup, described .... .,7 Wood-Aneraono ; Foliage and its Functions ; Wood-Sorrel ; Sweet Woodruff . .'55 Buttercups, Daisies, and Arum ; Stamens and Pistils of Flowers ... 43 Cowslips ; Flower Petals • 51 May-buds (Illustrated Title-page) Wild Roses and Perfumes 67 Dandelion; Chick^vecd ; Groundsel; Thistles; and Plantain .... 75 Red and White Campion; Stitchwort ; Saxifrage ; Wild Geraniums, etc. . 83 Grasses ... 91 Forget-me-not; Water-Mint; Water-Flags; AiTow-IIead, etc. . . .107 Water-Lilies; Bladderwort; Water- Violet ; Bog-Pimpemel, etc. . . . 115 V f CuMKNTS. I'Altlt Foxglove 1 M(tiik.s»io(.(l ; Wodd-Hctoiiy, Ajjriiinouy ; Scarlet I'ltiiponiol . . \.L\ Honcyaiiukloi Briony; VVtHuly NiKllt^«llalk'; (lUC'likT-Uosi'H, oU'. . . . 131 Poppies J Com Mluo-bottle ; Simpilmgoii ; St. Jolm'a Worts, ele. . . .180 Convolvulu;: ; Travellcr's-Joy ; Bed-straw j Benrlnud; Hop; Feriw . . 147 Blue llare-bell ; Wild Thyme ; Eyo-briKht ; (lolden Rod, etc. . . .155 Bramble, and other Berries ^^^ Nuts, and Nutting ^'^^ IloUyi Ivy; Mistletoe; and Yew 179 THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY BIRKET FOSTER, ENGRAVED AND PBINTEP BY EniirNT) EVANS. [ tw I I i ^ iwp— p»-i>— — """^^p^i^^Mmw— m 1 1 i in rmmimi^mmtmili CKIiANDINK i ThoI' (lost tliy ptldcu flowci-s pnl foi'tli, Wliilc! yet fi'oni out tlio surly North Tli(! l)ilh'r winds of AViiiter l)lo\v ; lliilf-lmricd in tlic rentlier'd snow, T"vo seen thy hlossonis many a time, And tliy hroad leav(>s all Avhito with rime, Wlu>n not another flower was near, Before tlie ])rinir()S(> did a])|)ear — Tlial sfronti" endurer of hard weathei-; And tlien T've seen yon hoth ton^ether. " Xid-noddhig," on a sunny day. And thoug-ht yon could find luuch to say Of days and nights of wintry gloom, Tliat many a time had chill'd y(mr hloom. v/- f* * CELANDINE; SXOWDROr; BLUE rERTWTNKLE; IIKD DEAD-NETTLE; COM^fON COTiTSF()()T GROUND IVY; VEUONICA ; r.EllMAXDRR-Sl'EKDWKLIi ; AND LILY-OF-TIIE- VALLEY. k 'i I The CelandiiiG, so often mistaken by country children for the buttercup, is one of the veiy earliest of our wild Wayside Flowei-s that makes a sliow sufficient to attract the eye, and may, during a mild Winter, he found in flower under the shelter of warm hedjj^e- rows, heside the primrose, as early as the close of February. Even when not in bloom, the cluster of largo, bright, dark-green leaves arrests the attention, through the very nakedness that surrounds them. Then, it is a grand, golden-coloured, star-shaped flower, often displaying as many as nine petals, all bold, bright, and pointed, and fine enough to decorate the breast of a royal prince; nor do we know any other wild flower that makes so gaudy a show so early in the year. This beautiful plant belongs to the genus Ranunculus, of which there are at least twenty species indigenous to our island, one of which is the common buttercup, and another the wood-crowfoot, the most graceful of the whole genus. It is pleasant to peep at this gay gold flower — the lesser celandine — rising out from amid the dead leaves which the winds of Winter have blown under the hedgerows, and to know that it is one of the first heralds that has brought tidings from the laud of flowers of the approach of Spring. ^^^ W(! Jiavo s. m CO:i.MON WAYSIOK FI-OWKIIS. frcMjiuMitly found it in flower early in Fcbruury, long- before a violet appeared, and when the daisy-leaves gave no sign of their whereabout, beyond that of a little round button, level with the ground, and looking not unlike a green, ronnd-hetided nail in form. Another glorious llower, belonging to the genus Kanunculus, is the marsh-marigold, generally found by water-courses, in which it is often reflected like a great cup of gold. Some of these flowers grow to an immense size in our wet marsh lands, and, as they hang over the water, might well be mistaken for golden water-lilies. Their heart-shaped leaves are also very large, and shine like jasper. Although we have placed the celandine foremost, as it so figures in our plate, yet the snowdrop is the acknowledged chief herald of Spring; sending out its straight-veined, long, light-green leaves, and hanging out its white, bell-shnped blossom, while dreary Winter reigns everywhere around, and when there is no other flower near at hand for companion- ship, — for this child of Winter is still found growing wild in many a hidden nook of England. There is an old-world legend which tells us how the snowdrop became the emblem of Hope : that Hope, with her long golden hair dishevelled, stood, one day, leaning upon her anchor, watching the snow fall as she looked down upon the earth; that Spring stood beside her, and Hope said the earth would look much more cheerful if, instead of snow, which melted and left the woods and fields dark and damp, the flakes were changed into white flowers when the snow had melted; that Spring smiled as she listened to Hope, and, sending her sweet warm breath among the falling snow, it fell in the form of flowers; and ni.LiJ I'KKI'.VIXKLH, AND DEAD-NETTI.E. SO tho snowdn^p was first luiik' ; tluit llopo caii-^^ht tlio lirsL llowur hefuru it full, auJ s.iij it shoiilJ bo liur oinblcm tlu-oiiyliniit fill tirue. IIiipo said, " (Jl'ttiiaos, wlicii tliDii art gone, I'm left iilouc, wiUHml- a tliint^ That I can lix my li'art n])()ii, For WinturV; loiiL'ly \vi:!K)ut Spriiif^. 'Twill cliccr mo iidw for many an hour, And in tho faturo I shall soo TI1030 who would sink raised by this llower — 'Twill make them think of tiiec and mo ; And many a sadful heart will sin;r, ' Tho Biiowdrop briiigcth Hope and Sjn-ini,'." Tlio blue periwinkle is soniotimes found in flower in Februaiy, in warm, slioltcrod situations, in our woods, thoug-h it is but thinly sprinkled about in a wild state, and it is a great treat to come unaware upon a burst of its bright blue flowers, during a winter's walk, or to find its twisted bloom in the bud, resembling in form tlie unopened convolvulus. The common red, or dead nettle, is also an early bloomer, and though we may pass it by as a worth-- less weed, there is something very curious, and even beautiful, in its under-lip shaped llower, with its raised hood, which the stamens .seem to prop open. Then it has a handsome-looking cleft calyx, ahnost bell-shapod, us may be seen if held up, while the leaf of the plant is second to none for beauty of form. But to see this common wayside weed to perfection requires a magnifyinc- glass ; then, to a lover of Nature, a world of beauty is revealed that almost takes the breath away, through amazement, while looking into it : such touches of diversified bloom, rubies scat- tered on three-piled velvet, rich materials, such as empress nevei- COMMON WAYSIDE PLOWEUS. woru ; for " Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed liko ono of tlicsc." Anotlier of tho early Spring flowers is the common coltsfoot, wliiclijliko the celandine, marsh marigold, .and prinu'ose, is also of a bright golden hne, and looks like a burst of sunshine, where it covers a large space of land, when seen from the distance. This plant flowers before it puts forth its leaves, nor do the latter show themselves until tho bloom dies off, and the downy seed begins to appear. Like tho daisy and dandelion, the coltsfoot bloom is composed of separate florets, each of which is anchored in its own seed, and from which springs each plumy head. In railway-cuttings through damp places, the whole of the new embankments become speedily covered with coltsfoot, though the plant was but thinly sprinkled about the neighbourhood before, and, in some places, had not been found for miles within the spots that are now decked with it, within the memory of man. This is almost as great a mystery as, when the sea recedes from our coast, and leaves dry land, the new soil thus regained is covered with white clover : have the clover seeds, then, been buried in the sea-weed, and the coltsfoot seeds interred in the earth, and retained their vitality for ages ? Or, is there something peculiarly attractive in these new soils, which draws down the myriads of seeds that are supposed to be continually floating in the air? Here is ample matter for meditation. There is one more bri"-ht blue flower that comes to throw liyht and beauty upon the earth, among these early children of Spring, and that is the ground-ivy, the blossoms of which resemble in form tho dead-nettle, already described. The scallop -edged leaves of this pretty trailing plant are " beautiful exceedingly,^' as ure - 6 " VEIJONICA, ANM) LILY-OF-TIIE-VALLEY. most of the leaves that peer loi'tli witli the lirst jlowers of Sprin,L>-. Those shoot out in ])airs at the base of eacli range of ilowers, as if tliey forinod a green footstool for tlie bhie-eyed beauties to rest upon; l)ut you must peep inside the Ilowers with a niagnifying- glass to see how ex(|uisitely they are variegated. Another little IjIuo iiowcr, liable to be overlooked on aceount of its niiiuiteiiess^ may often be found a near neighbour of the ground-ivy, and thai is the ivy-leaved veronica ; it lies very close to the ground, but is well worth the trouble of hunting for, as it is the very faiiy of Spring flowers. But the Germander-speedwell is the most bi'uiitiful of all the Veronica genus, and, we have at times thought, the prettiest wild-fhjwer that blows : it rivals even the blue of heaven itself, when the shy is coloured with the most perfect azure. An old poet calls it " the blue angel of flowers." The lily-of-the-valley is another beautiful Spring flower, only found in moist, light-soiled, shady places, while such as grow in woods produce the largest leaves and the finest blossoms. What a sweet, delicate, clear look there is about that long slender stem of beautifully-formed snow-white bells, rising, tier above tier, to the tapering summit ! That flower is a specimen of Nature's finest and choicest workmanship, and, on finishing her work, she has placed the two broad leaves to protect the little gem, in such a position that no harm can befall the flower, standing, as they do, to guard it, and pillowing its white ivory bells on a cushion of green velvet ; and wdiere it grows the early birds build their nests, and sit on the edges of their newly-erected liomcs, sing- ing sw^eet songs to the bending and swaying of the lilios-of- the-valley, which seem to beat time to the woodland music COMMON WAYSIUH FLOWKIiS. " by luorlu iinJ mavis made." Woll do wo romeinbur a spot ill which tliose beauties grow, in our earlier years : — It was a valley till'd with sweotest sounds ; A languid music haunted cvoiywhcro, Like those with w^hich a Summer evo aliouuds, From rustling corn, and song-birds calling clear, Where sloping ui)lands a greon wood surround, And falling streams are heard, but not too near ; While cattle low from oIF the distant plain. And peal of village bolLs is caught, then lost again. There golden-belted bees hum in the air, And tall silk-grasses bond and wave along, Sholt'ring the flower-buds from the noon-day glai-e ; The little streams chant their low undersong, And take their own sweet course, without a cure, While luto-tongued birds the branches ever throng ; And there the lilies-of the- valley grow. While o'er their snow-white bells the sweet wild-roses blow. PRTMUOSlv ('iiii,ih;i:n oI' S|triii>>;. W(' ♦idiiiii's hfiiit;, Mii'ds so(»ii will siiin', 'I'luif Winter's over; And on (he leu, You soon will see ., The belted bee, Amid tlie clover. We come to say, " All the long day I jambs are at play, Where we were growing :"' The city street We make more sweet, And ther(! yon meet Us '' All-a-blowing." Once we did gi-ow. Where houses throw A shade below That dims the ground. In mornings olden, And made golden The land around ; Jiut nevermore, Through ages hoar. Shall there be found. cr; PKniKOSK.S. t •oiiiid IIIMI Tin; Primrose is one of the cfirliost and prettiest of our Spring- llowcrs. It is refreshing Lotli to the eye and the lieart to look upon, and, so to speak, feel the Leanty of its presence in the budding season of tlio year, peeping out from under tlie hedgerow, on some sunny baidc that faces the south, and where the darker, golden-coloured celandine has also made its appearance. There is a peculiar delicacy in the i)ale-golden hue of the primrose, unlike that of every otlier common wayside yellow flowei", none of which possess the soft tint that gives such a pleasing tone to this pi'etty, star-shaped ornament of Spring. There is great elegance, too, in the form of its notched, lioart-shaped, five-pointed corolla, when pulled from the calyx and examined minutely, — in the uniting of the flower at the base, and the long, golden neck, which was half-hidden in the pale green sheath from which it sprang. Nor is the foliage of the primrose less beautiful, with its little risings and fallings, fidl of tiny hollows and green ravines, that intersect the leaf in every direction, branching off from the main fibre, like plea- sant lanes and winding embankments in a richly-meadowed country, diverging from the common highway. Let the leaf 1)0 placed between the eye and the sunshine, the better to see this fairy-land of hilly and hollowy green. It is pleasant to 11 COMMON WAYHIDE FLOWKUS. liavo pviinrosos for conipanionsliip dun'tipf n country walk, citlicr down a long lane, by tlio cMnbanknients of piisture-])atlis, at tho foot of roiuided hills, or, prettier Htill, by tlie side of an old wood ; to seo them coming forward hero, and retiring ))ackward there, tho backward ones too abashed to greet us with that open and welcome look which seems to sparkle in the golden eyes of those that stand more boldly forward in the sunshine. What thousands of pleasant memories have primroses awakened, — more so, per- haps, than any other llowers; for they delight in green and silent places — such as Love, Friendship, and ^Icditation seek to retire into — and there only can they be found in the full perfection of their beauty. Who can tell, now, what was passing through tho heart and mind of our great poet Milton, when he wrote that strange, mystic lino about the primrose, in which he says, " Bring tho rathe prinu'ose, that forsaken dies," and numbers it amongst the flowers " that sad embroidery wear " ? It was sad to the heart and mind of the bard, through calling up the image of his lost and regretted " Lycidas," forsaken as it was by that beloved friend, who had perished in the deep. Its beauty had " died " with him, and in Milton's " inward eye " it was embroidered with sad recollections, — seen, or thought of, but to recall him, who would return " no more for ever," saving to the sorrowful eye of Memory; and this, if we err not, was why he placed one of tho most cheerful flowers of Spring amongst those that " Fill'd their cups with tears." To a contemplative mind, and one who has met Nature face to face in her green, secluded haunts, primroses arc ever filled with memories of happy and sorrowful Springs that have passed away : 12 <,0 I ' > I li;i|)[)V, HI ni*;tlliti!4' tlic diys .'iikI scimics of cliiiilliood !ii!(l ydiitli, liclnrc CMi'c liHil writ! I'll ;i K'ttcr ii[t'ii the iiiiwrinUcil lu-ow ; iiMil SMri'ii.vi'iil, t Iiriiii;;'li ;iw,iki'iiiii4' siidi I'ccolK'criou.- ns iiimjIc tlic llnwcr s;ul, Mini f. (I'Siikcii, i:i tlir ryo ol' Milton, hi'causi' liis hclnvcil ;in(l hi'moiiiit'd IVit'iid coultl iu'vi'i- l)i' with him tu Imik ii)i'!au(.'e, we iiua<^iued it was the sini.->liine that li';'hted up the einbanknicnt, as seen from tlu; little wooded k:in!l on v.- ii it'll we stood ; l)ut on lookinj^^ down niKi'e narrowly, we soon j)i>]'('eive(l thiit the valley at our feet lay in the sliade, and tliat tlu; hi'i^^'ht yellow li'^'ht was rellected from a hed of llowers; and so we walked up to, and alol!^•, that little land of primroses, " all a,-<>:row- in licst cry of " Come buy L'OMMON WAYrtll'K FLOWKIiS. ■% my protty prinirosc^s." Kvou in villiipfos, yoii will sco it in tin- Hpouth'ss mid ImndUilcPH jiir^, stiiTi(lin«jf in tlio Cf)ttii;;'(5 window, intennixcd with blnc-bi'lls, — tlio cliildirn's nosojjfny, and tlio first (lowers tlu'V n'atlicrcd since tliey revisited tin- limiiliiir ^reen nooks at the rclui'M of S|»riM}i;. In t»ni' lM»\isli days, wo ti'avi'i'sed ohl woods, not all hour's walk from oiii- hoiii(>, where primroses, l)hie- holla, and lilios-of-tho-valley spread over many an acre of wood- land, earpeiinu' the feet of tall tree^, in whose branehes the hawk, i'av(n), carrion-crow, jay, owl, and rin;^'-dove built, and on which tlu'ir youn<^ looked wlum they peeped out of their n(>sts, and saw far down, stretchin<^ away nnder the trees, lon<^' beds of these intermixed and beautiful Sprin<^ flowers. In somo of our out-of-the-way, old-fashioned En^'lisli villa<>'cs, it was a common phrase some century ago, and may bo now, to speak of Sprinj)arat(.'d without tearing tho flower in pieces, wliich would not be doju' })y dividini^ a ])uttereup and numbers of other fh)wers, from which a petal nuiy be stripped off without injury to the rest of tho flower. Several other blossoms are also united, such as tho foxj^love, the nettles, etc. ; but these are all irri'o-ulur in form, aiul have not the perfect symmetry which distin- j^'uishes tho beautiful and simple-shaped prinu'ose. i'rinn-oses, also, althoug'li they make such a show by thrusting* their pretty heads every way among the leaves, almcjst covering tho foliage with bloom, all spring from the heart of a single tuft, like the umbel-plants ; and, wore this tuft, or point, strong enough and long enough, wo should have a splendid head of blossom, all shooting from one stem, like tho cowslip, or poly anthus — the latter of which is oidy a variety of the prinn'ose — 16 C.'0,M.MnN WAYSIUK i'l-()WKH8. Mini ;i nohU' {'.owrr it would tluni \>v : n (Io/au! or niori' of liir«.;o ])rimi'oscs all hlooiiniij^- on tMU' f'oot-stnlk, innl iti;.l-iiii>; ;is L'Tcat t\ show MS il' W(> ]iul]f(l liall'-M-scori' lioads oi' cowslips aiul plaei-il tliiMii iill i(>j.;'i't.lu'r. Tlu! ])riinrost' is mii excellent sj)eciiiicii of" n ])eiTect t'.ower to exliiliit to vouii'j- oen'iniuM';- iii hot ">>'; l)V drawiii!'' out the COl'Oila,, MIK IOW1 ii'.r how it is niiifiMl, mid forins a tube which encloses the seed-vessel, the style ot" which is ^;uniiouiif i-d hy its iiroldiuu- live stamens, the whole of which are rouiH I St ij^'uia, a.,>o e sheathed in the heautit'ul calyx, and seated on the delicate loot- stalk, which sways to and fro bcif'oiH^ every breath of wind that bl ows. Honest Izaak Walton was a great lover of jMininises, and i !0 doubt they were tlu' llowers which he thouo'ht wvvv Ico bc^autilul to bl' looked upon excej)tin<»' on holid; i\-s. He t eiis us how le w;!,s s ittiu a ui uler a. beech-tree, when "the birds in rn ^li luioninis^' g ;1 uclio, w rcjve seemed to have a friendly content ion with an hoso dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tiee, near to the brow of that primrose hill. .1: WII.I) FfYACINTK, Hi:\i Tiiri, I)liic-I)cll Oniu! wood! A unnie hy cliildj'on I'lidcM'stood ; All Ku^lnud tlivouiili, Tlioy sonveli tlio dells, In sweet. S[)rini^-tiiiie, For TAIL; VETCHES. This Ijciuitifiil S|)iiii:>' llowcr, wliicli <^oiici'ally ajipf.-irs Ion;;' litToi'c April (|uic'kL'US tlu! n'l'oimd, " iiiakinj^' it all nm; ciiu-raltl/' is tin- tiaic '' bliio-bell " of the old jioots ; tlu; Jiaro-bcll ol' Sumiuer is a [lower of wliose beauty they seldom sau^': it is the early bhie-bell, that bloomed before the cuckoo canu", to which they did reverence!. The tirst posy j^atlu'red by the villag'o children, and })hicod in th(> cottaj^-e window, while March is blowing' his windy bugle, geiuirally consists of bhu;- bells, primroses, silver catkins of the willow, and a spray or two of blackthorn, which blossf)ins Ijc^fore the leaves ajijiear, and is out of bloom b}' the time the lirst white May-bud is seen: as for tin- term "wild hyacinth," excepting amongst a few of the better educated, it is unkjiown to the generality of our country-])c'ople ; while the blue-bell of Spring is a name as familiar to them as i\ic held daisy. There is a faint, delicati- perfume about this early blue-bell, scarcely ])erc( ived unless you stumble upon a broad bed of tlowers ; then you behold a beau- tiful ])icture — which imparts a double ])lea sure— for, while gaziriLr, you iidialo the grateful odour. Few ilowei-s look j)rettic>r than a wide stretch of blue-bells, towering above the ])a!e green Kaves, those thit are open wearing a, lighter blue than the boils that ronuiin folded, which are tingcul witJi a darkish purple ctolour. 13 I I COMMON WAYSIUK FLOWEKS. Tlio bolls also hang down in all kind of graceful forms ; and beautiful they look, with the top of the divided corolla rolled back, swaying to .ind fro in the March wind, and some of them standing above a foot high, while nearly half the long stock is covered with the blue-bells. The woods in which we went birds'-nesting, in our boyish days, were carpeted with these deep-dyed flowers ; and it seemed like awakening from a long dream, when we first walked around the neighbourhood of Cobliam, below Gravescnd, and saw myriads of blue-bells and primroses lighting up the underwood that skirts the beautiful park. Wo have gathered them near London, in the fields that lie behind Cambcrwell, in Lordship's-lane, where, on the right-hand side, is seen a pond overhung with trees, a little way before reaching that very old road-side hostel, the " Plough " — a spot very little more than an hour's walk from the busy City. A few years ago, the whole bank around the pond, and portions of the field also, were covered with blue-bells. As for Dulwich Woods, there are nooks at the foot of the hill, where they lie like a blue sky between the openings of the underwood, and are as beautiful as ever bloomed, though grow- ing within sight of London, which is seen from the hill-top, like a silent city, — for not an echo of its ceaseless roar reaches the listening bells of those sky-dyed flowers. And further in, woodward, with St. Paul's Cathedral still before the eye, you can feel " The freshness of the space of heaven above, Edged round with dark tree-tops, through which a dove Doth often beat its ^vings ; and often, too, A little cloud doth move across the blue." — Keais. 80 WILD HYACINTH, OR IITA'L-IIKLL. What a f^rand sij^'lit it would bo, if tlio l)luo-l)olls swept over and covovfMl as largo a spaeo of ground as tlio hoatlior — if we could s(>e long miles of lioatli and moorland, stretcliing as far as the eye could reach, all covered with wihl hyacinths, and nothing else beside ! What ever-shifting colours would bo produced — what a diversity of blues wo should behold : tho golden blue, in tho sunshine; tho d.'irk purple, where tho shadow of heavy clouds fell; tho silvery blue, produced by tho white, feathery, floating clouds; .and then tho rosy flush of sunset, when all tho west was hung with fire. How Turner would have revelled in such a scene — perhaps have changed the shifting colours into a sea, and have played madder pranks than when lie made tho sunset in the east, beyond Croenvvich, that he might light up his "Old Teraerairo" to suit his fancy, tho ship being then towed London-ward — for such unnatural freaks will Genius at times indulge in. Those who search for tho finest flowers must plunge into the dee])est solitudes; thoy will never be found where they are liable to be covered with wayside dust by every rising gust or passing vehicle, or by the tramp of cattle, as they are driven to and fro. Let there only be a hedge between, and there is no comparison, for freshness and beauty of bloom, between those which are smothered with dust at every stir on tho road, and those which, standing field-ward, are sheltered by the hedgerow. But even those are only " a sorry sight," compared with what may be found far away in the fields, at the foot of, and upon, the hills, in lanes which lead only to tho fields, and where no vehicles pass, excepting during the hay and corn harvest, or when carrying a little manure in the winter; i\ COMMON WAYSIIH: Fl.dWlM.'S. II : \vh(M-(», at (iVory f'lnv y.-mls, n bird's-iiost tnfiy be foiiiid, tt'llin^'" how silent .'iiul undisturbed the wliolc i^rceu noiu'hbourhood T'eiu.'iius for tlie <^n'e!iter part of the year. In such spot a ds tliesc; tlie cowslips aud bhie-bells n^ow lialf as tall a|;'ain as they (h) in dusty roadside phices; wliile the primroses mid c(>lan(hiies tlirow ()i)en such broad (Uses of ^'ohl, tlxat they h)ok like Ihjwers from anotlK.T ami a fa,r-olf laud. Other places wo know, in our boyish days, where the blue- belLs of Spring grew, tlint had never been cultivated withiTi the memory of man. They lay m broad, h)w ])atchcs, amid high embaidcmonts of gorse, on laud still moist, that might in former times have been a nun-e, though the sedges tha,t would still have been waving there, had the water have; to- maiiied, ha,d not left a trace of their former existence, beyond a few connnon rushes. At every few yards, as if they hiid started uji at some sudden alarm from their long sloe]), stood gnarled and twisted thorns, hoary through nge^ deformed dwarfs, that could never attain any height, so twisted and curled around one another, as if to get out of the way of the armed aud prickly gorse that ])ressed close upon them on every side. They looked as if they had grown in j)ain, and clung to one another in a time of unutterable agony, never to separate again. It was no land of giant trees, for even the o:dc, that showed signs oi having stood long centuries, had attained neither Ijreadth nor height in pro]iortioTi to its groat ago, bnt had grown into great bidging knots, where, in another soil, there would have been broad branches. The fern, the gorae, the brand)le, aiul the low-lying beds of wild blue- bells, alone seemed to iiourish there, with here nnd tjjere an n Wii.i) iiVA'iN'i II, AM> ii(»i;si;-'rAii.. ii"'U(l ci'iib-trco tliiit somc'tituos si'iit out ii I'rw wciik louvcs, l)ut li;id uimurnbercd years ai-'o ceased to blossom. Ill ono wild s])ot, wliicli retained soiiio pDi'tioii of its foiMner inoistiu'o — {'or in iineiinit times it had, no dnuht, been a im>re — t^rc'W several varieti(.>s of i\\v horse-tail, and nowliei-e else was it to 1)0 found for miles around that ancient nei^-hbourhood. This we frecjuently gatlicred only for its stran^-e jointed aj)- poarance, and broni^lit homo amid our ainifuls of lon<>' trailing blue-bells, not knowino; even its name at that period, thougli wo found anniseraont in pulling the joints asunder, and endea- vouring to re})1ace them again, which v/as a diHicult task, although each fitted iis 1;;!(; as if made l^y the most highly- (inishod machinery — bnt we now think that no art of man could ever form such beautiful and delicate joints. The s])ikes containing the seeds, etc., make their apjiearanco before the leaves; and the long whorls of branches, if reversed, look like a pile of skeleton und)rellas, that want covering or filling in with green. Ono species of this plant — the rough horse-tail — is of so flinty a nature, that it is grown largely in Holland, and sold for polishing iron and brass, and other metallic sub- stances. Few plants contain so much silica as the horse-tails; and this is sufficiently palpable to convince many a misbeliever who looks doubtingly when he is told seriously that certain plants contain large quantities of flint. When the blue-ljolls have ceased to bloom, there may be found by the waysides, in the hedges, on dry, gravelly, and hilly pas- ture grounds, a beautiful variety of vetches, the originals of our everlasting-peas, sweet-peas, and other varieties. The tufted vetch — a regular hedge-climber — is a perfect beauty, and so 23 - n COMMON WAYSIUK FLOVVEKS. thickly crowded witli clusters of liliu'-sluided ])urplo Idossoins, tluit tiio Howois cover one another. The leaves of those ])lants are also Ijciuitifully arrangUMl, running side by side regularly along the central stalk, and either terminating in a leaHet or a teiulril. There is no mistaking these pea-])lants, for they all have the butterfly-shaped flower, with its standard, wings, and keel. The rough-podded vctchling has a beautiful bright- crimson standard, though the other portions of the flower ai-e pall- ; while the grass vetch has long narrow leaves, and bears the prettiest flower of the species. But the kidney-vetch, or Lady's Fingers, bears as great a variety of coloured flowers as our sweet-peas : sometimes they are red, oftener yellow ; tlum again, white, or of a rich cream-colour. Some of these dwarf vetches hide their beautiful colours among the corn ; others, like the tares, are half buried amid the leaves; and a few are so small, that their beautiful tints cannot be seen, unless they are looked at very carefully. The milk -vetch, with its light purple flowers, is a pretty plant ; the more so, as the colour of the bloom frequently changes from dark to light, and at times to a clear, bright white. The vetches are about the most beautifully-coloured plants that grow wild in England, and are deserving of a special treatise, entirely devoted to themselves; for in our rambles we have occasionally gathered rich varieties, for which no name could be found, though a blind man, only by the sense of touch, would have been able to tell what family they belonged to. .'!) :i )ins, nnts larly fc or tlioy ngs, H'lit- ai'O cars , or i as lion vjirf ers, few less its the vht, •out ,nd, to red 1 a ible VIOLKT K.WOY (liil m!\'r Im'Imi'i' assitrii '!'(» flowoi' so iimiiy luunos ns tliiin- . " ('omc-kiHs-ine-ut-tlu'-pirdcn-n-ntc." Clioson by lovers ])artin^^ Into ; " (liuliUe-mc-to-you," how I'lulj'ariiiu' I " Pansy," ami " Hoart's-oase," Iovcm's ('lu'ci'inLf. Tlien, " TIirce-fact'S-iuKliM'-a-liood," Was chosen l)y a youth, who stood Shclterinf^ two maidens from the rain, In a ^reen, violet-eover'd hino. Shaks|>eare gave tliee immortal fame, iiinkini^ a goddess to thy name : He said, much sweeter arc thy dyes, '•Than the vein'd lids of Jnno's eves." M VIOLT/rs. A CALYX, oil ll,()WKI{-('i:i', DKSClilllKt). TwKRH is no perfume thrown out by our common wiiysiilo flowers sweeter than that of the wild violet, or wood violet, iis some eall it, thoug-h we hardly know wliy, as it is as commonly found under hed<^erows and on shaded embankments as in woods. Like tin? rose, too, it retains its fragrance after the flower has withered, and lon<^ leaves its sweet odour amonj>'st whatsoever may have enfolded its purple petals, — for it is only the dog-violet that is hlac and scentless. Small as the violet is, it has the power of tlu'owing out its seed to the extent of two or three feet, as may be seen if the capsules are gathered, and laid out to ripen in the sunshine after the seed-vessels have opened — for it recpiires some time ft)r the valves to become dry and hard enough to obtain the strength of spring by which this jerking operation is performed. It may be fancy, but we still think the sweetest and strongest- scented violets wo ever gathered grew at the hilly end of Clifton Grove, — a spot familiar in name, at least, to all who have read Kirko White's beantiful poems. These violets, also, were of a darker purple, and the small-eyed, golden centre was of a deeper orange, than those we have found in the South of England; and as for fragrance, it was so overpowering, that a goblet filled with 27 I ' I COMMON VVAYHIUK KLOWKKS. flowers, uiid left iti a closed room, would bo moro tliiiii ii delicate person coidd bear, unless tho door or window was opened bef'ore- li.'ind, as tlio stron;^ perfume produced a sensation of t'iiintn(>ss. l"'rojii the frecpient mention madc! (»t' it in liis inmiortal works, there can be no doubt about the violet bein^ one of Shakspeai'e's favourite llowers. It is the violet he makes sweeter tlum the ** lids of .luno's eyes;" and t]u> most delicious spot he can select for the soft soutli breozo to blow ui)on is "u bank of violets." We have heard that tho violet abounds in the nein-hbourhood of Strntf(jrd-»ipon-Avon, and luivo often thouo-ht, to one who had leisure and a love for flowers, what n pleasant pilj^iimnge it would bo, to s})end a few weeks in Sprint^ and Summer-time in that venerat(>d locality, and Imnt about for the flowers which he so often mentions in his works, and to compare tlieir names with some of the old herbals of his time. Even now wo have our doubts as to wluit flower it really was wliicli he called " Tlio lady-smock, all Kilver white;" as wo find " Lady Smock, or Cuckoo Flower," in an old herbal in our possession, published in l(55lj, which cannot, we imagine, be the same flower as ShfdlliUL'il llosli Miiy viok'U Hpriiij,'." Many ol" oui' early jioets also call the violet " purple, " dark," " di'e|)-set," "dark vi'lvet," and one " wine-colourcid," another " watchet," which, if wo mistake not, nieana a lijrht l)liio ; thoun-h every ono who has seen tho flowers grow wi,d must have been struck witli the ditt'erenco l)etwecn tho colour of the bluo-bell, or v.ihl hyacinth, with its unmistakable blue, and the darker pui'ple of tho sweet violet. All who aro familiar with tho country must have notice] how great a distance from tho liay-iield the perfume of new-made liay has been carried: the aroma of May-lnuls never reaches so far, nor does tho fragrance of a bean-lield in blossom. AlU theso sweet smells arc well known to every lover of the country ; but few, we dare say, have ever noticed tho great distance to which the odour from a bed of wild violets is wafted. Wo f(jund it out unexpectedly, many years ago, while wandering beside a wood in tho neighbourhood of Newstead Abbey. There was no mistaking the perfume, as it came floating upon the pure 2? ♦ COMMON WAY.SIDK KLOWKK'S. ' tl ail- of a svvcot Spriii<^ morniiif^, across that laiul of flowers and poetical association. But wliorc were the violets ? The sweet scout was distinct enough, but nowhere could wo find the flowers, until we plunged into the wood; and, if our memoiy does not mislead us, the bed of violets lay some fifty good strides from the spot whence they lii'st betrayed their " wlu^re- about" by their fragrance. We have found violets growing in the midst of ancient ruins, where the wall-flower scented the air above, and the violet bloomed over the iniknown dead who slept below, — on spots where altars once stood, and the incense from waving censers floated ; and endless old-world fancies have floated across our mind, as we imagined how those beautiful fhjwcrs first came there. In our eyes they appeared different from those that grew on the wooded knolls, as if they were, somehow or another, allied to the dead, and it would bo sacrilege to carry them away with us. For in such solenm places, more so than in others, we seem to fV'cl near an invisible l^'csence, such as the dead lying below once knelt before, and which Ave Avho arc of the living still acknowledge in our devotions. Flowers in these once- hallowed places, unlike those in the bowery hollows or sunny tMnbanknu}nts of woods, awaken no poetic dreams of nym[)hs and dryads, or of fay ; no pictures of " Juliet loaniiif? Amid her wiudow-Howers ;" but images of the departed dead alone, who seem again to pace the ruined cloister, with leaden, downcast eyes, and to send back sigh for sigh in every breeze that whispers through the ivy leaves, which never seem at rest in that long, roofless aisle. 80 1 VlOl.K'l'S. Wlmt colour woro the violets tluit givw in tlio (iiirdcii of Kdcii, iiiul how laru'c did thov o-rowV Oulv the other dav, we vend of iiii experiment with potted violets, attached to a balloon, which, after ascending a certain height, was made stationary, and that in a few days these violets m-ow thrice the si/e of anv that had ever bloomed on this "tirm-set" earth. 'J'here is true poetiy in the thought, that the air of oni* earth is too otoss and heavy for violets to grow to perfection. Yet, for so small and delicately formed a flower, the violet is very liardy, "coming l)ef(>re the swallow dares," as Shakspoare tells us, and enduring the cold, cutting winds of iMarch, while nuiny other flowers, which seem to possess ten times its strength, do not even ventui-e to ])nt forth a bud, until soft April showers and wai'm, sunny, IMay days have far advanced the progress of Spring. Wo have often thought, that if, instead of the word " calyx," the compound word, "flower-cup," were used, it would be bt>tter understood by young beginners in botany, as sonu'thing which, although forming a part of the flower, the flower or petals rest upon. Neither do we know why we should hesitate even to use the old, homely English word, "saucer," and make the corolla the cup; stamens, pistils, etc., the contents of the cuj), — if, by doing so, wo could simjflify our botanical lesson, and get rid of a few of those hard words which too often frighten voung beginners. Or what if the calyx were the tray; the stem the table; the petals the cup ; then stamens, etc., — where would the harm be? iS'o- thiug is lost by simplicity; and it would be easier to explain the various forms of the tray, or saucer, of the flower; how, also, some are large, others small : and thus, by keeping before the eye a familiar conii)arison — not at all dillicult to do, for he or she 3i COMMON \V.\V;;il)i; I'LOVVHKS. 1 11 I would 1)0 a poor insti-nctor, wlio, oven iit a broalvfast-tablo, could not find the illustrations to "a|)t allusions," wliicli would ninko tlio l)(\r(> if uivw liiiy clfcaiuing. while The sweet South bh'w Its Avliito-strciikM jictals To and fro ; And through his eyes. I Fa If shut, he saw A Cuxl-likc shape. Fonn'd of tlie wind. And tluis a name Did for it find: For seeing all Jts bells in motion. He thonglit this young god Of the ocean Had left fair Thetis' Pearly side, Upon its drooping Bells to ri(h! ; And ever sinee Tliat dreamy hour. ft has been called The Wind-flower. \V()(il)-AXEMOM^; FOLIACK, AM) ITS l-lXCTlnXS: WOOD-SOUKKL : SWKHT WOOIHU IF. AV^KiiH it not lor kiiowino- wlicrc ccrtniii ilowci's grow, tliroiici'li f'nniicr visits to the siiiiio spots, ;iii(l for iinticipittiiiu' tlicir 'ippciir- iiiicc as w(; look for tlio lircakinj^" of day, we could liar' with the lirst i)iile tlusli of Sjjring groon. Thoso friends we liave takcMi with us, and who liuve for tlio first time witnessed this heautifid disnlay of eaily flowers, so unlike in colour to either the wild hyacinths or iirim- roses of Spring, have gazed in wonder on the jiurple-tiuged blossoms, as they lay like a rich carpet, stretched between eveiy smmy break in the nnderwood. They have such a light, cheer- ful look as they sway to and fro in the wind, — now slnnviug the outsides of their petals in flashes of pale pui'ple, then bending back in Hues of light, as they reveal the grey-white insides of the corolla, — never seeming the same for a minute togethei" wluni in motion, but over shifting their white and lilac hues, as if some fairy shuttle was shot through them at every stir, and constantly changing their colours. The leaves, also, are beautifully cut, and thei'c is much grace in the pendulous hanging of the blos- som, and the way in which it spriugs from its three-leaved involucre; for there is no true calyx to the anemone. if t A (I ' h ! COMMON WAVSIDK I'F.OWKKH. Aiiotliov iiiioiiioiK", (tf'rcii ciillcd the '' I'jisiiuc-tlowt'i'/' and "viio- nilly only found on diiilky ground, is of a beautiful j)ur|)lc' colour, wliilo the outsidc'S of the petals have a rich silky look, hut Hucli a silky material as the daintiest lady in the land never wore, for no loom was id tie to turn out such a ])l()oni us these beautiful ])etals dis])lay. Why the Greeks o'ave the name of wind-flower to this handsome ])lant, has never been explained; ])erhaps it may liave been througli the petals o|)enino' wider durim^' a warm windy d.'^iy than at any other time. We have already stated that the leaves of the anemone are deepl}'^ and beautifully cut, and^ while speaking- t)f the beauty of foliage, we will take a rapid glance at the great variety of forms it assumes, and show how it is the very life of each plant, shrub, and tree, receiving show r and shine, and giving to the vegetable world all its nourishing juices. Througli its leaves the plant lives and breathes, sending out, so to speak, its own breath through numberless minute openings, and drawing in througli the same apertures all it requires for support from the surrounding atmo- sphere; shutting up in very dry weather, and retaining the moisture it possesses, or opening to the refreshing shower, and receiving a new supply. Some leaves, on the under sides, are covered with hair-like bristles, forked t)r star-shaped; others, with a velvety down ; some rough to the hand and piercing, and others feeling like silk floss, and softer than the softest feather ever plucked by a bird to cradle its young upon. To see the beautiful formation of a leaf properly, a skeleton, or frame, of one that has lost all its green, and retains but the ribs and that exquisite net-work of veins, ought first to be examined. In this will be found, more beautiful jiattcrns 36 ^ ' . roM.MiK, .\NI> IIS ll\( •! IONS. tliiiii Cv'or fair liiiLivrs wove into oi'iiniiicTitnl lace; iind sonic of tluMn so tine, that a glass is r('(|iiir('(l to rxaniino rlir hcauty of tho nicslu^s. !)nt tlio given wliich tlic skeletcMi li-al" lias losfc Avas its vitality: its breathing j)Owei' has gone; no move green blood Hows through those tiny veins; those little months will never open again to receive the gentle showers; tor "to this eomplexion has it come at last," though even iu death it is still beautiful, — " l)iil, wliiU- wi< inoiirii iis swill ilcciiv. Now biul.s aru l)iir.-:iin,L;' (111 llii' s|)ray." Fn tho grasses, Hags, etc., we do not Iind the same Ijeautiful net-work of vi'ins as in the leaf of the oak or rose-tree, but long, straight, ribbon-like lines, beautit'ully illustrated in oat-leaves, which may be rent all tho way down into silk-like shreds. The divisions of a leaf are so sinipk', that a child may easily com- prehend them, consisting simply of the stalk, mid-rib, veins, toj), bottom, and margin or edge, and skin or vegetable covering, with tho downy or hairy spikes, mostly on the under side. S(»me leaves are stalkless, and surround the ste)u, or spiing out of it, as in tlio teazel and thistle, while the stems of grasses arc sheathed in the foliage. Tho " Speec'we'' ' fui'nishes a fine example of the close stem-sitting and stalkless leaf. As for the variety of tho forms of foliage, tho botanists have boon compelled to seek for comparisons among tho liomeliest things we are acquainted with, — hearts and kidneys, hands and lingers, arrows and awls, and everything else that lias a shape at all, and, in some instances, that has not — so ditlicult is it to find fitting comparisons. Then tho margins are smooth, notched, saw-toothed, cut, crimped, slashed, torn, and bitten out, so to speak, in tho 37 I ; I' \ ('()>ni()\ waysihk i'i,()\vi;i;s. nu out fi, new pntteni, from tlie st.'in-.bfi'tle to tlie tiny iint. Some, !i'j;;iiii, like the holly and thistle, are armed with sharp spikes, thou^-li for what piii-pos(» we have yet to discovi-r ; all we know is, that they are almost as daiiwrous to handle as wasps. As for componnd leaves, they may be fonnd doubly and trebly multiplied, as in the umbelliferous plants, many of whieh are very beautiful. Leaves, with all their varied and ])!ea.-injx ibrnis, are the o'rand coverini>- of Summer; they make our foi-ests shady, om' winding- aveimes cool and beautifid, ^t^'ivinu," ])leasant shelter from the burnino- sun to the lord of th(> estate unci ler 1 ns .-.ncestral oaks, juid to the "looped and windowi-d ray-gedness ' of the beggar, while he snores beneath tlie "iiyside liedge. loved to dwell upon the bt'auty and bursting () ui* earlv )oets of the loaves, from the moment when tlu>y first showed their tiny heads, to the time when they "grew green and long," and formed a covert for the timid doe and her little hind. Scores of elocpient passages might be extracted from our rougli old ballads, describing the beauty of forest foliage. It is the leaves that give such beautiful colours to Autumn — crimson and gold, purple and green, — dying the arras whieh Summer had hung up into n(>w and moi'e pleasing hues^ as if trying to out-rival tho sj)lendour of the departed lloweis. One old poet tells us that they were made for the birds to bin'ld d sing amonji-, and to hide and sh{>lter their little ones. Jhit an 'o' the tender green buds of Spring awaken more ])leasui'able feel- ings in our lieavts than the changing hues of Autumn; for one bi'iuf'vs the vear in its bloom of voutli — the other, whi'u it is \ViHiii-?i;i,. itiMi'ki'd with till' ti'iU'rs dl' ii^-c; ;iii(I nil llifsc V!ir\iii''' ciiidt imis iro cmIUmI 11]) l»y tlii' (lill'M-cut !ii)])f:ir;iii('r (A' tlic K';i\' lie iiii if the Icjit' is, iirU'i" ill lilt MIU- dl tllCMli'llt JUKI lll'(H'SS;irV dlU'l'il- ;(• \v:i' l.v tl IC IK \V 1)11(1 tidiis of Xiitiirc; it is |)11s]hmI dul dl' tl wliicli bcnMiis to swell, in Aiitilitnt, nlinvt' liic old !t';it', wliirli it tlirusts iVdiii its pliun*. 'ITiis hud will rciuiily hv I'dund, \>y a close inspcc-tidU, bcf'di'C" i-vcu tlu' Uar-liills, in tlic nxilla, or anii- ])it of tlio leaf; it is always a1)dve tlie old leal", and, as it cnlai'u^'i's, ])Uslios it downwards, and causes it to fall, or break oil', at I lie ])oint ^\•llicll connects it with the si)ia_v or hvaneli. The reawon wliv cvcrnToons retain their leaves thronu'liout ihe Winter, is SI niply thront^'h these l)n(]s net Imrstiui;' dut in Antninn, as they do in the n'enei-ality of ti'ces, hut inakinu" t! iCl i' tiist a])[)eai'an('e in the Spi'infr, when they undei',L!,'o the same jireei'.-.--. In a (U-ad plant, the leaves wither or die, but still remain on the stem Wn- n loni^' tinii', bc>canse there are no li\(' l)i;(ls loillK-onun!^' to ])usli them olf: this is an nnniistakal whether a plant be livimij;' oi- dead. )le SH-'ii 111 (leteiimniii; Jh.t d wo aro dwell inu' oi 1 the fadiim- beauties of Autumn whih wanderiiifi^ amony" tho ancnioiios, which love to •■•row ii 1 wood shaded nooks, or little opening's between thc> trees, wheri' the dark-blue liyacinths and sweet violets delig-ht to blow, 'j'here we also find the beautiful wood-sorrel — the real Ii-ish shamrock — which th.e Mnierald Jsle has abandoned, and substituted tin' litv 't is, if true Jt.- clover in ])lac(> of it; to which we say, "| brij^'ht-grecn, heail-shaped, trefoil h>av(-s, which close upon one another, all arisc> from the root, and clos(> 1)dtli at the ai)])rdaeli of nig'htand before rain, 'fhey are beautifully divided at the top, and h)ok like rounded wiiiu's closed, when folded. The li it-ColdUl'l (1 39 « m ('t).M.MtiN WAVsiin; I'l.ou i;i;s. pctiils live stroiikcil with liliif, and uvv liii'ti'c I'oi' llic si/c of tin* plimt, while t\w I'oots rcseiiibh^ strinj^'s of thii')i(h'd bends; hiit, Mko every tliiiij^' that is very fair, the Ihiwoi's soon fa(U>. Tho leaves are more acid than the eonmion Held or true sorrel, and are said to yield the pure oxalie acid, also, tlu' so-ealled sa.'s of lemon, when the jiiiee is crystallized. 'I'lie si-i'ds, wliieli ai(! shut up in ivn elastic covering, when fully ripe hurst their shells su(hh'nly, and are projected to a considei'abh' distance. Once seen, this beautiful plant can never bo foi'gotten, as it resend)lcs no other; for it cannot he nnstaken for the yellow wood-sorrel, which hes on the g-round, and bears its flowers in small undjels. Here we iiiul also tlio sweet- woodruti', which, thoun-h seldom standing more than six or seven inches hij^-li, looks very pretty, with its small white flowers, when fresh gathered, its narrow wliorled leaves have also an elegant appearance; while, for fragrance, it may be compared with the sw(>et and delightful smell of new-mown hay, and when dry it retains its pleasant j)eifume, some say, for years, — for the odour is much more powerful in the dry, than in the newly-gathered plant. It loves best to grow in the mould formed by decayed leaves, and may generally be found around the stems of oak-trees, if such are gro\vn in the wood, while the white, brilliant flowers are star-shaped, like those of the jessamine. The aroma is not very perceptible when first gathered; but on bruising a leaf between tho fingers, the smell emitted is so sweet and powerful as never to be forgotten : even the warmth of the hand is sufficient to draw forth its frao-i-ance. lUTTKKCirs, DAISIKS. AM) AIMM. STAMIAS .\NI> I'IS'l'II.S (»K l'l,n\\i:i;s. 'i !' JlUTTEUcii's and diiisics arc the cliildrcii's nrcat tr('a>iiry of ^-nld ami silviT, and slioiild tlicy Ix- lui'tiiiiatc t'ii<)ii<4'li to liccoiiu' wealthy in al'ti'i* years, all the rlclics tjicy acciiimiiatc caiiiioi piircliaso ^•reatcr pleasure than they eujoyi'd v I:en, in their ai^'e of inuueenee, they went forth with their linjit-hearted and ha|tpy eoni{)anions, to feather these ohl, familial", and eoininon wayside llowei's. Nor do cliildr(Mi seem to care so much for any othci* Howoi'S as they do for these; and the only reason we can <^Mve for this partiality is, that the contrast of the colours j)leuses their eyes, tliat they grow so ])lentifully tog-ether, and that tlu'y rarely see such vast masses of any other flowers in the lields at a sinj^le glance, as there are of buttercups and daisies. The daisy seems ever to liave been a favourite flower in lOngland : its beauty has been praised by our oldest poets ; and all know, wIkj have ever read his works, that Chaucer's aficction for this simple wayside flower was a constant and fervent })assion. Chaucer tells us how he was so pai'tial to the daisy; but has he told us all ? We fiincy not. It appears to us, who have been readers of his poems from our boyish days, that something is left untold regarding his love for the daisy; that in his mind and heart this 43 (•():\iM(iN w.wsini': p'i,o\vki;s. old I'!ii liad h)Vt'd, oi- one wlio had dii'd, to wlioso memory ho " (hd rcvi'i'i'ru'i' " while; worshipijiiio- the llowcr; rising' curly, even hcl'oro the sun was u]), to SCO tho daisy o])on, anil romainin;^' in the lii'ld until ho could scarcely s(>o what llowcrs were at liis feet, to see it close. Wordsworth says, "its homo is everywhere;" and, so far as lie had Kni^'land in view, he wrote what is ti'uc. Hut the daisy is no connnon ilowcr wluMi examined ininntelv; to say nothinijf of that heantifnl silver IVinn'c, ol'tiMi streaked with the riclu\st crimson, tho disc, or yellow ccntri>, displays a. i-ai'o array of liny llorets, showint>' that it is a compound liower. It is a heautilul adorner of our meadows, its clear white colour foi'minj;' a ])lcasant contrast to the green jj;'rass, and aifordinn^ more delii^ht to tlio eye than tho yellow buttercups, which sei'in but n g'oldon shade of i;-i'eon, when blended with the jj^rassos, and not standiuir out bohl and briuht. like tho daii '}' Chi uu'or s]ieaks ot Ji meau< f d< )\V Wl th d; nsios i)ow dei'od over;" and tho very qiuiintness of tho word " ])owdered I )rni<>"s beioro tlio evo o th tl 10 ninu .1 tho white touches in ii laiul- scapo, as if put into a jiicture by a delicati' hand, wliili; thi' word " j)aintod" would have liad a heavy look in ])laco of it^ though it IS n ot tl le case wliero Sha! Ivsiioaro makes the d; usv paint tho meadows witli tlfliLrlit. it was called, as its name indicates, the "day's eye,*' and the "eye of day," by our ancestors and early poets, and so tho Saxon children called it, when they wi>nt into tlie Holds, loiiu,- ('(Miluries a^'o, to <^'ather this favourite Sprinjjf liower, as children coiitinuo to do now. 'J'lioi'o are innumerable old, world-wiso U Jil TTHKl'lI'S, n.MSirs, AMI Aiasi. aj)li()risins connoctrd with tlu> daisy; mihI oui- i'on-l'atliers lookcil upon it as a suvc sio-ii tliat S|)imii<;' liatl (•(tiiK' in rt'al cai'ncst, and that WiutiT was dvcm", wIumi tlit-y could stand upon nine daisies with one hiot : vet we have often seen tlaisies m tlower when tlie nimu'hed snow has ])vvi\ Ivin^' ih^r]) and white nnch'r \\\c leaHess lie(lu,'(>s. It was also an ohl sayiiii;-, " that the land)s lie down to sleep wlien they see the daisit's elosi' ;" and the Joldinu,'-np of a whole; held of" daisies in the space of" a \'rw minutes has a sIraiiLi'e apj)eai'- ance, leavinj;' the meadow wholly !4'i'een, wlu've hefore thei-i* were liroad dashes of" relVeshini;- white. And this sU'i'p of" the daisy was first sun rises, the daisy will unclose 'I'l IIS ^•oini>' to ri'st " is ecpially as expri'ssive as tlu> title of" laiiiKeu> w ork, " Soiiiiiiis Vliitiliii 'II III , and is still :is oiu •n \\>vi\ in I'ln^'laml, in the present day, as " i^Mini;" to bi'd," or " umIu;^ to sleep ;" and, to mark liis meaninir nion ' slron; Chaucer tells ns, that, it liat(>d darkness, and would not uiiclnse (we dare not write "awaken," thoiii'-li that is Chaucer's mcaniicj-,) until " in biin-ht- !,:» I ^1 i ii:' I COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWKKS. ness of the sun." In another passaj^o, lie calls the openinj^ of the daisy in the morning, "its resurrection." Chaucer, then, dis- covered the sleep of plants ages before Linntcus was born, and the passage above quoted proves it. The common buttercup is the strongly-marked representative of a large family of plants, of the genus Ranunculus, and, wo have often thought, would bo one of the very best flowers t, ■IB BUTTEliCUrs, DAISFKS, AND AKI .M. like great clusters of the richest coral, bearing no resuiriblance to the form of the plant in Spring, nor scarcely any outer sign identical of the "lord" or "lady" of our childhood, " Robin- in- the-hedge," or " Wake Robin," for we know not by how many names this curious plant ia called; nor can we recall a tithe of the old rhymes written upon it, such as — " My lord ixncl my lady toss'd up in a clout, They puU'd off the quilt, and my lady leap'd out." And another, beginning with — " Robin-a-bobbin, a bilberry hen, Look'd as big as threescore men ; But when his clothes were taken off, Like a skeleton kill'd with a cough," &c., &c. We find the centre of perfect flowers bristling with stamens and pistils, " their golden heads erect towards heaven ;" in the butter- cup they stand thick as soldiers on a tower, when the besiegers are battering the gate. Then, again, we find but two stamens in the middle of a flower, and in the water star-wort only one. Without these the seeds could not be perfected, for they are the very life of the future flower, and live on when calyx and petals are gone. They remain at times, when ripe, shut up in their prison-houses, in other forms, after having scattered their gold- dust on the winds of heaven, to be blown, for aught we know, into the immensity of space, or settle down on the crust of new worlds still in formation. Sometimes these slender-stemmed, gold-dust laden pouches scatter their treasures on the earth, until the ground is yellow with it, while the bees come out of the bloom like yellow millers, who have been grinding and carrying gold. In these important and too often overlooked portions of a ^'1 I l( COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWEltS. Ilowor WO SCO tliu purfect harmony of Nature's works : Ibi* tlio stamens surround the pistils, as the Hower-cup does the petals, each alternatini^ with the other. Each stamen, like a flower, has its stalk, on the top of which is placed the .nnther, which is generally marked as if cleft in the centre, each division forming* a little garner, in which the golden pollen is deposited. The LinniL\in classification of plants is grounded upon counting the stamens of each floAver, — a wearisome task, as some amongst them contain a countless number. There is no mistaking the pistils, as they spring from the very centre of the seed-vessel; but why the stem should be called style, or what corresponds with the anther of the stamen be, in the pistil, named stigma, we cannot clearly comprehend, as we think the addition of the ovary, or seed-vessel, would alone be sufficient to identify the pistil from the stamen. True enough, the stem is not always present, nor is the stigma or anther, if we may so call it, always visil)le; though, when it is, the sticky appearance, and the pollen-dust with which it is encrusted until absorbed into the seed-vessel, always render it conspicuous to an " understanding eye." The pollen of the anthers would be useless without the absorbing ])owcr of the stigma, and the pistil like- wise of no avail without the flower-dust of the anthers, as the seed neither fertilizes nor ripens. But here occurs one of Nature's mysteries : if the wind, or the bees, and other insects, bear the pollen of one flower to the stigma of another quite different — for the very air is sometimes filled with this golden powder — how is it that the seed remains unchanged, and ])r()duces its own class of flowers uiudtered, just as if its native stamen alone had impregnated the stigma? This question has yet to be answered. 43 C()\VSLII\^. Wilii.i: sitting ill a livainlilt'-bniki', Somo Flower Sjiirit did tliei' make, And gave tlicu" an clastic form, I [armless to bend beneath the storm : First umbel-shaped thou didst a])penr. Of a dull green, like many near; Not pleasing the creator's eye, She steej>'d thee in a golden dye. And larger madc^ thy truss of bloom. Pretty thou look'st, but there wjis room To ornament thee further still ; So she in crimson dipt her (piill. And to her i'ancy spotted thee. And left thei' nodding on the lea. A perfect and a ))eerless fiowi-r, As cvcj- s])read in Summer bower : And Shakspeare's large, iill-secing cvc^s, HcamM bright on thy '•eiiupie-spottcd '" dyes. cuwsLirs; rijiwKK im:tals. " I i;kmkmi!KK, I I't'iiiciabc'i'," is the upi'iiiii;^- of" oiio of Hood's ln.';uitifiil poems, wliicli, wlitn ^vo look back, evoi' c(jiiies riii<4iii^' ui)ou our memory, like the fumiliar })('al of our liome-cluirch bells; for a country-boy remembers many thinys wliicli those who were born and brought up in the streets and smoke of cities never knew. Can wo ever forget going "a-cowslipping/' in the old Park-house closes, that stretched far behind the summits of the hills which looked down upon the humble home of our childhood? — No more tlian we can forget how our boyisli hands were filled with these beautiful wayside flowers, as we stood upon a little knoll beside the pond where wo had gathered them, and saw, for the first time in our lives, the grey old towers of Lincoln Minster — that gem of English cathedrals — in the far distance. A proud day it was, when wo stood, Columbus-like, on our cowslip-crowned hillock — the first discoverer of that wondrous work, which no one had ever before known — so they said — to be seen nearer than a further range of hills some three or four miles distant. Thousands since that day have; stood on the cowslipped knoll to gaze on the hoary cathedral ; and wo have since heard that no cowslips grow on it now. What years have passed away since we saw the great marigold window give back glory for glory, as it stood steeped in the 61 . '' COMMON WAYWIDH FLUWEKH. suiisliino of Iioiivon ! Cowslips, as all know, liko tlio verbena, sweetwilliam, and several others, are niany-Howcrcd ; while tlio daisy and primrose never produce more than a sini^lo flower on the same stem. The hirgest number of cowslips we ever counted on one stem was twenty-seven, and the flower was nearly a foot his^h, witli tlic stalk as straight as an arrow, and thick in pro- portion to tlio lienvy truss of bloom it bore. Every separate flower, in the ]\Iidland Counties, is called a " peep," and each " peep," or corolla, is pulled out of its calyx separately when the flowers are picked, ready to make cowslip-wine — a wine set great store by in our boyish days. Beautiful did these golden blooms look, all ready picked, as we have seen them many a time in a clean-looking basket, offered for sale by some pretty country-girl, in the market-place of the town neighbouring upon the village from whence she had brought them. Izaak Walton, in his "Angler," tells us how to fry fish in picked, or "peeped," cowslips. It is pleasant to remember that Shakspeare mentions the spots in the " bottom " of the cowslip, showing how minutely he examined this beautiful wayside flower. Milton also mentions " Co\Yslips wan, that hang tho pensive head ;" and this, again, is a minute distinction, for " droop " would be a wrong word, as the cowslip, like a pretty coquette, does hang its golden head a little aside — or its many heads, if each corolla is con- sidered as a separate flower, a question botanists only can answer. When boys, we were taught to believe, that wherever cowslips abounded, they were sure proofs of ancient pasturage — certain signs that not a sod had been disturbed for many long-past years ; nor do we ever remember seeing the fields mown in which these M f'OWSLir.S; FI,0\VKi; I'KTALS. flowers ^rew so {ibniidiiiitly, tlioiiu'li tlicy fin'iiisliod rit-li pas- tiiraj^e for tlocks aiul licrds. Wo have often fancii'il tlicy iicvt'r look like any otlior flowers wlien tliey are gi'owiii<«' : tliere is no deep grass surrounding- tluMn, sueli as wo see bi.ttereups, daisies, and ck)vcr buried in, but a sliort, smooth, velvet-like g;roonsw{ird, not unlike moss for its shortness, softness, and riehness of colour. And yet what Ji munnurin<^ of bees there? is about the places where cowsli])S grow ; and wo well reniendx'r, when boys, sucking the cowslip flowers, under the belief that wo were swallowing pure drops of delicious honey. Then, what a pleasure it is to walk through fleld after field covered witli cowslips, — to see them growing, here singly, witli a clear space of beautiful, short gi-eenswjird between each little root of flowers, and a shoi't way fui'ther on, so thick and clost; together, that, step however carefully we may, wo cannot avoid trampling the crowd of beauties imder foot ; while here and there some taller stem shoots up, and bonds its golden head asidi; to let us pass through. What a pretty posy is a large handful of freshly-gathered cowslips — far more beautiful, in our eyes, than any nosegay consisting of only one variety of flowers that can be gathered in the costly garden, — one broad clusti-r of yielding gold, but ten thousand times more delicate than any goldsmith ever wrought into the form of crown or jewel ; lor what flower is there beside "Cinquo-si)ottc(l, liko tlio crimson drops r the bottom of a cuwslip " ? Siiaksi-kakk, Then, they spring up in such wild, irregular beauty, too, so that any one with a fanciful eye may trace out almosi eveiy variety of pleasing form in the fantastic lines and winding 63 I ! .1 ' ! COMMON WAY.SIDM ri.OWIlK,^. n'rclos ill wliicli tlioy <,n'o\v, " lotton'nnf tlio fields/' iis a poet of oiir (lay lias bcaiitiriilly i-xprcssod it. Flow(>rs in gardens s|)riiin« not np in idl tlicso fairy-like mazes, — golden canopies, fit for Titania and lier attendant fiiys to diinco Lcncath, wliilo tlio crimson-spotted Lells of the flowers tremble above their beads when sliaken by tlie qnick-footed revellers. Then, what a dis- tance one may walk beside them; no gai'(hMi-fenc(>, mt wall to stop our way, but onward and onward, with the blessed sun- shine al)Ove, below, and around us — scarcely a trace of the handiwork of man, exce])ting in the long lines of hedgei'ows ; and even many of these s})reading out so wildly, and running in and (jut so recklessly, that they look as if they had bi'iMi h-ffc to grow according to their own iiu'lination, un])ruiu'd or nn('lij)t for years by human hand. A walk in a trim garden awakens none of these free tiu)Ughts, and but few of these ])leasnrable fi'clings, for there the emotions seem bounded — we see oidy the same objects again and iigain — we tire for want of novelty; but no such weary feeling comes over us as we wander through ever- changing seenery, amid common wayside flowers. We have heard of the -wealthy jiossessor of an immense ])ark, and of many a goodly acre beyond its walls, who often said that he never seemed to brealhe so freely as when he wandered nn'les away, along by-roads, and farms, and villages that wer(> not his own ; and this is a privilege anybody may enjoy in free Old England, who is able and willing to walk. There is one ])retty rural picture connected witli cowsli])s, which n my often be seen in the streets of our En<'lish villao-es: and that is, children selling cowslip-wine of their own manu- facturing, which is done by getting a bottle, })uttiiig in as £1 cowsLirs; fi.oweu i'Ktals. mueli siij^ar ns tluMr rnotlicrs will allow tlioin, or as tli(>y »':iii otherwise' ol)tain, tlion cowslip " pcops," or corollaH, od lihihnn, filling up with water, and well shaking tho contents, when it is ready for sale ; it is generally vended at tho rate of one pin per spoonful, but should the market be overstocked, sales are ett'ected at all kinds of prices, and stock often falls as low as three or four spoonfuls per pin; and it is not surprising tliat tho purchasers are capital judges of cjuality, as their test is sweetness, so that the merchant who is the largest sugar- holder, and liberal in supplying it, always meets with the readiest sale. Now and then a riot takes place in the market, as some pinless looker-on, not having the "wherewithal," will give some vender's elbow a nudgo while pouring out the coveted sweet- ness, which causes the wine to be spilt, w'hen war commences, tho end of which ^lone can foretel. As before remarked, the corollas, or petals, wiiich generally are the first to strike the eye, are considered and called tho flower, though forming but a portion of it, as the calyx, or little gi'een leaves, underneath this gaudy covering (which too often overhangs and eclipses the beautiful base on which tho rich petals rest), has as just a claim to tho name of flower as tho more conspicuous corolla, though it is less showy, and gene- rally green in colour, and often leaf-Uko in shape. It is also a beautiful arrangement, that of each petal not resting upon the centre of the sepals, or leaves of the calyx, but alternate, or between them, so that between each petal there is a sepal of tho calyx, and thus tho bottom of the flower is filled up, over- lapped alternately, and strengthened. Then what a variety of forms these petals assume, — some, as in the simple bell-shaped i .1!: COMMON WAYHIDi: KI,0WE1!H. llow(!rs, mv finished plain and n(>nt., and ho porfoct tliiit, ovi'n in fortn alone, art can tnako no iinjirovenient on their beauty. Otherrf, like the violet and larkspiii*, have Home of their petaU rolled; wliih', as in the hitter, they throw out a shai'p curving" spnr behind, which, were it Htron in lunai-enicrii at mir lonj^' Ica^nics (if liawtlioi-n lio(l_i>vs, when slicctt'd -vitli May, and that t'u-y slioiild inhale with dehj^dit the ret're;shiii_LC avonia tliat aiises IVoni its countless millions of beautiful blossoms. ^V • Iciiow hut liitlc beyond what we have rea;;i". tries, but i v.diere in tho world have wo ever heard of, oi re.'ul of, aiiyihiu^^ nu ri> lovely than these tlowery land-marks — these aneit'ut roadsid / and field boundaries of Old Kii^i'Iand, tin; p^rcH'n, May-cover.d hedg'crows — the berries of which, we b'I'eve, are the chi( f cause of so many strangle bii-ds visitini;' otu' island in Winter. Iv\ce[i! iii;^' only tho daisy, then^ is no other blossom to which our old poets have paid so nuich reverence as the l-nds of May: "crownid with May," "with May g-ar' -uled," " huno- with May,"— like the chiming of sweet bells, ar. .omuls vvvv ringing througli tlicir |)leasant ])ages ; and with them this wmship was heartfelt and sincere, ibr the "brin.".uig honu; of May" was one (d' the most poetical of our old hhiglish holidays. 'J'here nmst li;;ve lie( n a great hjvo for May-blossoms, to have caused tlu ni to rise !io earlv — often hi'iore it was dav — and u-o forth into tla' I'a ids ' 11 (!! f 1^!! ll;i 1;^ COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. and woods to "])rlii<^ homo May," as wo uro told they did, cvon by our sobor old chroniclers. The muse of Sponsor soeniH fairly to run away with him while describing the " bringing hnnie of INbiy/' and good old Stowe a])pears as if lie could scarcely write soberly, when describing the May-day games of London. Nor did the "observance of Alay" escape the quiet, uU-seeing eyes of Chaucer, who alludes to it over .and over again in his fine, maidy poetry. No prettier garland could bo gathered, than a volume of poetical selections wholly devoted to Miiy, with its flowers and blossoms, love-making pi'ocessions. May-poles, and merry games. For four centuries our pijets were never weary of alluding to the sweet season of J\lay ; and we do n(jt hesitate to say, that mon; sterling poetry has been written relating to IMay than was ever penned on any other single subject. (Jo into the countiy, and you will meet young men and maidens, and even little children, returning home laden with May, though the hawthorn blossoms within a stone*s-throw of the houses in which they live. Go into the country parloui's, and you will find the fireplaces crammed with branches of May- buds, which are renewed (>vory other day or so, while Alay is in bloom : that is the ornament the country dame chooses abovo all others for her tireless grate when the warm weather comes. There is an old familiar liome-smell in the aroma of May- buds, better liked by country-peoi)le generally than any other fragrance. Who is there that has not, unaware, felt the blood rushing back into the heart on suddenly inhaling some well- remend)ered fragrance? How stamped on the heart of Jiurns was the "milk-white thorn," scenting the evening air! Who, CO •■i; MAY-IU-DS. tliJit has l)0cu yonn<^ (thoro arc lioarts always old), and lias spoilt a part of his life in the country — that has wandiMHMl with a fri(>nd, or one still doaror — can over toi'u-ot tlio fnin-ranoo of iMay, or the smoll of tlio swoot-hriar ? Thon, to bo oity-drio(l foi" years, and rotiini to sonio spot — no niattor whoro — ahound- ing with the saino odour, which you S(>oni to have for<^ott(Mi) until you inhale it all at once; and if that iniin or woman has a sensitive heart, we defy its possessor, at that moment of re-awakonod associations, not to fool its pulsations quickoiiod with a sense of revived vouth. Thon, what a beautiful harmony thor«' is in the colourint^ of the landscape when the hod^'os are all white with May, tin; fields green and yellow with long-bladr;d grass and golden- coloured buttercups — for the grasses hav»j hardly seeded before May is in bloom. We, who have boon dreamers from our childhood, love to look on these landscapes of green and g(tld with half-closed oy»'S, and to fancy that the raisi'd hedgerows of sheeted blossoms are silver terraces, leading over onwai-d to more beautiful scenery beyond the rim of the distant horizon, and far away from this place "which men call earth." Thon, what fragrance is thrown out by May-buds after a shower! In every neighbourhood where the fields, lanes, and common high- ways are bounded by hawtlu^ru hedges, the whole air for milis around is iilled with their grateful odour; and we have ol'tcii fancied that birds possess the sense of smelling — or why should they sing more sweetly after a shower, and when the ariMna of May fills the air, than at any other tinu>V They also build their nests more commonly in hawthorn hedges than any other }»laces embowered .vith green, lie must have been a [)oot who lirst >i COMMON WAVfSlDi: I'l.oWKI.'S. cjillc'd it ''.Miiy/' — who, poi'luips, after much thoiii^ht, and roculliii^'- tht' iiiUMi'S of every blossom and Hower he was familiar with, could liiid liothiii^' so np[)lical)l(.' to its l)eanty and fraf^rance as the name of the month in whieh it Idoomed — tin; month of ilowers — BO calh'd it " May." Jn rare old Ixxtks, we read of pretty maidenH rising with the sun, and ^'oini^ forth into the fields lo hathe their sweet faces in May-dew; but tliis dew, wliieli they believed had the virtue of ^ivin'h heavy with dew over the lu'ads of her youn^ companions, and scattered thousands of crystal pearls on their loose-Uowinj^'' rin^'lets. Why have none of our artists I'ver ])ainted such a ])ictureV No Summer arbour, that was trailed and twined into i'orm by the hand of num, ever ap- j)eai-ed so beautiful as some of the hu^^'e bowery hawthorns we iiave sat beneath, covered with moonlight-coloured May-biuls; ami when the sun was shinin<^", and y(tu looked upward, the white blossoms a})peared like •^•oldcn ilowei's thrown over a <4'ra(\Tul trellis of j^-rei'U, that seiMued to ham;- between us and the sky, aiul looking" as if they had never been idlied to earth, hut had for evi'r bi'cn steeped in the dew, the shine, and the shower. We remember, in our yotn -.'r years, <1oinfy "ol)servance to swet't May" afier a maimer of our own; and that was, l)y sittin;^ on a littlt> daisy-crowned hilloek (with a book beside us) which ci nimanded a cK'ar vii'W of a footpath that strelelu'd MAY-IIDS. ;il(m<;' the borders of s(V('rMl li(>!(]s, nnd wliicli nil tlio way iiloTiy; was, ill Spring', ovci luiii^^ Avilh the hlufsoiiis of May; wliile tlio lu: t siile, at the end of the farthest ineudow, Km] into tlie villan-e, whieh was nearly on a level line with the loniif rows of hiiwthoi-ii heds that skirted tho lleld-ptdlis. " Idleness ull," says some hard, itiattor-of-fact man ; still it was pleasant to sit and watcli the forms that came and went, townward and villa <^cward, with the white May broke^n hei-e and there by masses of ^m^en han^nn^r over the footway, — to see the sun and shade sliiftinii^ places, and colourin^^ the costnme «)f the passors-by, — to liear the jingling- of shee])-bells, the bleat- ing of h'unbs, and tlie lowing of milch-cows in the village meadows; and then all those sounds to i)e drowned by tho h)ud singing of birds, wln'ch you could ])oth hear and see as tliey kept darting in ami out between the A!ay-l)l()ssoms, which they shook down in sliowers. "Idleness all," says the money-making man, rusthng tlio leaves of his thick chefpie- book — for wliat cares he for the rusthng of the leaves and blossoms of May? There are no other blossoms which inspired oni* f\irly pociM to utter so " many a lovHy aayinj^ About its Iwivcs ami tlowurrf, — at)oiit (lie j'Iayiiii( Of nyin})lis in woods anil finintains, and t,li(> hIi.kIp, Keeping a silciico roiuid a sleeping maid" (Kkats), as the buds of May: Chaucer, SpcMiser, Shakspoaro, Mihf.n, K'li'ick, ami many another " liigh-browed bard," liave snu"- liie praises of this beautiful ornament(!r of Sj)ring. Ihirns wliosc great heart was brimful of Nature's own j)oetr\ on m II COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWEKS. seeing tlio hawthorn in bloom, placet! liis young lovers beneath it, and exclaimed — " I've pacod mucli this woary mortal rouiul, And sa<^o cxjicricnco bids mo this doclaro, — ■ If lIoavcTi a druiif^lit of hoavcidy ]jluasuro s|)ari', Ono coniial in this melancholy vale, 'T is when a youthful, lovinj^, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the eveninpf gale." Tlie '' milk-white " blossoms, as Bums calls them, are not so much admired by some pcoi)le as the May tinged with pink, which is owing to the red clayey soil on which these richly- coloured liawthoms grow, and from which the red INIay, so ornamental to pleasure-grounds, is derived. lioth, however, have the same sweet fragrance ; and the most beautiful, in our eye, is the May flushed with pink, like a raiiidcn-blush rose, or th(^ warm inner side of a delicate shell. There is also something very elegant in the form of the foliage of the hawthorn, which is broad and beautifully shaped; while some of the " haws," as the berries are called, are not only ono of the richest reds the eye rests upon in Autumn, but are as sweet and pleasant to the ])alatc as any lierry to bo found at the wane of the year. We have fretpieutly gathered them when they have been almost as largo as the " heps " of the >vild-rose, and, to our not over-particular tastes, wero very agi'eeable, and as sweet as sugar. As to the May -blossoms, we used to devour them by handfuls, while we ate the leaves also, and called them " bread-and-clieese " — a name still well known to i)oor country children, who too often, we fear, t)nly eat their fill off the budding hedgerows in early S[)ring. 61 I WILD ROSKS AND PKHFrMllS. Our boaiitifiil wild wiiysido roses aiv, like o\ir hawtliorns, in- tliironous, uiul lon<,^ la'forc tlic eye of iiiiin ^-nzed oti tlu'ir bliishinnr petals, they bloomed ami faded in many parts of our unpeopled island: so that Hn<,dand eould not have selected a more l)elittin" to iidiale, it is deficient in that richness of colour which we find in the common wayside rose, and which sometimes approaches a ])ale crimson, thou<,di it is oftener found (mly a shade or two dei'per than that of the delicately perfumed maidi'u- blush rose. Years a<,'-o, we were familiar with nuiny a ^recMi secluded nook that was hedged in by nothin;.' but blushin<^ wild roses, many of which stood hi^^her than the head of a tall mounted horseman ; and although we have seen many a rare collecti(»n of choice flowers in our day, and walkeil throu;ih many a far- famed j,'arden, yet none of these have left so !astin<^-an impres- sion on our minds as those lon<^, hij^h, thick hed<(es of wiM roses, when covered with bloom. There is something*' so beau- tiful in their folia»^e, too — nuich more so, in our eyes, than is ever to bo seen in j^ardevi roses: in the light, graceful sweep of the stems, with their long side-shouts, and in the fan-like fall 1' I I fOMMON WAYSIDK FLOWl'MJS. I of tlic ])ranclic.s, as they bond f]fracefiilly over one another, pointed at the end, and broad in the middle, while all the way up that beautiful gi'een staircase are ranj^ed the palc-crinisou vases of roses, in such fanciful positions as the hand of man could never imitate, though a long league of wild-rose liedges were thrown together for his use, — for leaf and flower would wither before he had woven a screen of his own lieight. There are a great many varieties of the wild rose, so closely resembling one another, that it is difficult to distinguish them apart ; — the commonest of these is the dog-rose, which abounds almost everywhere where there are fields, lanes, and hedges. Its colour frecpiently varies, according to the nature of the soil, being sometimes nearly white, but more generally of a rich pink, and occasionally rose-red. It has a slight, pleasant scent, especially after a shower. Another is the sweet-briar, ])eloved by all for its delicious perfume ; for every leaf is steeped in a fragrance which betrays its whereabout to a considerable distance from the spot whence it comes. It is most abundant in the South of England, especially in Sussex, and is often hawked about the streets of London by countrymen, who bring it in hampers on their backs, together with branches of May, from a distance of ten or fifteen miles; often getting as much as ten shillings for a large hamper-full, by retailing it in pennyworths. We have no shrub in England that throws out a more powerful aroma than the sweet-briar. Its flower, too, is very beautiful, with its dark-pink petals ; though if it bore not a blossom it would, perhaps, be equally prized, on account of its delicious perfume. In a very scarce work, published while Shakspeare was living', 63 WILT) ItU.SKS ANI» I'KKht .Mi;s. and entitled '♦ Tlio Hiblo llcrliiil," tncnfion is niiidc of the white rose bein^ snsjx'iidcd over tlie festive hoard fn»ni the ceiling of tlie room, and as near the ei'iitre of the tahh' as p(»ssible, at the nierryniakin^^s of our forefathers, who hehl it saered to Silenee. Within a eireh', of whieh the rose formed the centre, was written — " IIo who (lt»tli Ht'crots rovL'iil, JU-neiitli my I'ool' hIiuII iinvor iivt- :" and tluit man was hehl base, and unwt)rthy of the name of man or friend, wlio repeated wliat had ])een said, or made mention of what had been done, " nnder tlie rose." We have seen old pasture-lands, whieh had never been turned up within the memory of livinj^ man, surrounded with hedges of all kinds of wild roses, without any vestige of hawthorn in tlu'm. Some of these hedges were very high, and quite impenetrable, for the bottoms were iilled with the trailing d(jg-roses, the branches of whieh were long as brand)les in places, and armed with prickles fnmi end to end; and a grand appearance did they make in Summer, with their hirge bunches of pearl-white flowers, 'riie wild rose is indigenous to England, and it blowed and faded in our island ages before the eye of man looked upcju its beauty or saw its decay. The rose has always been considered the Queen of Flowers, and for centuries tine specimens have grown in our old English gardens, which were, perhaps, first brought from the East, in the time of the Crusaders. Chaucer has sprinkled numy beautiful passages over his poems descriptive of the rose; and the love of the nightingale for the rose is the favourite theme of Oriental poetry. 89 t s roM.MON WAVMDK FI/JWEItS. Aimcfcoii tells US, that tin- roso jHTfiiiiicH tlio bowers of Olympus; that the (Jraces hiiiil themselves t()<^ether with liainls of roses, and that it was enwreathed around tin; abodi' <»!' the Muses; that lie delij^hted to look \i])on it, folded on its gracefid stem, in the early nutrning, aiul that he loved to wipe away with genth' hand the dew tliat lay like tears ai id its blushes, and to p.th(>r the young buds, heavy with the I'ounded pearls that bowed them down. There is nothing, he tells us, beautiful in Nature, but what wears the tinge of thu rose; for it is with that colour Aurora ])aints the morning sky, and with that hue the nymphs dye their blnslies. But mme of the roses of the Mast approach so near the blusli on the cheek of u beautiful maiden as the ])earl-flushed wild roses that adorn our English hedgerows. Rose-leaves are in pairs, or alternate, each nuitcliinv each, as they start out side by side, and terminating with a large single leaf at the end of every spray. The seed is contained in a cup, or ovary, ])art of which is formed of the calyx, and the outer rind-covering, or fruit, which it is, is the gay scarlet hep, which makes such a gorgeous show in Autumn. This is made in' » a conserve, by removing the hairy seeds when the heps are mellow, and beat- ing up with sugar the soft crimson of the fruit ; but even without this preparation, the heps have u slightly sub-ucid, sweet, pleasant tlavour. Those beautiful tufts of crimson moss, almost as pleasant to look upon as the roses themselves, and which we often see on the branches of the wild-rose, are the productions of small insects, similar to tliose that puncture the oak, and form the oak-galls ; if cut open in the Autumn, these beautiful-looking \VII,I» UOSKS ANI> I'l'.iaiMHS. n>>('-f,'nlls will be I'oimd lull of littli- i-rlls, cafli iiili!il)itt(l l»y a tiiiv <'nil). 'riicrc is one jK-ciiliiir |tli'!isiin' nllnrdcd us hy tlic in c; vi/., the r('tiiiiiin its ])ei'fume to the vessels that contain it ; and that the Hindoos scatter rose-leavi's to colour, not to Havonr it, so as to ^-ivi' it what they call a fanciful attractinu — "because it makes the water look sweiit and pretty." Then* an* some larm' rose-o-i-onnds in I'lim-lancl — for we can scarcely call tlieiu ^ai'dens — where i-osrs are cultivated in acres, to be pfathei-i'd anyhow, cr!iiiime(l together, and s(»ld wholesah^ by the hundredwei;,dit. I>ut we never heard of a rose-stack in Enj^land as lai'<»'e as a j;^ood-sizeK FLOWKKS. from Diiinascus, jind for nj^i's to come will liavi' a siiifll of blood al)oiit tliciii. \Vt' liavo preserved an old iiiui^e of a rose in contnet with a lady's lij)s, which Ktty once ])roniise(l us he Avould atteni]>t to })aint, — and his was the only hand that could have done it, were it j)os!!iible to do it at all, which we much doubt : — UjMKi a 1h'(1 (»fn)sc'H hIic rodinod, TIlO I'llll-ltltlWIl lldWlTS ntTllHH lllT HjlH WtTC tlll'OWll, And in oiw. fraf,Tunco botli tlicir HweelH conibineil j Ah iftlicy Cnmi the BL'If-Hnnio stoni lind f,'rown, Bo eluBC were roBO nnd lip tojjcther twined, A douMt' llowor, that fnim ono bud liad blown : No ono could toll, so Bweotly wei-e tlu'y blontlod, WliL'i'o swfU'd till' poutiuf? lij), or wliero the roBC-blooni ended. DANDKMOX. ■I I m?^-*- In lliof|if ur town, lis rfiitlicril (Imwii, IJiiiwii IVoiii the stock. Is srliodllMiN s clock ( ) liii|>|"y lime ! When to niilc rliyiiii' \Vc iiicMsiircil (lay. To siiil one |ilay. And uiiiidcns tail-. Willi lilowii-liack liiiif .\iitl i'aisc(l-ii|i ai'iii. Si ill Iry I lie c!ianii In nniny :i sjiot . ■' I le lo\ »'s nic nol. ' Tliey sailly siirli. ir at one Iry. 'I'lie silken i'ealh The t'ealheid head Ahroad is spread. .\iid every seed .\l once is iVced. Mreak not the s|iell : She loxcth well. Who ill a flower. Can I'eel Love's |iower D.VM)KU()N; CUTCKWKKl); CiKorNDSKL; TIIISTLKS; AM) TLANTAIN. TiiKKK nro certnin tiiiu's wlicii iislroiioinci-s turn tlu'ir M-iii:iiiitic tt'l(>sc()])cs towurds f'ar-(list:iMt |>limi'ts, mikI i'mm sec imlliiiiL'- dojirly ; tlio atiiiosplicrc is so t-loiidcd willi iKin^- i)iirlii'!cs (»f nuittiT, that, iK'iiiu: iniij^^-niliccl, iiiiikc a kind of woolly lia/.o ln'twrcu tlic earth and the distant \V(»r!d wliicli tlicv attempt in vain to examine. These olistaeU-s are eonjeetnri'd to be th( seeds of plants, sand, ete., drawn into the hii,dier em-rents of air, ami floatin«r ahout there, until released by some ehan^c in the atmosphere. The feathery seed of the dandelion is supposed to form H ^reat ])ortion of this Moating- matti'r, as thi-re aic eoimtless millions of it in tlie air chn-inj,' Summer, and we liave no other means of aseertainini,' to what altitude it is carried, except by these astronomical eonjt'ctures, which cannot, after all, be verified. The feathery i)aracliiite, faiiiiliar to every child thromdi blowiu"- it olf—the ss "History of Selbofni'," tells us of another jihenoinenon, wliich he himself witnessi'd, which was a showei* of {idssnnier or c(tl)wel)s, tiiat fell from "very elevated rcti'ions, and, from tlieir silk-like texture, seeuu'd to twinkle like stars as they fi'll with their sides turned to the sun." To what heiglit they liad ])een drawn up, or how long they might have ren)ained in the air hefoi-e tliev fell, he does not venture to surmise. 'J'hese would bo awkward things to conu' within the field <»f a telesco])i', being, as White tells us, "nearly an inch wide, and live or .-ix inches in length." Common as it is, the (hnnh'lion is reallv a liandsonie-lookinif flower, and a large bed of them all in hluom together, and waving theii" great golden heads in the wind, is, in our eyi's, far m(»re attractive tlum a held of bullercnps. The leaf of the dandelion is also beautii'ul, and it is useful, to(t, wlu-n l)leailie(|, im])arting a fine flavour to a salad, to oui" taste, fai" l)efor(> the water-cress. As one of our bitti-r nuMlicinal plants, it also occupies a viTV high place, and, for ceitain disordi-rs, is invaluable. AVhether the dandelion-root is pe'inicious oi" nol, wo cannot say, })ut nuiny hundredweighi. of it havi' been dried, ground, and sold as chicory; and thousands of ignorant people. at this very day, hi-lieve tl»at it is from the danch'lion-ioot aloui- that real chicory is obtained. In a mild S]>ring, the dandelion flowers early: it is the first golden-coloure«l blossoui wo see near honit', for we must go far a-fii'ld to fin'd the cehmdines and ]»i'imrosi>s ; whereas we luive found this common wavside flower wagj^Mng its vellow 76 i'in(ic\vi:i;i) and diioixitsi:!.. lu'iid ill the cold Marcli wind, in wiisto places lu'sidi' lioiix's, wlu'iv tlicrc was iiotliin^- bosidi-s in hlooin, and l»nt lit tit- that was cvi'ii o-iTcii to rclVosli tli(> (>y(>, ('xrf])tin<^- tlic cliickwci'd ; this, if anytliino-, shows its dini-whitc star-shaped petals before tlie (hindelion, thonu'li that wan early-comer soctii disa|)pears, and makes room for the Itroad-leaved, monse-(>ar, ehiekweed, tliat remains in flower all the Summer, shedding- its seed si-vei;d times, some say its many as six, and each time prodnciny- new plants, which all llower in tlu; coni'se of the year. We have ])nlled uj) chiekwecfl, the stems ,,f which have measured eiu-hteeii inches in h'liLi'th, entangled in a bed of strawberries, and we have also si-en the llowei-s a j)ale pink : at lirst we thouuht we must be mistaken ; iait, on lookinti^ about, we found sevei'al other roots of the same colour, all u'rowinu* in a bed of carrots, liirds are not so fond of ehii-kwced as thev nre of o-ronndsel ; but tlie fornu-r beiii;^^ the earliest i.i flower, we have always roofed our wire cau'es with it as soon as it iippeared, so thaf our featlu'retl pi'isoners miu'lit liave a j-'reen bower to Hin«r in at the first appi'oacli of Sprinjjf. Although there is soini'ihint^* dull in the closc-elustered, dnsky- yellow flowers of the coimuoii uronndsel, there is a pri'ttv hnik jdioiit its toothe(l and deeply-divided leaves, which clas|) the stem, and send up the llower-bearini^ branch aslant from the upper l)asi> of the leaf, alternately, all aloiii;' the stalk. 'I'lii'ii, it is swell a favourite with the birds, and it is (piite ivfrc-shiii"" to v.'atch its vellow bloom shake, " Wlioru tlu'oo giL-y liiiiiL'is wi'uiij^iL' fur ! lif .sued."' Nor is it sn coiinnon iis many people Ima<^ine, ns the liOiuK 111 n COMMON WAYSIDE rLOWIIItS. I^roiinilscl-vcndcrs will toll yoii, Cor tlicy Imvo at times to walk miles to <-ollc'ft !i l)!isketriil, iiiul they say it docs not ])ay f'oi' sto])])iii carried by the wind wo know not whither. The thistles, of which there are a ^'reat many variclit s, also send out wini»'ed seeds, which at times fill the air all aroiniil near to where they ^"row, savini^ wlu'n " No stir of air is tlioro, Not so niupii life, as on a Suniiiu'r's day, ItoliH not ono li^Iit sei'd from tin? ft'utin.'r'd ji;ra.«s, Hut where the dead leaf falls, tliere d(jes it re.st." '^riie nmsk-thistle is a noble-lookino- ])lant, with larj^^', hand- some, pm-ple heads, which droop g-racefully ; while the milk- thislK', which is not so connnon, has beautiful white-veini'd leaves, and — according' to tho ancient legends, which our simple- minded aiul ])ious forefathers believed in — the while veins on tlu> leaves were made by the milk of the Virgin Mother, when she suckled the infant Savioui-, and which fell on tho thistles she carried as )»roveiuler lor rlie ass din-ing the Flight into l']gy])t. Take, also, the ctiiiimon sow-tln'stle. and sc(> how deeply the sei'rated leaves are diviiit, like a uTi-at stai'-lisli, hntli tlnwi-r and Icavi's hciiij^ stciidcss. On -\\r]\ a thistle, 'l\Mm_vs(iii, in his " Idylls (d' the Kin;;-," makes Prinee (ieniint's war-luuse plant his liuof:— " His cliiiri.'i'r traiii|ilfil iiiiiiiy a prii'kly stnr < )!' spruiiicil liiistic III! ilif liriikcii .>icim'.s." The Scoteli tiiistle, that I'urns hcM in such i-evei-enee, is very jj^eneral — in shoi't, it is the ennniKin thistle, which we see more of than any other soil; the entton-thistle, with its white woolly eovei'injLj', which is ofte!) seen in ii;ardi'iis, is not the rea! Scotch thistle. Tho connnon hiirdock, so ])lenti''idly strewn aloni;' onr way- sides, and which is universally known, not only oy its didl- |)ur]ile tiowers and iuiniense Icave-^, Imi aNo throuirh country chihhvn throwin;;' them at one another, and lindinu' m the little floret that forms it : should the lloret not be opi-n, disiruMuber tlu; bud carefully, ano jou >vill lintl the filaments of the stamens sini{.,dy pai ke«l I ;> in U, fold viihin fold, in such a neat manner as only n li^lit-i juuIimI lady, with a gentle touch, coidd imitate in ptittin^ bi her (r it-^^i'ied hice ami filmv veils; but, wore she to trv her sl 111 on tl'i 1' s'.'3i' lu ii've, after a lono^ tlay's t<»il, succeed in stowing" away a sin<^le s amen in ^o stiiall a coiupass as Nature has done. (.'ommoi\ enou;:;'h ai-e tlie names, and familiar (>noii!j;h the pliints, tlescribed in this portion of our work; yet let the wayside wandi'i'er ])ause when lu' next passes by them, and I'xamine the noble forms of some of our la]'j.^e thistles, and the bold spreading out of the ^nant leaves of the burdock, and he will iliscovc r beauties which he tu'ver before perceived, and a ^n-andem- of outline in some of the^t- common objects, which will leave its impression long after on the v\v oi' ilu' mindj causing him to exclaim: — 'I'liouu'l: mail liiis |ui\t'k-i' to liuilil ti town, lli< ciiiiiKil iitnkt' lilt' t'liHflc-tliiwii, Wliic'li evt'ry wiiul ilntli slmki-. 60 \ 'V IMaiUiBSE3iS35S'»" I{(>SK ( AMIMo.N. (til. I IkiiI .•II'I \ rl'V licillll il'lll ' yiny '_;r|ii>. linr L;iilil- -lll|iil>> llicr Mill. 'riiciii'.^li llmii ilii>l >|inii!j- iiji i'\ r!'_\ w line. \\ lici'c I Ik re is Llirtii iiliiMil I he s|miI ; W lici'c tlic Sim sliiiics ;iii(l the I'iiiii \\i\\>. And iIk re is rdnin ciiniii:!! lo u:'i'i'\\. liiulilinu' tln' Iniii^' idiiilsidf lor iiiilis. And inidsiiiij' ;i nmsi |)rincrl\ sliuw . I'lfiiMinl ciPinipaiiKin ul' ilir Wiislc! ( X't du>i lliiiii L;r('('l inr as I pass: And w lirii llici'cs iiii oiu' 'juiiiL;' li_\. TIkiII ii(iddf>l Id llic liiiidini:- 'j'inss. Sii iliH's ni\ t'aiifv \\i'a\c ilic cliaiii. l.inkiii'U' llic urass. and \\ci'd>. ami llnwcr: ; Who. in ilicir w liis|ici's. tlioinjlils cxclian'.;-!'. And lo cacli oilier talk lor hours. l''or llicy have \'A\\ as well as \vc. And when ilia' riistliiiu;' sound is heard. .\ soniel liiiiL;' ina\ eoninninieale. ThoiiLih seemiiiL;- li_\ the laint hree/.e stirr'd liike l(i\ers leaning; cheek on cheek. Who leel. and ihink. Iiiil do not s]ie!t!;. / in / Kill) AND WIIITK CAMIMON: STlTrilWORT; SAXIFUAdK; WILD (iKHANirMS; OIU'IIISKS. TiiKSE Jiro rather protty-lookiiijL^ flowers, imd so eoimiion, tliiit tln-y may be found under most lied^-es, idioul tlii' end of May. Tlus wliite eampion, wliieli is very fVa<4"rant in the evi'iiini^, ji-rows from one to two feet liij^h, and is vi-i-y sticky at the points, to which snudl flies often ailhere. It is, liowever, l)nt rarely that both the red ami white eampion are found to^H'tlu-r, for where one is ])lentiful, tlio other is scarce. Tlie live ])etals are beaut ifuHy formed, and so dee])ly notched at the edij'es, ms almost to appear fin^a'r-shaped at tlu' ends, and as the flowers are larj^'c, and fifrow in bunehi's, tlu^ plant maki's a handsome ap])earanee. AiKJther kind, bi'lter known as l{a^'^'ed l^)bin, does not flower until June: it is called rayj^cd on account of the; hackeil and jito;d a))pearance of its petals. It ^enei'ally j^'rows in moist meadow lands; the Howers are of a lively rose-colour, and the flower-stalks, as well as the calyx, of a reddish purple. 'J'his, also, is called a "cuckoo flowi'r," and it may not be out of ])lace here to hint, that it is just ])()ssible that many flowers which were in bloom during' thi> brief ])eiMod the cuckoo i-emains with us, were called "euckoo flowers" in foi-mei" times; for there ai-e. at least a score still called bv that name in different ])arts of Mngland. We have yet to learn, as we have elsewhere remarked, .83 ' 1 1 il .: i to.MMON WAYHII»K I l.uVVEIUS, \ liich lire llif " ciickoo-binls ol" yt'llnw Imr," (Icscrihcd hy Sliiik- H|i(nri'; it I'vidiiitly i.s not tlu* l)i-ii;-lit i-o.-c-t'oloiii'i'd rainiiioii now imdci' iiotii'c. Till' stitcliworts, t<» wliicli t lii> co^nmim cliickwcid 1ic1(iii^»'>j mi'c ^v(^^llly ol'iiwiicc, wvvc it only i\>v tlic gri'iitci" siiidiwort — a up' U> lookiii^'', star. shaped fl(t\V(«r, of a licaiitifnl <'It'ar white cohtiir, fall of styles and stamens, and hini'^ witli hnice-jx iiited, seriiitcd leaves; like the eaJapion, it has live petads, hat ihey are hciift- shaped, and well opened, cansin^ the stamens to Dill ahi nt in pii-tures(|ne oi'der. 'I'he stems are scpiai-i', and very shMider, and till' plant is often found ^ro\vin<^ t(t two fi' 't in liein;ht. Tiiere is another prettv speeies, ol'ten fminil in lonely places, as if it had lost itselt" amon;^ the wilds of }^'olden ^oi-se and pnrple heather: this is tho lesser stitehwort, and its delicato little snow-whito flowers almost seem out of plaei' amon• I'lctiv :" tli<'y lidon;/ tu cur u'-iirtlcn >|icci{'s ciilk'd " LiindMii Piidf." Nicliiil.is ( 'iil|ir))|)ci' .s!i\s, llic wliilf Mi\i- fViiuH; " nsnl In o;i-o o-mw in pairs, iijiliosite the foliati'e, and tiu' wholi' plant is very soft and downy, like niai"' of the viirien'ated <_;'i'raiiinms of eiir ^aniens, j'lvcii to the naked eye, the .seed-vessel appears very enrioiis ; hut to si'c those lieautiful lon^" awns properly, re(juires a powerful ^dass, ami this must Ijc nlien the plant has dune llowerin;^''. .66 i ! 11 I ,%. ^a^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) !.0 1.25 12.8 ■25 I 2.2 I ^ lis. ■UUu r /A /. ^.^• •^ '/ /A Photographic Sciences Corporalion 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SS0 (716) 872-4S03 \ •^ •S^ <^ 4 \ ^/^ i\ '^. #>^ ^ COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. The dusky Crane's-bill is a rich, velvety -looking flower, look- ing almost black in the shade, but showing purple in the sun. Some think it scarcely belongs to our wild flowers, but was originally cultivated in our ancient gardens. If so, how is it that the flower is found in our oldest woods, miles away from either house or garden ? The jagged-leaved Crane's-bill has never more than a couple of flowers, with notched petals, on a stalk, which are not so long as the calyx ; but it is a prettily-spreading plant, with very beau- tiful leaves — the handsomest, we think, of the whole species — they are so beautifully divided, and sit so close to the flowers, the foot-stalks of which are short. The blue meadow Crane's-bill — why so called we know not, as its flowers are purple — is really a grand-looking flower, with bloom as large as most of our garden geraniums. The leaves are also proportionately large, divided into five parts, and cut and jagged into most fantastic shapes, beside. It is very com- mon in the Lake Districts, especially about Whitbarrows ; in the South it is rather scarce. About the Lakes, the shining Crane's- bill is also plentiful, and a pretty plant it is, with its small rose-coloured flowers, and bright shining, brittle, balsam-like stem, the pinky joints of which swell, while the round, five- lobed, and notched leaves are at times as richly coloured as the flowers. It must be gathered almost as carefiiUy as if it were a glass flower in an enchanter's garden, for the stalk is so brittle that it snaps asunder at the lightest touch. Many give the palm to the long-stalked Crane's-bill, as being the most elegant of all our wild geraniums, for it is tall and slender, like a graceful young lady. But how is it those fat, podgy " Tom *' 86 WILD GERANIUMS AND ORCHISES. Thumbs" and portly "Little Davids" are so mucli in favour? there is nothing either slender or elegant about their forms, and yet they are all the rage now. But, for beauty of colour, the one which figures as a tail-piece to the present work is not to be surpassed ; it is called the " Herb Robert," and, to look at, few of our garden-plants are prettier, though it has anything but a pleasant smell. For years this flower was as familiar to our eye as the common daisy or scarlet pimpernel; and though we often admired its rich rosy hue, we had no thought of its belonging to our large family of wild geraniums, until we found it in a friend's garden. Taken altogether, it is a prettily-finished plant, for the very stalks and leaves are at times tinged with the rosy colour of the flower, which causes it to arrest the eye at once, wherever it grows, which is generally on wastes. There is also a pleasant, silky look about the leaves ; and we need only point to the tail- piece of this volume, to show how charmingly they are divided and subdivided, and what exquisite taste is displayed by Nature in her fanciful workmanship and highly-finished designs. The orchises are a singular-looking class of plants, when in flower, — one resembling a fly, another a spider, a third a butterfly, a fourth a bee, and so on : nor does it require much of a fanciful eye, when the plants are in bloom, to picture them covered with one or another of these insects; so close a resemblance do the blossoms bear to them, that the difierent species have been named after the insects they are the most like. Unlike most flowers, the orchis displays neither stamen, style, nor seed-vessel, though it contains all, as may be found if the stamen-covers are examined. It has a spur, like the violet, and the flower rises from a twisted stem, which is its seed-vessel, or ovary, and rests 87 K COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. on a forked joint, or bract : below that is tho stem. An orchis once seen can never bo forgotten, on account of its spur and its twisted flower, together with the peculiar division of the flower itself, which may be said to consist of six parts, and may be equally divided into petals and calyx, though all are often of nearly the same colour, while the middlemost of the inner division, which is generally the longest, is called the lip. One of the first to flower is called the early purple, and blooms in April ; it gene- rally grows about a foot high, and is not so rare as the others. The leaves are prettily marked with dark -purple spots. This is the plant so commonly hawked about London, and sold in the streets at Spring ; but it always perishes : indeed, the orchises are very difficult to keep, even in the best-managed gardens. The green- winged bears a great resemblance to the early purple, though, upon a close examination, the bloom will be found darker coloured. The butterfly orchis is a gem of a flower, and is often found nearly two feet liigh ; it is in full bloom about the end of May. The flowers are of a light-golden colour, relieved with white, and are very fragrant. There are also, the great brown-winged, with its large spike of flowers of a brownish purple, which reaches a height of two feet ; the monkey orchis, which only grows to about half the size of the above-named, and the flowers of which are of a pale purple, beautifully spotted; and beside these, the spider, drone, and fly orchises, most of which may be found in Kent; and, later in the season, the frog, green-man, marsh, and dwarf dark-winged orchises, beside several others, which it would be useless to mention ; for, as we have before said, when once an orchis is known, however numerous the varieties may be, they can never, by any mistake, be classed with any other family of flowers, as they are " themselves alone." 88 4 » * * #■ ^ ■ 'V 1 ■ 1 r,HASSES AND CLOVER. SwKK'l' South wind, Come, ]»lfiy us a tiiuc : What sluill i1 h(. r An air of .Imic : That wo may dance Kro tlic mowers advance To cut us down. I How, gentle Avind, Rise, grasses tall ; Nod thy wliitc head. Old clover-hall, Ere the haymak'ers come From many a home, And turn us hrown. Now the June wind Begins to hlow ; They how their heads, And off' ihoy go — Whole furrows hend ; From end to end The dancers fly. Now in sunshine. Now in shade. In fresh attire They seem array 'd. As shadows pass Along the grass, Thrown from the sky. f ff R. Wk Hf. GRASSES. k * -4 % Nowhere in the wide world, travellers tell us, are there such beautiful grassy meadows, smooth, lawn-like parks, and delightful green hills, as there are in England. We have no great back- ground of shadoAvy mountains to keep the free wind and refresh- ing rain from careering over and falling upon our long miles of velvet valleys ; but we have the sea everywhere around us, over which comes that sweet, fresh air which keeps everything so refreshingly green. Nor is it enough that our island should be so richly carpeted with beautiful grasses to delight the eye; they feed the numerous flocks that dot the landscape and please the ear all day long by their pleasant bleating, while horned herds low in the green pastures, amid which they stand knee- deep in the sweet verdure they feed upon. Man, also, is indebted to these grasses for the bread he eats; for, by a course of cultivation, we have obtained from them wheat, barley, and rye, and several other cereals, which, in our present civilized state, have become the common necessaries of life ; and we have a variety of grasses growing wild in our fields, from which there is but little doubt our com was originally obtained, as many of them are vcr^-^ nutritious, and yield excellent grain in their uncultivated state. Nor is it the grasses alone — though in themselves, when closely examined, they are lavish of beauty — that satisfy the 91 COMMON WAYSIDE FLOVVKHS. mind, nnd fill tho cyo witli delight ; but profusion is found on profusion, nnd tlioy fairly run over with beautiful wild flowers, who have to elbow their way through the crowded gi'cen thiit entangles their feet, so that they may stand up with heads erect, before they can bo seen at all ; and very often tho clover and the daisy, and many another pretty flower, must be sought for amid the silky grasses, in which their beauty is half buried. It makes the heart of a toiling, moiling, care-wrinkled, smoke- dried citizen beat with renewed vigour, to hear tho fall of his weary feet muffled in the yielding grass. Even the little child, that can but just run, screams again with delight, as it throws itself down in the midst of it ; weary men and women hoard their hard-earned pence for months, that they may for one day go out to enjoy themselves, where they can sit down on the grass. And we, who dwell in cities, and can see only houses, and hot, hard-paved streets, half envy those who live surrounded by grass and trees; we look upon the morsels of gTcen before our door — if wo are fortunate enough to have some half-dozen yards of dirty turf before the house — as a green oasis in the great wall -filled desert, pat it, coax it, and water it, and, when wo return home at night, take five or six strides up and down it before retiring to rest, and try to fancy that we are pacing broad green sweeps of grass, such as, in our " inward eye," we see stretching far away, miles beyond the smoke and the crowded, suffocating streets of the city. We try, also, to lay our dead where the grass grows and the trees wave — near to such spots as they loved to wander over when living, and where the silence never seems disturbed by the sounds that float around the dead, as it does amid tlie jar and thunder that, day and night, shake our 92 VI 4 « m * * „ h 0RA8HES. city streets, — but wliero tlu" wlieela of the clinriot of Tiino roll along muffled in tlio noiseless grass, and disturb not our medi- tations, as tliey seem to carry us along to that bourne " whence no traveller returns." Our Saxon and Danish ancestors called grass by the sauu; name which we still retain, and which has come down to us unaltered through all the changes of so many departed centuries. They also distinguished some of the months by allusions to it, as grass-months, milk-month, mow-numth, and hay-month, — from the time of its first appearance, from milking their cows in the meadows, from the mower first commencing to cut it, and bring- ing it homo in their heavy, wooden -wheeled tumbrils, wlien tanned into hay. Our ancient poets called it the " favourite colour of Clod," as they styled the rainbow " His bridge ;" the face of heaven, ''His blue eye;" and the rocks, " the bones of the earth." How pleasant it is to watch the grasses waving in the wind ; to see the breeze pass along a large field like a wave of the sea, and note the feathery heads, that stand still as death until the wind comes rippling up, and sets them in motion. Beautiful, too, do the grasses look under the ever-changing clouds, — all golden-green in the u plight, of a silvery grey where the white masses of feathery i- juds illuminate them, ami dark-green where the dusky clouds throw their saole shadows on the field as they move along, like great spirits leaning down to look at the earth. Pleasant, too, is the grass under a shaded tree to a weary man, with the insects humming among the boughs — a land of delightful slumber. And, oh ! how pleasant is the smell of a field of new-mown hay, — especially if it abounds in the scented vernal-gTass, which is the sweetest of all our 93 COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. grasses. This " porfumor of the fields " only grows about a foot high, has shortish leaves, and what is called a compact panicle of flowers, — that is, it does not spread or hang like oats, but, in form, bears a greater resemblance to an ear of wheat, and is so yellow When ripe, that some call it the yellow grass-flower. It is supposed that the sweet scent of this favourite grass lies in the yellow dots with which the green flower- valves are marked, and which, as in several other of our plants, are not thrown out until ripe and dry. All the sorts of this species of grass are fragrant, and hay made from grasses where they are wanting has none of that sweetness which the scented vernal-grass alone throws out, though all kinds of grasses have a pleasant odour. The rough and smooth-stalked meadow-grasses are our com- monest and most useful grasses : it is the roughish meadow-grass that best stands the smoke of our cities, and gives the greenest look to our squares, while to the smooth-stalked we are indebted for the first green early flush of Spring — the " Spring-green,^' as it is poetically called, and which colour dyers find so much difiiculty in imitating. But to see these beautiful grasses in perfection, they must be sought in moist or low-lying meadows, by the sides of pleasant rivers, such as good old Izaak Walton loved to walk along in early Spring, and where he gave birth to that glowing burst of eloquence, when he exclaimed — " When I sat last on this primrose bank, and looked down these meadows, I thought of them as Charles the Emperor did of the city of Florence, that they were too pleasant to be looked on, but only on holidays." There are several varieties of these meadow- grasses, some of which grow on our mountains, others in our 94 (JKASSES. woods, nnd a few on our soa-consts : ono of tlieao is tl>o bulhoiis mciulow-f^i'Mss, so called tVoiii its root. Oiu- of the; tallest of our grasses is called the rccd meadow-grass, often found amongst the sedge along our river-banks or water-courses : it is a beautiful- looking grass, and sometimes attains the height of five or six feet. Our wild-fowl shooters, in fens and marshy places, avail themselves of it as a shelter, when waiting for the arrival of water-fowls, or cautiously approaching them. It also gi'ows in tho water, where it sometimes even overtops tho stately bull- rush ; and, should tho water he stagnant, it will, in tho course of a few years, make new land, by sending out its strong creepers, and absorbing all the moisture, and leaving a wilderness of tall grass, where before the fishes swam and tho wild-fowl sailed to and fro. Many a time, in our younger days, have we pulled the boat noiselessly along, without even making a splash with the oar, by taking hold of this tall meadow-grass, and so reached the wild-fowl on the open mere, where they swam, thousands together, unaware of our presence until Death was in the midst of them. The grass which we meet with everywhere — that grew up in the inn-yards when the railways spoiled their traffic; that vegetates in the back -yard beside the dust-bin ; that children get out from between the crevices of the pavement ; and that you cannot even get rid of by pouring boiling water on it — is tho annual meadow-grass, which ripens and sheds its seed for full eight months out of the twelve, producing several crops of grass in one season, as the chickweed renews itself by the same means some five or six times, if not more, in the course of a year. It is about one of the sweetest grasses cattle eat, and — wise pro- 4 COMMON VVAYSIDK FLUWtMJS. 1- vision! — tlio most plcutifiil of nil tlu; ^nissi>s ; iiiul though it \h too slioi't to ])ro(lucu nmt'li lisiy, it miiki'S tlio very Hiu>st of our grazing liuuls, and whatever feeds npon it thrives. Though it \H HO Kmall, no grass (h'aws so niueh nourishment from the cartli as this does, through its numberU'ss fibres, whieh, while they feed it, anehor it ho Hrndy to the earth, that it is not easily uprooted. It does not seek for imtriment so deep down as many grasses, but nothing about the surfiico is lost — it converts all it can reach into nourishment ; let there be but an inch of soil, and there it is, rooted into the crevice of an old wall, or if a handful of dirt is thrown on a heap of stones, there it will find its way, and take root. The Winter may freeze, or the Summer sun burn — our hardy little friend bravely b(?ars either cold or heat ; for the biting frost cannot wholly make it loose its hold, nor the heat of the dog-days scorch it up. Here it may be seen, just greening the ground, beneath the taller grass from which it has sprang, and which is again ready to shed more seed. There is a grass Avhich sheep are very partial to, and on which they thrive well, while it is believed it imparts a fine flavour to mutton : this is the sheep's Fescue-grass, often found on high, dry pasture land, or land that is considered rather poor, though it is not so poor as it appears, for there is a good thick- ness of under-grass, and sheep are very close biters. It looks poorest when in flower, as the flower- stalks are generally a pretty good width apart, though there is a good, strong, thick turf below, — so strong, indeed, that it is said this grass will, in time, destroy all other grasses that grow near it. It is often used for lawns, on account of the thick turf it forms, being also short, and seldom growing more than six or seven inches high. The L'lJ SirOKT (IKASSKS, SuMi; nnc'iciit ]H)(>t, At liis Icasiirc, O U'Jl/lllli' (JU Wliil Tho grass with j^lcasurc. First unto that Straiiii'e lliout^'lit i;av(> l)irlli, vV'kI call'd it llic tir Karlli. iroon hair o tii 'I'lic wind, (lie i-omh W'liicli ])ass'(l it llioronu'li, Noi- li'lt uiicoinbM A sino'lc furrow ; Tlu! rain, the sceni LTpoii it shower (1, T' (MH'ich the perinnio When it tlowcr'd ; ^Towers, the barbers Witli their shears : And Imvniakei's, With })retty dears Wlio tumbled all Earth's locks about. And the long curls Turn'd inside out.'" And so this ancient bard ran on, in tlie old years now dead and gone. GRASSES. I'd., n\ iiK'iulow Foscno, which c^rows as tall af^ain as tho other, is iiioro coniiiionly nsetl, when it has to l)e sown, for graziiio" lands. There arc several g-rasses whieh, to an inexperienced eye, would appear to resemble one another so closely, as to otl'er, on a hi'st inspection, but little ditterence; yet, let a dozen of each be placed too-ether, and the ditference Avould at once bo seen more i-eadily, as those which Avero lono-er or shorter — for the length of g-rass- flowers often varies — woidd still have some distinct feature ])ecM- liai'ly its own. Amongst these grasses aro the meadow fox-tail, slender fox-tail, floating fox-tail, when grown out of water, common cat's-tail, antl a few others. They all have round heads — some thicker and longer than others, and most of them aro so common, that there is hardly a field of grass anywhei'o but one or another may be found in it. But, on looking closely, we find the meadow fox-tail, which is of a pi-etty golden-green colour, covered with hairs that have almost a silvery look, while the slender fox-tail has a pur})lish tint, is nuich longer in the spike, and as for its resend^lance to a tail t)f any kind, is more like a mouse's than a fox's in foi-m ; in some places it is called mouse-tail grass. Tho floating fox-tail will bo readily known by its bent stem, looking as if some one had pinched it at the joint, and prevented a portion of it from standing upright. It mostly grows in watery places, though often found inland, where the ground is high and dry, and then the form (jf the root changes, becoming bulbous, instead of fibrous, as it is when growing in moist places. The same change takes place in tho root of the common cat's-tail, or '^I'imothy grass, when growing on a dry soil. Another prettily-formed grass, though not at all attractive in colour, being green, is the ci-esled dog's-tail gi-ass. 99 COMMQ-N WAYSIDE FLOWERS. which grows well on dry ground, and is very common ; instead of being round, the flower is flattish, like barley, having two sides, and is easily distinguished from the fox and cat's-tail grasses. The rough coek's-foot grass grows everywhere ; you cannot walk a yard, hardly, by the wayside, where there is a morsel of green, without finding it; for its coarse tufted head is as familiar to the eye as the gravel on the road, and it is about the commonest grass that grows. It, however, grows rapidly on almost any kind of soil, and though making but very indifferent grass, which cattle care not to eat while green, when dried it becomes excellent hay. Far different in appearance is the beautiful meadow soft-grass, though, like the cock's-foot, seldom eaten by cattle, if other herbage is to be found. Its flowers are really pretty, spreading out in a rich panicle of velvet bloom, that must feel like a carpet of down to the insect feet that press it. For colour, few things are more graceful than the intermingling of pale pink and delicious sea-green in the flowers of this elegant meadow-grass. It has also a fibrous root, which grows on any soil, though, to be found in perfection, it must be sought for on light peaty earth. There is another grass, that sends out shoots four or five feet long, which is also disliked by cattle, — that is the creeping soft-grass, as difficult to get rid of as couch-grass, when once it takes possession of the ground. Pigs, however, are partial to these long roots, and show great perseverance in getting them out of the ground. The silky bent-grass, which is not very common, is one of our most beautiful varieties ; in appearance it is as glossy as the richest silk, while the lightest breath of air sets it in motion. The feather-grass is both splendid and graceful, and no plumage 100 ■ GRASSES. can be compared with it for beauty of form, unless it be the tail-feathers of the bird of paradise. There is a doubt as to .whether it is one of our native grasses; some stating that it has been found wild, others contending that it is only found in the neighbourhood of gardens, where it is commonly cul- tivated as an ornament, and has often been gathered by fair ladies to adorn their head-dresses. Another eleo-ant-lookinu' grass is the quaking or tottering grass, which the country chil- dren call "Einging-all-the-bells-in-London," and which shakes its silken spikelets if only an insect stirs its stem, when all its beautiful purple blooms vibrate and tremble hke a thousand fairy bells, as the slightest touch will set the whole array of grasses that grow together in motio;i, like pearls twinkling in a lady's hair. Perhaps some such idea struck the old botanist who first called it Pearl-gi'ass — a name retained by our old writers— and it still is, in oar eye, a very fairy among grasses, for the stalks are almost slender as silk; and we well remember an ancient grandmother, who ornamented her summer-parlour with it, and who always called it the knotted- silk grass — and she knew a good deal about grasses. It is generally found on very poor soil; though where we gathered it, in our boyish days, cowslips grew plentifully beside it. It is more ornamental than useful, having a bitter flavour, and is never, we believe, eaten by cattle. Another species of grass, mostly found in low-lying and moist meadow lands, is the hair-grass, of which there are several varieties. One, the turfy hair-grass, though looking very pretty with its purple panicle in bloom, is exceedingly coarse, and the cattle never touch it if there is anything else 101 COMMON- WAYSIDE FLOWEKS. gi'oon witliin thoir reach. It is the dread of mowers, as it grows in tufts, and is ten times worse to cut than if the scythe wont into a mole-hill, for there the ground would at least be soft; but, as the mowers say, cutting into a tuft of this hair- grass is like cutting through a hassock stuffed with horse-hair and wire ; and in some places these tufts are actually called hassocks. Another, called the waved hair-grass, grows on our hills, heaths, and moorlands, and is also found in the Arctic regions, which proves its dry, hardy nature ; while a third species, called the whorl hair-grass, delights in water, and supplies the water-fowl with abundance of food; cattle also are very fond of it, and the flowers have a sweet and pleasant taste. The panicles are of a rich blue-purple, something of the colour of the blue di-agon- flies that are always hovering around its beautiful branchy and tree-shaped head. But the monarch of the water-grasses is the common reed. No bird that flies ever bore so beautiful a plume as surmounts this splendid grass; then, when thousands of them wave their plumed heads together in the wind, we hear that soft whispering which every poet has attempted to describe, and which is as much unlike the great roar of leaves in a wood, as the voice of the ever-rolling sea is unlike the silver tinkling of a brook. Wliat a rich purple-brown those graceful feathers are steeped in, appearing more lustrous than the costliest silk, when the sun gives a golden tinge to the amber-like richness of the plumage. We have often thought what sweet, soft beds those grassy feathers would make, and got laughed at for giving such thoughts utterance. We think, too, that there are few more beautiful objects in the vegetable world than a great embankment covered with these 102 I- GKASSKS. tall reeds up to tlio water's edge, over which the foremost rank leans, and is rairrowed below, And, oh ! what a delightful covert these reedy " ronds " formed for the birds ! thither they used to come by hundreds, as the day drew towards a close, and, alighting on the reeds, bend them down by their weight to the Avater's edge, and often into the water. We used to think it very cruel, when we heard the sound of fire-arms in tho twilight, echoing over the reedy marshes of Lincolnshire, and knew that they were slaughtering the poor birds that had come to roost among the reeds ; and when wo remonstrated with the farmers, they only pointed to the havoc the birds had made, and told us how heavy their loss would be when the reeds were cut and sold, and that they could only be used for thatching, instead of ceilings and partitions, for vA\\c\\ latter purpose they would have fetched treble the price, had they not been broken by the birds. And what rare birds we have, at times, seen there, such as we never saw elsewhere; and insects, too, many of which, we beheve, are only to be found in the reed "ronds/* and are at present unknown to the generahty of entomologists. Another beautiful tall grass, which everybody must have seen and noticed, on account of its close resemblance to the cultivated oat, is called the oat-like grass, and often grows in our road- side hedges, and in most pastures, where it frequently' attains the height of five or six feet, while its panicle of beautiful drooping flowers, which shine like polished silver, have been found to measure a foot and a half in length. It is the very chameleon of grasses, and shows, in the ever-shifting light, hues of golden-green, silver, and flashes of purple, while its broad, ribbon-Hke leaves stream out full two feet in length. It is, 103 COMMON' WAYSIDE FLOWERS. however, of a bitter taste, though cattle manage to eat it, but not with much apparent relish. There are several other of these oat-like grasses, amongst which may be numbered the hairy, soft, smooth, and barren brome-grasses. Some of these grow in our woods and hedges, and, as they are tall, look very pretty, bending over or mingling with the wild flowers. The hairy brome-grass grows as high as the common reed, and often attains an altitude of six or seven feet; it is readily distinguished, not only by its height, but the drooping of its panicle, and by having stalks. The soft brome-grass grows everywhere ; it seldom exceeds two feet in height, and shoots up its flowers erect as spears; it is, indeed, so common, that the rarity is to find out a spot where it does not grow, where a morsel of grass is to be found. The smooth rye brome-grass bears a close resemblance to rye — so much so, that it is difficult to persuade persons who have not noticed it before that it is not rye ; and many in the country still believe that it is wild rye, the ears of which have dwindled down, and lost their corn-bearing virtue, through want of proper cultivation. The barren brome-grass has beautiful long awns, like barley, and droops most gracefully. But the real wild oat-grass is so much like the cultivated oat, that even botanists conclude that it is the same plant dege- nerated ; and when growing among oats, as it often does, it is not easily distinguished from the true oat. There are also wild wheat- grasses, one of which is the common couch, twitch, or dog- grass — the greatest plague that can infest a garden; for if only an inch of the long trailing root be left, it is sure to spring up again. 104 m /K.'^ I I I I KUIUIKT-Ml^-Nor. Tiiv iiaiiR' is Love's own ])0(>try, llciii'l-liofii, 1111(1 of till' eye lu'ifot. IMeadiim' lor ave, " Ueiiu'iiilief me;" Keplyiiio', I '11 '' Kor^'el-tliee-not." riiy blue (loth eiiihleiu Coiistaiiey, l-ove never move to be t'oiyot, And by the streams "lee(e(l stands, and soon will perish. So when the snn's hid from the flower, And tlie warm jiolden beams forsake it. It liows its iiead. and IVom tliat lioiir I'l;' vs onlv unto Death to take it. li FORGET-ME-NOT: THE OLD AND NEW LEGEND. WATER-MINT; WATER-FLAGS; ARUOW-IIEAD ; WATER PLANTAIN; LOOSE-STllIFE ; AND SILVER-WEEP. T{[ERE aro many doubts about this beautiful flbwi:?'?, though wo hold that the true Forget-me-not is only to bo found by water- courses, or in moist places, and that the {}fi/osi)f!,s ArrmslK) hairy-stemmed, small blue flBwer, found by the wayside at times, and very common in meadows, is not the true forget- me-not. The clear, bright ])lue of heaven, when not a silver cloud hangs its skirt upon the sky, is not more beautifully blue than the forget-me-not ; nor is there so delicate an azure to be found among all the costly green-house plants, as that which Nature has painted on this common wayside flower. Sometimes a long bed of the wild forget-me-not may bo found extending some distance along the margin of a meadow brook, when the blue bloom is shadoWed in the silver mirror, and swayed to and fro by the breeze, producing such beautiful and over-changing pictures as art can never imitate ; for every change in the sky and every motion of the flowers constantly shift the sweeping lights and shadows, which can only be seen to perfection as you lie idly down upon the very edge of the stream. Its pretty yellow centre, and streak of white at the bottom of its tiny cup, contrast beautifully with the pale blue 107 * COMMON VVAYSIDK ILOWEKS. I . 1 of the petals, and make it altogether as lovely a ilower a.s the eye can dwell upon j and many a time have wo seen little islands, in the centre of clear sheets of silvery water, wholly covered with it. Did wo not know better, we should conclude that the ancient Greeks had but little poetry in their souls when they gave the name of Mi/anofis, or nuiusc-ear, to this beautiful flower, on account of the form of its leaves. " Properly," says a great authority, " tho name of forget-me-not belongs only to the beautiful plant that grows beside the water, and by that name it is kno^vn throughout Europe, and treasured as the emblem of friendship." Most flower-books connect a silly love story, about a minstrel and a maiden, with tho name of the forget-me-not. It was the evening before their wedding-day, when they were walking beside the Rhine, and the maiden took a fjmcy to a cluster of these flowers, which the lover of course gathered, losing his footing at the same time, and tumbling head over heels into the river. Did the jade push him in, we wonder, as the speediest method of getting rid of him? He, however, managed to throw the flowers on the bank, and to call out " Forget me not ! " as he took his " long farewell " of her. Now, to us it appears far more likely that, after gathering the flowers, they had " a word or two of a sort," and that he, being a little bit of a " spoon," and she a regular " Tartar," he bade the world "good-night" after the skirmish; and that the story, as it has since been told, was concocted by some " penny-a-liner," who placed it under the heading of " Romantic and Pathetic Incident," instead of under the plain, downright, and unmistakable heading of " Shocking Suicide," as it ought to have been. 108 rOUOKT-MK-XOT, AND WATKU-MINI'. I Our old legend of tli(? foi'i^-et-ino-not, as told by tlio PorHiiin poet, Sliiraz, is fur more pooticul tlmii tlio (icm'iuuu one. " It was," says lie, "in the ^'oldi'U morning's of tho early world, when an angel sat wee])ing ontside tlio elosed gates of Eden, for lie had fallen from his high estate throngh loving a daughter of earth, nor was ho permitted to enter again, until she ho loved had planted the flowers of the forget-me-not in every corner of tho earth. So the angel returned to earth, and assisted her, and they went haud-in-hand over the world, planting tho forget-me-not, and, when their task was ended, entered Eden together, — for she, without tasting the Litterness of death, became immortal, like the angel whoso love her beauty had won, when she sat by tho river twining her hair with tho forget-me-not." Another great beautifier of moist and watery i)laces is the wild mint, of which there are several varieties ; and a ])retty sight it is to see these fragrant, lilac-coloured flowers standing in the water, as if gazing upon their own shadows, while tho gaudy dragon-flies are playing around them, and all the air is redolent of the refreshing aroma. Then, the borders where the beautiful water-flowers grow are greener than tho wayside wastes, and generally there are tall, shady trees, either near at hand or overshadowing them ; to say nothing of the .rippling of the water, which ever seems "singing a sleepy tune." What grand and noble-looking flowers do the water-flags bear, which hang out like purple and golden banners over a castle wall, the water below seeming the moat in which they are reflected. Here we also find the handsome arrow-head, with its beautiful white flowers, and arrow-point shaped leaves, as 109 M COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. picturesque as the foliage of ivy. The water-plantain also throws its branches over these sweet inland streams ; and pretty it looks, with its tiny roso-tintod flowers and broad leaves, especially when a gust of wind comes, and sots the whole bed in motion, rocking the pink blossoms of the beautiful knot- grass on the border at the same time. Nor is the purple loose-strife, with its splendid spikes of flowers, less beautiful, margining the stream like a costly border of rich workmanship, and such as Nature only weaves in her mysterious looms. And pleasant it is to shelter under a tree from the rain, and watch the drops falling and moving the pretty flowers that; grow about the water: — Tho loavoa drop, drop, and dot tho crystal stroanj So quick, each circle wears tho first away. Far out tho tufted bnllrush sooms to dream ; The water-flags with one another play, And to the ripple nod their heads alway, Bowing to every breeze that blows between, While gaudy dragon-flies their wings display. The restless swallow's arrowy flight is seen Dimpling the sunny wave, then lost amid the green. i I 1 Another pretty-looking plant that grows about our river banks is the silver-weed, the notched leaves of which have on their lower surface a rich silky down, of a silvery appearance, while the large golden-coloured flowers have a soft, velvety feel about them, and spread out every way in the most picturesque positions. Fresh-water aquariums are causing a knowledge of fresh- water plants to become a necessity, as without them life cannot no VVATBU-rUNTH AND Fl.oWERS, 1)0 mnintninod in those pretty crystal pn'HotiH, na tlio plants tako in the carbonic acitl thrown out by the (Ishos, and throw out in rotum oxygen $;,'jffic'iont for the blood of tho watery inhabitant.^, thus keeping tho water in a proper statu to sup- port both anirriftl and vegetable life. These now drawing-room ornaments and objects of amusement and instruction caimot be managed at all without some knowledge of aquatic plants ; and no doubt many of our readers, while searching for tho Vallisneria, or common river weeds, for their aquariums, will meet with many of the beautiful water-flowers wo have described above, and place some of them in their glass water-cases. We do not see why the beautiful forget-me-not might not be anchored in a little embankment, kept together by stones, and made to throw its blue shadow over the water, for the j)retty fishes to shelter under; this and much more may, perhaps, yet bo done, for fresh-water aquariums are at present in their infancy. Pleasant in Summer are the places where water-loving plants grow, — the great sedge-bordered meres, the pools overshaded with trees, or the swift, bright meadow strfams, that run flashing in the sunlight, and show silvery between their broad green embankments. The lapping of tho water, the low, sleepy rustling of the overhanging leaves, the whispering of the sedge, and the murmur of insects around, conjure up waking dreams and pleasing visions, which seem ever passing before the " half- shut eye.*' Then, such spots are always cool, no matter how hot the day may be; for there is always a refreshing moisture under the trees, even when far removed from water-courses, and shaded wood-paths are never wholly dry — wood streams very rarely. Nor is it the water-loving flowers that alone HI COMMON WAYSIDK B'LOWEKS. (IcHglit us; for water itself is always beautiful, constantly changing its colour under the moving clouds and shifting sky, — now blue as the forgot-me-not, then Avhito with tho silvery shadow of tho passing clou- (lie m'li<)(»d And puis the lesser llowei's to sliuiiic. I love to sliUid and walcli tlic liees Pass in and t>iit lliv s])()t ted hells. — To lioar tlieii' inuninn' in tlie trees. As tlu'V lly laden to their cells: While a . at times, one seai'ce can sec Tlic little llowcrs that strew the ground ; Ft»r thy coiiunandinL;' majesty. Halt' blinds us with its bi'illiancy. Chieftain thou art of all the elan. That n'l'ows without the aid of man : Contented in the wilderness, Unseen, to weai- thy naiuly dress; Nor nee(lini>- any praise of ours, (iivat monarch of the Wayside Flowers. POXGLOVE; MONKSHOOD; WOOD-BETONV; A(illIM()NV; SCAIIIiKP IMMI'KlSNKli. Why do some botanists persist in calling tlio colour of this beautiful flower pur[)le, wlien it is a rich crimson or deep rod, and lias not a dash of purplo about it? We, who have walked over hundreds of miles of l*]np around its feet, like crimson lamps lighting np tlie green twilight of tlie densi-i' nndiu'wood. (lather it, examine it well, look into its every bell, and see liow beautifully it is sjiotted and freckled ; then exuniiiui the elegant form of the bell-bloom itself, and you will begin to think that the early sculptors were well ac(juainted with the foxglove. Wo have found it growing nearly six feet high, with leaves at the base proportionate to its height, making it look like the monarch of flowers ; indeed, no flaunting hollyhock was ever covered with a greater length of bloom, for more than half the length of this giant of the waste was buried in blossom. Though, at a first glance, there seems but little affinity in the family, yet the foxglove belongs to the botanical order of Fig- worts, the corolla of which is generally in one piece, with a four or five-lobed calyx, and claims kindred with the speedwell, the beautiful little eye-bright, the toad-flax, and several others : like most of the class, it has two long and two short stamens, which are curiously formed, and touch the pistil. The foxglove is, at the same time, a dangerous and a most valuable plant, — dangerous, if eaten or partaken of in any way by the unskilful; but very useful in practical hands, and ranking amongst the highest order of medicinal plants. Pull it np, and you will be startled at the peculiar smell of its root; there is nothing else m T'nXdF.oVi: AST) MON'KHIIor.n. like it. Very weakly |)('rs(tnM would faiiit iiwiiy it' llif (liiiii^'crtMiM odmir was hmix inlialctl, and i'vvl as if lluv had " Kinptii'tl «(imo (hill (i|ii!itc lo tin' ilfc^j^H." Oid Cid[i('])|)or'H di'sc'i'iiition of tlio (0XJ4I0V1', tlioii^-li written iiioi-e than two hundi-ed years a^^o, is so exeellent that we ^'ladly (juote it; for no modern writer has in fewer words ^nven so |)erfeet a word-painting of the flower: tho "hoary jjfreen colour," and "soft woolly" feel of tho leaves, are tho ri.^'ht words in tho rij,dit places, llo says:— "Tho foxj,^love hath many lon<,^ and broad loaves lyinj^ upon the ground, dented ahoiit the edges, u little soft or woolly, and of a hoary-green colour, among which rise up, Honietimes, sundry stalks, but one very ofU'ii bearing such loaves thereon from tho bottom to tho middle, from whence to tho top it is stored with largo and long hollow, reddish- purple ilowers, a little moro long and eminent at the hjwer edge, with some white spots within them, one above another, with small green leaves at every one (llowor), but all of them turning their heads one way, and hanging downwards." So far, all this is admirable flower-painting, llo then speaks of "tho thread in the middle," and "round heads pointed shar});" and wo get rather confused among his stamens and "small brown seed." Now, the poisonous monkshood is called a purple-coloured flower, as well as the foxglove, while there is no more resem- blance in tho colours of the two flowers than there is between the blue corn-bottle and the mallow. The monkshood, or wolfs- \jane — said to be so called because the wolf-hunters dipped their arrow-points in the juice of the plant, to make tho death , 1 ^ii j 111 ' i' j 1 , 1' * h 1 ill' ■ 1 ;l \ :!: i !5 •a i! ! i 1 1^ h iiii ill' If Iiii ' 1 1 1 i '■ Ij ii II' i, 1'. ii ;. 1 ii I'l 1 '' Iji i! ii ;. i ! ii ■ ■' : i ! 1 1 1 ^ i !:i 1 II i 1 1 4 -' i ! '' 1 J r i| |i i 1 COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWEltS. of the wounded wolf certain — is found wild in several parts of Enj^land, and when once scon can never be forg-otten ; for it is a dark |)ur})lc, gloomy-looking ilowei', and the bees are said to keep far from it, for there is no converting its deadly poison into honey. Even the very smell is injurious ; and as to champ- ing a leaf, and swallowing the juice, it would be regarded by some as little better than wilful suicide. Take off the purple liL-ad, and there .are some very curiously-formed threads under- neath, which the country people call Venus's sparrows. The wood-betony is sure to be found in the neighbourhood of the foxglove; it is a great favourite with the old country- women, who believe that the sun never shone on two finer plants than wood-betony and agrimony. Its flowers bear a close resemblance to the red-nettle, and, like that plant, it belongs to the labiated or lipped order of flowei-s : it is readily known, by the length of stem between the leaves, and is a poi'fect staircase of flowers, every step up being a whorl of bloom; the Ijlossoms are also much larger than those of the red-nettle, which it resembles in colour. A bed of it looks very beautiful in the underwood, especially when the sun is shining upon it, and throws a warm golden glow about the rosy bloom. Agrimony, with its long spiked head, and small, dark, golden- coloured flowers, is a beautiful and very wholesome plant, and is commonly used as a substitute for tea by poor people in the country, many of whom — it may be through long habit — would rather drink it than the costliest tea money ever purchased. It was the favourite "tea" of our boyhood, drank with milk and sugar; and we took it very hard, when aunts and cousins came, and we were conipelled to sit around the " holiday china," 186 AC.in.MONY. mid not allowed our little black cnrtlienwaro tea-pot, in uliieli we made our own agrimony-tea. Nor is there a more beautiful leaf to be found throughout all the length and breadth of the velvet valleys of green England than that of the common agrimony; the edges are deeply and elegantly cut, and divided evenly down to the stalk, and so exquisitely veined that they are almost prettier than the little five-petalled golden flower that surmounts them. It is generally met with in dry pastures, or near sunny embankments; but we have always found it most abundant in fields that stretch beyond the summits of hills, where we have frequently gathered it from two to three feet high, half that length being one continuous spike of flowers. The pleasant aroma of this beautiful plant is readily discovered by bruising the leaves between the fingers; nor does it re(piire much to make a whole house redolent of the perfume of agri- mony. It grows in the fields about Sydenliam and Beckenham, in Kent. These hill and vale and wood-covering flowers are all in bloom while Summer reigns in the pride of her beauty, and throws a purple blush on the little hillocks of wild thyme, amid which the golden-banded bees make an incessant nuirnmr. Even the httle patches of green by the dusty wayside are a-blaze with the blood-red crimson of the pimpernel,-a red which the richest scarlet of the geraniums cannot outrival. Though the bloom is but little larger than that of the chickweed, and the plant only attains the height of a few inches, yet its brilliant red flowers attract the eye in a moment, for we have nothing of so bright and pure a scarlet to compare with it amongst the whole °of our common wayside flowers, excepting the common W ijil ill !S COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. red poppy. Its leaves arc also very pretty, oval in shape, and spotted underneath. In the country it is called the poor man's weather-glass, on account of closing its corolla before rain ; and, so far as denoting the approach of rain goes, it is a tolerable barometer, though we have but little faith in it as the shepherd's clock — another of its country names — for it invariably closes at noon, however bright the sun may shine, and never opens before seven in the morning on the finest and longest day in June, the month in which it flowers, and those who search for it before that hour, will only find the little red bud folded up in its green cup, or just peeping out, like a cherry-cheeked child from under the folds of a green shawl. Linnteus, it is said, could always tell the hour of the day by looking at the flowers, and that he so arranged them around a dial, that at every hour a flower either opened or shut, from sunrise to sun- set. Pleasant must his rambles have been, along waysides hung with gold and silver jewelled time-pieces, which he had neither the trouble to carry, get repaired, or wind u^i ; and " sweet discourse" he must have made about the hours, as they kept flowery time. His supper hour would be announced by their " slmtting-up-rose time;" his message for dinner, the "pim- pernel's closed." What poetry might be given to the divisions of the hours, were they thus marked, and what a pretty help would such time-keeping be to a fairy tale ! Then might we tell How they lived in crystal springs, And swung upon tho honey -bells ; In meadows danced tho dark-gi-een mazes, Strewed blossoms round tho haunted wells, Aud slept within the folded daisies. il I H I '4i ■ I I WOODlJIMv S\vi:i:i 1)1()Sm)1i;. stfcaU'd with smiscl Imi- And .silver (I o'i'v with Jiioi'iiiiiu dew! Tlu'i'c is IK) red uiid whid' like tliiiic. Save where in nmidi'ifs liiee eoinliinc The pnle pearl's lialf'-reveMli'd tliish. Deepening' into the rose's hlnsli. And both so heantil'uUy bleiukHl. Wo can't tell where began or ended The timid red or maiden white, Which kindle, madden, and delight. Thou art the trumpeter of flowers I Blowing the tidings all around, Of where, in high o'eraT'ching bowei's. The sweetest [)eri'un)es may be round The winds are out both night iinil (hiy (Jarryinijf tlie messui^v I'iir awiiv HONEYSUCKLE; BRinXY; WOODY-NKJIITSIIADE; GUELDEll-HOSES ; SI'INDLE-TRKK ; BIUD-CIIEIUIY ; DOG-WOOD; I'lUVET ; AND BUTCifER'S-BROOM. The woodbine, or connnou honeysuckle, is one of the most beautiful of our twining plants, and throws out a perfume so sweet and refreshing, that there is scarcely a Mower to be found surpassing it in fragrance. It is a great favourite with our peasantry, and in the neighbourhoods where it abounds, it is a common practice with them to run up a light frame of lattice- work around their cottage doors, over which thi'y train the woodbine : and a pretty sight it is to see the trumpet-shaped flowers, streaked with red and white, or red and yellow, drooping all about the picturesque porches, and to hear the bees murmuring among the honey-filled flowers all day long. But prettier still, in our eye, does it look in its native woods, twining around some sTnall tree, just peeping out from the undermost branches which overshadow it, hke a fair lady leaning from her l)ower window, and seeming, when the wind blows, to move her fair head to and fro, as if noting what passes in the flowery world without. Even the aged thorn seems proud to support its tiara of sun-stained blossoms, and hold it aloof from the entangling underwood. The woodbine, hke the convolvulus, twines from left to right, and the briony in a contrary direction; nor can 131 : If, CUAJMON VVAV.SIDK I'LUWKKS. I 'ml human skill alter the course of these twining plants, for if wound round in a different direction to that which they naturally take, they will uncoil themselves and hang down ; yet, as if of their own accord, they will, when left to what the poet Spenser calls their " own inchnation," reverse their spiral nature and twine round one another, as will the scarlet runner. The blossoms of the black briony are very pretty, and show their grey -white spikes amid the large heart-shaped leaves, while the berries make quite a gay show in Autumn. There is another climbing plant, very beautiful to look upon when in flower — the woody nightshade, which turns back its purple petals, while its golden anthers unite and project like the point of an ancient helmet. The berries, which are of the richest scarlet, though not so poisonous as those of the deadly nightshade, are very pernicious, and are often gathered and eaten by country children, who, when they partake of them to excess, rarely recover from the effects, though eating a few seldom proves fatal. The pleasant taste they have renders them the more dangerous to young folks, to say nothing of the tempting look of the fruit, which is not much unlike the red currant of our gardens. All these poisonous plants ought to be pointed out to children, so that when rambling about the lanes and woods they may avoid gathering them. The berries of the woodbine, when ripe, have a rich gushing scarlet appearance, and have been frequently eaten by children, to the great injury of their health. The guelder-rose is another bearer of beautiful berries which must be avoided. It is found wild in the woods and hedges in moist lands ; and the handsome white flowers, which grow in clusters, are always largest on the outside, and differ in form 132 OrELDER-ROSES, SPINDLE-TIIKK, AND niKn-CIlERnY. from the innci' flowers. The luuves, in Autuimi, are ahiiost ns beautiful as the berries, seeming to fire the hedges in which they grow with their rich crimson hue. The wayfaring-tree, or mealy guelder-rose, as it is oftener called, on account of the meal-liko down found on the under surface of the leaves, is another beautiful berry -bearer, though these are black when fully ripe; still, they pass through a red transition, like many other berries of the same kind, and it is then they wear their most beautiful appearance. The spindle-tree, though showing nothing attractive in its looks in the early part of Summer, makes a beautiful appearance in Autumn, and is a great ornament to our English hedgerows. The small, dull, greenish- white flowers, which open in May, become beautiful seed-vessels of a rosy colour in September, richer in hue than many of our choice Summer blossoms, and leading those to imagine, who know no better, that the tree is covered with bloom, especially when the capsules separate, like the petals of a rose-coloured flower, and reveal the golden- coloured seeds beneath. Then, there is something so bright and wax-like in these beautiful seed-vessels, that when they are shaken by the wind, one might fancy there were thousands of little fairies hidden among the leavej. ^ortively playing with their pretty coral flowers. In companionship with these beautiful shrubs we find the bird- cherry, though it attracted our eyes in Spring, with its rich array of snow-white blossoms, which made it glow like a light in the hedges ; but its rich-looking bunches of black ripe fruit add to the luscious appearance of Autumn, changing also from green to red, like many of the surrounding leaves, before they arrive at their 133 If' lit I iji COMMON WAYSIJJK FfiOWKKS. (liirk, <^ra])C-liko niollowncss. Tlic fruit is ])lcasant('r to the pyo tlian the taste, although there is nothing very injurious about it, if eaten moderately. Another very beautiful berry-bearing shrub is the dog-wood, or wild Cornell ; it also bears a greenish- white flower, the smell of which is supposed to be pleasant to dogs, though to all beside very disagreeable. The berries bear a dark, rich purple hue, and the branches .are of u rich red colour, which, together with the changes the foliage undergoes — green, purple, and the dying crimson of decay — makes it one among the many beautiful shrubs whose kindling up tires the rich altar of Autunni : — Loaves of all hues — {(rocn, gold, and red, Kniiis of Summer's bowers, liooking almost as beautiful As ilid her choicest flowers. For the beech-leaves now wear the burning gold of a Summer sunset, while into the pale-yellow of the chestnut dips the deeper green of the elm, mingled with the dark foliage of the oak, which is here and there dashed with a metallic-looking brown, as if some of the leaves had been struck from thin sheets of bronze. The heps of the wild rose hang like rubies amid the darker gems of the blackberry, as if it were a great gala day, and Nature had put on all her richest jewels to honour the wealth and fruitfulness of mellow Autumn. Old legends tell us, that it was at this season of the year when the woodbine was first finished ; that it lay, white, withered and ne •*--'*^. I'OI'I'Y AN!) OATS. Iii;i> soldici' ol' till- L'nidrii ('(irii ' Siicli wci't thou ciiUM ill cliildliiiod's diiys. Wlu'ii, stiiiulin<4' out III sunny inorn, . lion si'CMiM to set the llidd !i-l)iii/.i'. Altlioiij^li wo lii'wM till' lu'ltk'S down. W(! Ii'i't, lliiT in tin- wind to wuvi", All oml)li!iu of our old rt'uown : I'lic ci'iiiison liitnncr of the lii'iivo. I;iki! jt!W(;l:-t in a liulys li, u'r. So, to iind fro, tiu' husky outs (ilanc'O ^()UU;ii- wiuiic hi-r lu'ck is haic (ioldoii tlu! loosiin'd ribbon iloats Far out upon the harvest brciy/i- ; Nor iind wc aun'lit inoiv bt'autitiil Than in sui-h ^■racuful forms as tht'si", ThoULiii from ten iiious;nid sIimik's wc cuI! IIVS. i' clll roiMMKS; C()I?N ULUK-UOTTLi:; SNAI'DIiAdON ; ST. .lOllN'S WOl!'!':". A OMI'OUNIJ FLOWEIt. 'I'lTK scarlet poppies, wliicli inako .such a giirish show in oiii* Summer fields and waste places, where they contrast beautifully with the wild chamomile, beside which they so often grow, arc called, in our Midland counties, " head-aches," and rightly, too, as any one who tries the experiment will soon be convinced, by sitting in a room containing a handful of newly-gathered po])pies. The poppy is also called the red-cap and corn-rose in the country, and the village maidens believe that they can test the affection of their swains by its satiny petals, which they place upon the palms of their hands and strike smartly, when, if the petal makes a loud report, their lovers are believed to bo true ; but if the petals uiu struck and make no noise, they then conclude that their lovers are false. Gay alludes to the practice in the following lines : — " By a prophetic poppy-loaf I found Your changed affection, for it gave no sound, Though in my hand struck hollow as it lay, But quickly withered, like your lovo, away." The poppy is also linked to heathen mythology, and is there said to have been first raised to console the mother of Proserpine, when her daughter was carried off by Pluto, while gathering ) ll ■ I. . s COMMON WAYSIDK KI.OWKKS. ilowcrs ill tlio fields of Fiimn, inul tliat over since the j^oddess of corn caused it to wave amid her golden luii'vests. White ])opj)ies are <^i'o\vn in our own counti'y, ])rincipally for their seeds, and beautiful does a Held of (Iumu look, bordered with green hedges, while swaying to and fro in the wind. Opium is obtained by cutting incisions in the ri])e ]H)p]iy-head, or seed- vessi'l, lengthways aiul crossways, wlien a milky kind of juico exudes, which diies up like a liard gum : this is opium, and nuist be sci'a])ed oil' on the morning following the evening on which the cuts are made. Sonic consider that the opium we thus obtain is as light as that of the forget- me-not, with dark centre, dark-purple, red, i't>ddish centre with 110 C(»i;\ IlM'K-nOTTT.K AM) J^NAmKAOON. wliifo potnls, all while, niid wliito with lil;ic llorcts, with diirk reds jinil wliitos, blues nml whites, jiltenmtiiiij; ; nor is there iiny f^f-ettiiij^ rid of them, as they s|)rin!4- up by huu(h-eds in every eornor of the n-jirdon, and but for the larkspurs stoutly holdinu^ their own in tlu> niidst, would oeeupy evc>ry inch of j:;-round. 'I'lie invohiere, or ealyx, is also very pretty, beautifully bell-shaped, while till' scales ari> of a rieh jj-i-een, and tluMr frinsjfed i>du-es inai-kt>d with brown : take a. uiat>'nifyinL!f-tj^lass, and you will confess tliat you have seen few obji-cts nioi-e beautifully uiai'ked tlian tho scaly calyx of this coniniou corn-llow(M'. There ai'i; dilfereut varietii>s of this knapweed, but all lookinj;- so nuu'h alike, that tho admirer cart's not to be bored with the sli^^'ht markini^s which distini^uisli them. The nauu' C'entain-ea, which belon^'s to tho corn-bottle, is (U'rived from the '^lesj^end olden ^' of the (V'litaur Chiron, wlio, ludf-horso as he was, healed tho wound madi^ by llorcules, by bruisinj^ tho corn-bottlo iiower ami usin, "because it turns the edges of tho sickles that reap tho coi-n." Here we also lind the lai'i^e pur])lc corn-cockle, wiiich farnu'rs dread, on account of its black seeds i^-etting anu)n_u^ the corn when it is tlu'ashcd. Jt is a noble-lookiuy" (lower; tln' upj)er j)()rtion of tlu; calyx proji-ctinij^ out beyond the petals maki's it I'cmarkaiile, while thi' loui!^ narrow leaves are covei'cd witii soft, silky hairs, ami the ])lant grows about two feet high, beautituUy braiu-hed, and upi'ight as a spear, every bloom looking up at tho sky. Among tho corn wi' are pietty sui'o to tind the suapch'agou, with its beautifully-coloured llowers and tight-dosing lips, which, when tho smaller insects liavo forcetl open, beconii^ prison gates, 141 P il' il Ill' I.' 'I' n ! COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWEKS. through which they can never escape, unless they break through or eat a road out of the flowery prison-walls. What forms the self-acting and sharp-closing spring of this wonderfully-formed flower ? Mechanical science has hitherto invented nothing to be compared with it but what is clumsily visible ; in the flower we see neither spring nor joint, yet open it, loose your hold, and quicker than the eye can follow, the lips close, and that curiously- formed indentation on the upper or shorter lip comes down as if struck by a hammer, riveting up the entrance of the bloom. Even the bee is at times, with all his strength, rather perplexed, after he has rifled the flower of its sweets, and we have seen him sadly bothered when he has ventured in too far, though he has managed to open himself a passage and carry off" his treasure of honey from his frog-mouthed pi'ison. The larger snapdragon is generally found in a wild state near chalk-pits, and some say, seldom far away from a garden, signifying that it is rather ques- tionable whether it is a wild flower or not. There can, however, be no doubt about the lesser snapdragon, which is so commouly found in the corn-fields. The St. John's worts, for richness of hue, ought almost to be placed first amongst our golden- coloured wild flowers. We never look at them without thinking of the reverenc e in which they were held by our superstitious ancestors, who believed them to be holy antidotes against the spell of witch or wizard, thunder, lightning, and all "elemental warfare," which they attributed to the Evil One. The lace-flowered St. John's wort bears a lai'ge beautiful yellow bloom, having five sets of handsome stamens in the centre ; it is rarely found wild now, though it appears to have been sprinkled over certain corners of our country in former times. There are 143 'IT ST. JOHN S WORTS. eleven well-known species of these worts; and a very pretty ouo is the square- stalked St. John's wort, which is generally found in moist places : the golden-hued flowers grow in a cluster, and the oval leaves appear beautifully dotted when held between the eye and the light; the calyx leaves are long and narrow, and the plant grows about a foot or eighteen inches high. The common perforated St. John's wort has also similar dots on the leaves, and only two edges to the stem, with black spots on both the calyx and corolla, and sometimes on the leaves. It makes quite a rich golden light where it grows, especially in the woods, when seen through the tangled greenery. Nor less beautiful, though not so conspicuous, are the flowers of the trailing St. John's wort, which must be sought for close to the ground, as its delicate stems trail all about the root. The pretty small flowers are sprinkled with black spots, the same as the common perforated one. But the crowninu* flower in the whole wreath of St. John's worts is the small upright; it is a perfect geui of a flower, tipped with red before it opens, and when expanded forming a beautiful loose bunch of yellow bloom with red anthers, quite refreshing to look upon. It is found almost everywhere in dry situations, and may be readily known, from the peculiar way in which the leaves clasp the stem. We have noticed that, generally, where the scarlet poppy is found growing in waste places, there also will be seen a crowd of white flowers with yellow discs, which are all passed over under the head of wild chamomiles. These flowers have white-rayed florets, like the daisy, with deeply-cut leaves, and some of the plants have a strong scent, not unlike the chamomile, which, how- ever, is seldom found growing wild. Amongst these is the green- I; r ii3 COMMON WAYSIDK FLOWEUS. I , wort, readily distinguished by its white disc and hmco-shaped leaves, which are sharp cut at the edges. The ox-eye, or horse daisy, is another of these white-rayed flowers, and about the commonest of them all ; for there is hardly a waste place, in the middle of Summer, but what is covered with it, and as it grows nearly two feet high, it is rather a conspicuous object, but when contrasted with the deep scarlet of the poppy, looking very pretty, through the striking difference of the two colours. These phmts belong to a large family — the rayed composites — and their forma- tion is very curious, as may be seen by cutting down the middle a common daisy. The receptacle, or disc, is upcurved, from which springs the golden crown or yellow florets of the daisy, commonly called the centre, while the strap-shaped florets form the rays or white frill of the daisy, or the petals of the flower. But when we come to tear the daisy to pieces, we find every little yellow floret in the disc a separate and perfect flower, a little hollow corolla, con- taining stamens and style. The same with the frill or petal ; it also has a seed at its base, which contains a style, but no stamens, and receives its fertilization from the stamens in the golden florets of the disc. These little disc florets are very delicate j a di'op of rain falling heavily would fill up all their golden cells, drive in pistils and stamens, and perhaps destroy the whole fructifying qualities of the plant, especially as it lifts up its golden eye, clear and bright, towards heaven. To prevent this, the white rays or petals close over the yellow florets in rainy weather, shutting them up so securely that not a drop of rain can penetrate one of those golden chambers ; and no matter from what direction the wind blows, the daisy turns from it, while enfolding its yellow storehouse. r; 144 'I 111! v\ f ■I ■ h J : \U. CONViUA'l'MS ••'I'wiNK, Iwinc. sistt.'i" of luiiic." They sa;iy wlieii tlu-y iiukU.' tliiisc Itlossoins ol'tliinc •■ In and out, Xet them about : A curtain i'okl licro. And a tassi'l liiiiii; tlicro. And, whorover thenrs room, let a hell-bloom apppar They ran up the corn. And cliinbM u]» tlio thorn. And opcnd tlioir flowei's At dawiiint;' of morn. '■ Sistci'. sister, why dost thon sig'h?" "To think our beautiful flowers must die. When thev have l)een in l)looni but a day." "'Never mind, sisteiv let tliem decay. They open at morn. And all thintrs adorn : 'J'hey die at nig-ht. But they ^ave delight, And others will live Wlu>n the deaiVs out of sijrht." .: 1 - , *t !' CONVOLVULUS; TRAVELLER'S-JOY; BED-STRAW; UEARRIND; HOP; FERNS. %■ There arc three species of this well-known plant growing wild in our country, the most beautiful of which is the small bindweed, or lesser convolvulus, found ahnost everywhere, and well known by its pale-pink and rose-streaked flowers. It also throws out a plea- sant perfume, and forms as pretty a picture, when twined among the tall feathered grasses, or around corn, as a lady would wish to sit down and copy, for the arrow-shaped leaves are very beautiful. Country children are fond of wreathing their hats and bonnets with this little favourite ; and we have seen young ladies, at a Summer pic-nic, twine the flowers amid their flowing hair, and thus add another charm to their dangerous beauty. Another variety, called the sea-side convolvulus — though it grows inland, on sandy soil — is of a beautiful rose-colour, with kidney-shaped leaves ; but it does not throw out such a pro- fusion of flowers as the small bindweed. The blossoms are very sensitive to any change of weather, and they partially close at the approach of rain : those which bloom in the morning fade on the following day, and are succeeded by other flowers, which will be found screwed up, so to speak, and ready to show them- selves as soon as those which have had " their little day" have 117 I iMi ill COMMOy WAYSn.T:' j^LOWEUS. cHsn]>peared. Pity they should die as soori as tlicy have attained perfection ; and, whatever Keats may say, " a thing of beauty is not a joy for ever," or we should not mourn its decline. The great bindweed is a splendid plant, and its large white blossoms may often be seen hanging about the tops of our highest hedges, around the tallest branches of which it has twined. These flowers are often found of an immense size, much larger than the major convolvulus of our gardens; and we once saw some in a meadow near Lincoln, nearly as largo as the white lily. Country children call the great white blossoms " old women's night-caps," and we have seen a little girl clap one on the hf^ad of her doll, to show how nicely it fitted, though it was not put on without leaving a rent behind in her bell- shaped covei'ing. The seed-vessel of the bindweed consists of two or three cells, each containing one or two seeds, which are of an angular form. The wild clematis, or traveller's joy, is another climbing plant, that throws its greenish-white flowers over our hedges in thick clusters during the Summer, and covers them with white cottony down in Autumn, making them look, at times, as if they were buried under a winding-sheet of snow ; sometimes the bloom will cover a whole bush, and a very pretty appearance it has, when the blossoms hang down from the ends of the sprays, and wave in the wijnd. The divided leaves are also very pretty, and as the leaf-stalks form tendrils, like the vine, and the stems are of great length, it soon covers whatever it clings to with its fragrant flowers, — for the perfume is exceedingly pleasant. Another long, straggling plant, which climbs up and clings to whatever it can lean upon, is the cross-leaved bed-straw, the 148 hM BED-STRAW AND nEARlllND. I only ono of the species wliicli has yellow flowers, as all tlio rest, with ono exception, have white blossoms. It is a oTcat ornament to our banks and hedg-es, and hoka really pretty, with its whoi'ls of leaves ringing the stalk at regular distances, with the little yellow flowers clustering upon them. This ])lant was much used in former times, when halls ajid cluunbei-s were strewn with herbs and flowers, in ladies' sleeping apartments : hence the origin of its name. Kushes were also used for the same purpose; and retainers were kept, called rush-bearers, whose office it was to strew the apartments every morning with fresh rushes. Then rush-matting came into use, as no doubt it lasted longer than the rushes would, scattered loosely about ; and, in some parts of England, common green rush-mats aro still in use, and are made on the spots where the rushes grow : in our younger days, they were generally maimfactured and sold by gipsies, — and a pleasant smell did a new rush-mat give to the house. The bearbind, which is covered wnth clusters of minute greenish flowers — for the intermingled white is hardly percep- tible — covers whatever it clings to, and sends up an immense number of stems from its small, strong, wiry roots. Its leaves are so much like the lesser convolvulus, that it is difficult to tell the difference at a first glance, for they also are arrow- shaped, but terminate in a sharp point, while the tip of the bindweed leaf is slightly rounded. But there is one unmis- takable sign about these plants — they twine contraiy ways; the convolvulus twining in the same direction as the scarlet- runner, — the bindweed twining a contrary way; one going, as the gardeners term it, " round with the sun," the other against m 1 , ■' COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. it. It is notliiiio' uTicommon to sco whole rows of kmj^ liedf^cs covered, about July, >vitli the bearbind, and that so closely, that hardly u ray of ]\-('S iiro liuii<^' in Antnnm, as if in innckn'y of tlic hri^'lit aiTiiy nf jewel. -t with wliii'li JJcunty loves to adoi-n licrsclf. 'J'licrc we sco tlK> ])ni'0 carni'lian of tlio lionrysncUU*, oval pearls of ovciy dye, setlinj^'s of crimson and purple, tlu; bi-aeeleted briony and blark- boadod sloes, richly niing-led with corals and emeralds, which the Autumn dews breatlio upon, and leave such a delicate l>loom as no artist couUl over yet imitate. These are the beauties of <^-reeJi Eno-land, souo-ht for in vain in any otliei" country — tlie tlowery and fruity barriers which bh)oni and ripen year after year without tho aid of man, and make a ricli framework for om- lont^ miles of Hwocpinj^ grass, diapered with an ever-i hanging succession of beautiful wihl flowers. Then, we have our noble family of ferns, those gi'and relics of an undated epoch, remnants of wliich we sometimes meet with among the remains of extinct aminals. Look at the common flowering fern, which sometimes attains a lieight of eight or ten feet, and tosses its lnig(> fans over you like the covering of a green tent, especially if it hajjpen to grow near water, when they hang down like tho graceful branches of the weeping willow. What are our silk manufacturers about, not to bring out tho Lady Fern dross ? — a light ground of green silk, then tho leaHots in darker col imir away ours, with all their divisions and subdivisions, fadi beautifully into the softened ground of delicate green. Tlioy would look as lovely as the fabled soa-nymphs, depicted by poets as floating about the gardens of the ocean, clothed in the grass- coloured garments of the deep. We have, in another divisicm of our work, spoken (jf the 5| ' 161 |ii! COMMON WAYSIUK l'l,OVVKK8. !• i ii ' !,: bciiiitifiil fnlditijifs of tlic plimtiiiu filinncjitH; hut tlic young froiuls of the li'i'u, bi'tofc tlicy uncoil tlu'ius(>lvcs, arc f'jii' nioi'c cui-ious. Kiicli frond is coilctl upon itself, iind, when not too young, it, nuiy, witli very gTciit cure, he unfolded without brenking. Though tin? fern is not a ilower, neitlu'r has it seed, still you will lin«l on tho hiu'k of u large leaf, but not on all the leaves, a nundx'i' of littlo raised dots ; these are the coverings of the spores, the only seed, fts -we may call it, which the fern contains. JJut to examine their wonderful construction a good nuignifier will be re(|uirt'd; then you may aco the beautifully-jointed ring with which each is braided. A covert of the common bracken is a grand sight, especially if kindled by the fiery torch of Autumn, when it seems to set the Avhole broad nuuirland in a bla/.e — for some of tho crimson and golden colours of the fern are richer in hue than any of the foliage we find on the trees. But to see fern in per- fection, the reader must wander into the neighbourhood of some of our old forests, or even into the forests, for fine sj)ecimens arc sure to bo found in the bi'oad open glades that lie like littlo meadows hero and there in the very heart of these woodlands. Then, it is poetical from its association, for underneath it the antlered monarch of the herd finds a covert, and there the mild- eyed doe sleeps beside her fawn. There is also such a real forest aroma about the fern — it smells like nothing else -, while a lounge under its great overhanging leaves, on the forest turf, with the sun shining faintly through the fronds, is enough to set the fancy roaming among the tropics, mayhap to dream of lotus- eaters and sleepy climes — • " When' it is ever idlosse evtM'iiiori'." 162 i 1^ M ! I r I If r ,,1 f 'i \\\A v. I1.\I{K-|{KM- 1\ llidsi'tild iimniiiius. Iohl;- ii^o. Tlif fiirlli will) llowcis Wiis lliiiily sin.wii. And. siivc :i IniiH'li of |)c!irlv siiuw. Wliicli (111 tlic li:i\vllii)ni lii)iiiili>* I"!"'! l>Ii>\vii. Nolliiiiii' Itiit lii'iiss mid lc;ivcs were seen. N (> Iinui rs >j;\vw ill llif siiiiiiv <^l;i liliie (if tile sky. And iiisliintiv tlu- eoliiiir eliiiiiu'ed. •• I "11 liMVe :i Itliie-hell. Ion. for Spriii'.^."" SIic siiid. illld liviieinllis slie iiiiide : •• Hill Siininier sliiill ni\ diirliiii;' liriiiL;'. 'I'd iniike ii lieiiveii iiiiiid its sliiide : l-'or t lidiiuli I fdl-iii tell llidiisiiiid ilosveis. And <\\v llieir iiiids of e\er\ line. Tile fiivoiirite ill iili iii\ liowers. Will ever lie tlie liiire-lieil liliie." HIJ !•: IIAKK-HKLh; WIIJ) TIIYMK; KVIMMfKillT: COI.DKN 1U)1»: MKAD()\V-SAKK1!(»N mi<:ai)o\v-s\vki;t; iikatiikh and viwav), ok (loitsp:. 'I'llK liar('-l)i'll, ol'tcii called tlu' hliic-bcll, llioiinh tlu> wild liynciiitli is more u-(«iK'i-;illy known by tlic hitter luinie, Ix'Iony-s tt> the order of Cninpiinulji, and is one of tli(> most lieaufif'nl of oiii* Antnniu wjiyside tlowors. it is o-cnei-allv found Ix'side oui- woods, or in waste ])la('es wliere tlie lieatliei' is in hloom, wlioro its delicate liells, cleai" and hriy'lit as the hhie of heaven, show like j^'cnis scattered on llu' o'i'(>(>ii o-i-ound. When the foliay-e of tlu- trees is touched with the yellow lint-fei' of decay, tellini^- that the heauty of SuinnuM- is on the wane, the hai-e-hell is in full hloom, though so frao-il(> u Howei- is it, that the lij^'htest hree/.e will set all its ji/-ure hells in motion, for scarcely a moi-e delicate-lookinuf ilower l)lows aloim- tin. wa\si(Ies of pastoral l']iii'-lan«l. The IVau'rant wild thyme is ti'enei'ally found in bloom in the neiy-hhoui'liood of the hare-hell, sci'iitin^' the whole air for some distance around; and there the bees will be lieai'd iMUi'imn'inu*, for but few flowers besides now open their honied bells to the subsiding' sunshine, us the niu'hts nip their bloom, and the shortenint;' «Iays are 1 )( comiu''- chillv. 'J'hese, with the i-ose-cohtured heather, are th last liny'erers that Summer leaves behind which mav still Ik called beautiful, — thoui^'h we nnist not foi-o-et the little eye-briuht, loo I ii COMMON WAY.SIKK KLCWKKS. I n \] ; I 1' :i1 :mi which loul-s iis it' stri-akcd with j^-i'i'cii iind gohl ou a ch'ar wliitf grouiul, thi'owii out all tlie iiioiv distinctly throu<^"h resting on its Led of dark scn-atcd leaves; these, and the rose-colouri-d pheasant's-eye, or " Kose-a-rid)y," as it was called in former times, an; the richest wayside flowers that now hang in the decaying garland of Summer. The comm(tn g(»lden-rod is a fine tall Autumn flower, hearing a [)erfect cloud of bloitm ; on this and the great ragwort, whicli, exce])fing in foliage, it resend)les, the witches of old were sup- posed to take theii' aerial flights over town and tower, to the nuistering-ground where they assembled to plot against the weal of their neighbours. There is a ])eculiar smell, resend)ling hoiuy, about this beautiful ]ilant, which is not found in any other flower. It is generally found on dry embankments. The meadow-saffron, or Autumn crocus, is another of our late- blowing flowers, and is but little unlike the crocus of Spring; it has, however, no leaf to i)rotect it from the cold nights that are slowly ap])roaching. The seeds, which do not ripen till mid- winter, lie in the earth until the a})proach of Spring, tlu'u the plant bears leaves, the seed is scattered abroad, and another race of Autumn flowers sown. l*erhaps there is nothing more curittus in the whole vegetable kingdom than the formation of this flower; the long tube or shaft — the cellar or storehouse into which the future flower sinks, and is bui-ied in the earth until the following Spring — resend)les n(»thiug that we know of beside in the great world of flowers. 'i'hat sweetly-fragrant plant, with its creamy-looking yellow crown, the nu-adow-sweet, is still in flower, and may be found by the side of water-courses or in waste moist places, where it not ^6 iii;atiii;i; anu itu/i:, oi: (iousk AV only sliows itsi'lt' <»ii accmnil of its iiolilc lu-iu'lit, hut hi'ti-iiys itsrlf buf'oi'c sLvn by its delicious odour, which is sciiivcly surpassi-d l»y tlic swx'ct-briiir. A.iv liondoucr, iuiMi)in<'' into the Crovdon triiin, will, at tilt* end of his journiy, oidy have to walk a mile to Car- shalton, where he will find this (pieen of the meadows lIowerinLj" in abundance and scent iniLf the whole scenerv. Tint wo unist write a tew more words about the wild heather, .hich o'ives sudi beat ty to the solitary wastes that wouhl aj)])ear - up with its pale pink bells weary leaj^'ues of desolate moorland, where tlu' trees are few and far apart, and human ha])itations are but rarely nut with. Then, it tlowi'rs towards the close of Summer, when — saviu«>- the plants we have before mentioned — thei-e ar(> but few others in bloom to attract the eve. Ihit what is more beautiful than lon«>' mile' of laiul carpeted with ci'imson and purjile heath-bells, interspersed hero and there with tall clusters of towering- and Howeriut^ ruslies, while the velvet turf that lies })etween is grecMi as the richest emerald, and viehls to the foot liki' a silken cushioii stuffed with swan-down ? The bees are 1 nimmiii<>' about it, aiu tl 10 sun s hilling ujion it all day lonn-, for thei'e are neither tre es nor liedgerows to kee]) otf the sunshine, but over the great levt'l and tlower-purpled solitude the sun shiiu's at his u[)-rising, and at his settiim- lyilds the same scene with his fadi ug glory J" away, beyond even the reach of the eye, the level, heath-covered solitude stretches like u sea of tlowi'rs, that seems to melt into am I is lost amid the fading crimson of the I'Veniu''' cl(»uds which gather around the setting sun. Tlic goi-se, hung with its thousands of little baskets bellied out with gold, is another great ornament to our waysides. It is i.:7 !|i 1: l' ;l ! M COMMON WAYSIbK Ki,(»\vi;i;s. iiiori' w-cTirnilly known l)y tlic iianic of fiir/c, often ])rononn(Tcdk's, still there are l)ut few common wavside tlcnvers that look more beautiful than the gorse, when it is covered from bottom to top with its thousands of little ^hjwin*;' o-oldcn lamps. When Jjinna'us first saw it here, he fell on his knei-s, in adnn'- ration of its beauty, lamenting that his own country was destitute of so splendid a shrub, and cnvyiu",' Kno-hmd the jjossession of it. llurdis, in Lis " Village Curate," says : — "What's more iiohlo tlian tlio vernal I'uf/o, Witli golden baskets luiii};? Ajiproaeli it not, For eveiy blossom iias a tro>.' jf sworil.s Drawn to clelend it." The finest gorse-busl: w^c have ever seen is one that blows (h)uble, and is still growing at the front of a farndiouse on the Eai-1 oi' Darlington's estate, ne.'ir Cobham. This shrub is eight or ten feet liigh, and as large round as a good-si/ed haycock. It is worth a walk from (Jravesend, oidv to see this i>-or"-eous shrub in flower. To our "mind's ive," it recalled the burnino- bush before which Moses stood with bowed head. " When the gorse is out of ilower, kissing 's out of fashion," is nn old saying, the goi-se flowering all the year round, unless the \\ inter is very severe; and even then tiny blooms mav be seen, waiting for nn'lder weather, when they will put forth theii- gohleti blossoms. The ))o(ls of the fiiiv.e, when i'ully ripe, make a loud ci-ackliug n( is" when they opi-n and discharge theii* seed, which, to a person who has never heard it, sounds strangelv, - m IIKATIIF.I; AM* KUir/K, OK coiis:;. C's])(^ci!illy amid tlic silciu'c wliicli I'citjfiis ovci" inniiy oftlio solitary ])Iac'('s ill which this shnih grows. Many iinagino that hccs which have easy access t(t lands wIutc gorse grdws ahiimlaiitly make th le richest lioiiev, ^^lli(•ll has, nidreover, a liii le •'•oicU'ii cdlotir never luimd in any otluM- sort. Wv liave seen o-orse in a eye, but poison- ous to the palate, add to the gaudy colouring of the underwood; while the ferns — red, green, brcnvn, aiul yellow, and every sliade i59 ■ } - I ' COMMON WAVSIliK II.OWKKS. m llijit blonds witli tbosc; iiv.os — lio in rich |)iitclii'S below, with tnfts of ]nii'plo licatluT here and tlici'C', ])('i'])in}4' forth wherever there is openint^ enons^h to (lis])li\y their bei'.nties; while, lower down, the blue hare-bells nod above the soft vi'lvety tnrf; for nowher(> is there so soft and s])rin<>;y a ji^'reensward to be fonnd as that which we sometimes ti'ead upon in these little o])enin<»'s of the woods — fairy ])astnres, only frefpiented by the wild animals that come out from the shadowv and entan sloes, while wild erabs tempt the eye with their gold and crimson colours, tliough to the taste as imalluring as unripe lemons. The holly pierces its way through the snr- rounding slow decay, as if conscions of its strength, knowing that it is called npon to take possession, now that Autunni is on the wane; and the ivy, that seemed to peep out timidly when all beside was " long and leafy," now stands out more boldly every day, and climbs up to the tops of the highest trees, as if to look down in triumph on the death and decay of the vegetable Avorld l)elow, and as if it were the crowned king of the forest, proud of its " green garland of Eternity." 160 h 'I' >r a Is () •r P ^i t IJK'AMIILK l-n\(;.||;M|,iN(; l»r;inil>lc ( il" tile WMStc' \Vliii< wildiicss (idsl I lion L;-i\(. (Ik- sccih . Willi lluii'ti and fiirzc-ljiisli iiitcrlaccil. And l)ri)!id-l('a\cd li'i-ii let in l)(>t\v('iMi So closo, tliorc'H bari'ly room (o j)ass; Afany such tan,t,diiig spois wc know, Willi pulelies of slioii velvet i^n-ass, WhcTo lioalli and nodding blnc-bclls blow, Tilt' l)nllac(«, and tlie dai-k-l)luc sloe, And gushing ImuiibloberriL'S grow, All liung wilh riino, Jn Autumn time ; And to and fro They ever go. When Ihe leaf-stripping ln'i-ezes blow lUIAMULK, AM) OTIIEK r.KKKIKS. Tiir.K'E is an o\i)rcssivc rony-linoss in tlio fine did Saxon word "bramble/' wliicli sij^nilies any ])ric'kly-biisli ; and in onr boyish days, when wo sallied ont to gather blnckbcrries, wo called it "going a brambleberrying," and so will it eontinne to bo called for centuries to come, for there are hniub'cds of j)ure Saxon and Dan 'ill words still in use in the Midland connties of Kngland, wdiicli would scarcely be understood by the rest of our islanders. Nearly the whole of our common v.r.ysido flowers, which aro well- known to all, still retain their ancient Saxon names : what our children call them now, they were called by the Saxon children as they wandered among the old thorpes, yarths, crofts, and spinneys, to gather them above a thousand years ago. Among many of the pleasant English pictures we should like to have well painted and hung up in our parlour, one would bo a group of village children brambleberrying, in checked frocks and check bonnets, with long curtains behind to preserve their little necks from the sun, and with the garments of the boys patched with different coloured stuffs ; for, as their poor, industrious mothers say, " they rive all the rags off their backs when the goe gatus a brambleberrying." They should also have long hair hanging about their faces, and peeping out here and there through the crowns of their hats and bonnets. i I i ilNM I 'I I Ml !l; ^ lc3 jM^ !!ij it COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWKKS. But most of all does tho lonj^ tniiliiii^ bmniMc rontn'biito to tlif wiklncss of our IuhIj^ciows, niiiiiin<^' no otic knows wliiilicr, I'll- it will foi'co ii way though there Ijc room for iionj,flit else to crcc)) into: \vi> liositato, indeed, to o-ivo tho length of some of llio hranihle-shoots wc; liavo nioasurod; so many feet hnvo they jun, that we qnestion if their growth is exceeded by anything saving the ranes of tno tropics. Nor is it tho length of the branch, tho beauty of tho leaf, or the various colours of tho berries in their different stages, that make up tho beauty of the hooked and armed bramble ; there are also tho " Satin-thrca, and hang more fruit on tho thorns than the spray ever bore naturally, and so cheat us out of the precious stakes. If very little, and it was the first time of cheating, they were forgiven ; but if not, such " babes in the wood " were never before beheld as we made 164 BRAM 111,1', AND oTIIKI! IIKI.'IJIKS. tliom — even tlicir own motliors would hardly have known tlioin nj^ain : tor tlicir pivtty lares " uitli MiickbrrfiPH Wore all hi'mtu'iirM ami dyed." Then, there Win* tlie dowherry-hranihle, so dillkidt to distin- f^iiish, when huni,' with herries, from the (MiinMun bramhle, thoiiu-h easily known when in blossom, as the bloom lias all the pinky blush of the doj^--roM', wliiili ,L>-ives to oiii- rutted lanes sneh a look of Eden in Sprini!,-. i>ut on lookiiii;' ii:n'rowly, or lioldinj^ it u|) in a favourable liy-i^n'cn, or white eloiuliMl with ^reeii, while the berries are Very small, often {'ontainin^ only four or live drupes, and sonie- tinies oidy one, like a sin^de bei-ry. It is jjfenerally seen in dry rocky places, hut is neither conmion nor j)lentiful even in the few localities where it is found. Not so with the wild raspberry, which is met with almost every- where, thon«ifh most j)lentifnl in our Northi>rn count iis. Fi'om this rude stock came our j^arden raspberry, not at all improved in flavour throu with a siiiiflo hed<^estake." Yet the remeird)ran('e we have of eatin;^ them, with now honey and cn-am, at coinitry wakes, feasts, a>id wed(hnjj,'s, makes us smack our lip.s even now. Those wlio liavo rand)led about the hilly disti'icts of MiiMlaiid must have noticed, in S[)riiig, a beautiful little shrub covered with rosy, wax-like flowers and bi-i^-ht ^•reen folia^'e : this is the bilberry, a favourite ])i"esej've in the Xortnern counties, of which they niakc! the *M"oly-poly " ])uddin<4's in W'intei", and which, in Devonshire, they eat with the famous o-oldcn-coldurcd cri'am of that pastoral province. There is a delicious puiple bloom on thes(» berries wlien first o-athered, which <4'oes olf when tliey ai'e laid close to^^ether, thou^'h we (h) not think it causes any dctcrioi-ation of flavour, and they look beautiful even when only jet black. (lanie is said to bo very ])artial to the bilberry; and those who arc? fortunate eimugh to feed on the ganu.' fattened by this delicious fi'uit sav that it has a flavour worthv of the "food it fed niion," conveyint^ witli every nujuthful its own fruity condiment. The Blount lihi whortleberrv is another hamlsome shi'ub, havin*', wlieii in bloom, rich clusters of elegant white wax-like flowers, tinged with a rosy l>lush, which slunv like little stars amid the 167 I COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWKRS. yond gathering it w'.en tlry. Are the English hou^^. wives of tlu^ ])rc^scnt day in jjosscssion of tliat simple secret? 1 1 i. fe;. 'if »,r. b'l NITS, AM) MTTIXn. To •TO n-mittiiii,' was to ki'cp ii|) iiii ol.l Knu'lisli liolidnv, wliicli V, iiKiiiv ii dm l)ef lire it ^-avc us plciisuiv even to talk alioiit (nil wi- started; and, in our youiiu-ei- \vi\y-i, i?o one interfered wiili \i:i, for \V(> nuMldled not with <^:\\nr, so had tlie run (.(' tin; wliolo of tlie woods for nn'k's about the neio-hl)onrhood of our l>irth[)lace. And it is pk'asnnt to know that this rural Muo-hsh holiday was eujoyed centuries a^'o, and that one of the poets who lived in the rei,u-n of Mli/alieth — William ilrowut — has left- with nian\- another ns ii bi'antifnl poetieal picture of nutticL:', Word-|)aintin;4- l)e>iile of ^'reenwood sccnerv. ( sii-es, who f)r nuire than half a century had known " Kiicli iiUic, Mliil every iillev ;ri"een, J)illVrle iliul liii>liy dell dl'lliose wild wnoils AikI evei'v i)(i>k\ Itdiifn I'limi >'ed mothers, vouji married women !iml their husbands, brisk vouths and tl K'lr swi'ct- hearts, as well as be d oys anil o-U'ls wlio could just manai^-e to walk as far, made up the merry jj;-roui), all laden with bask-'ts and bottles, pipes and tinder-box — t'or lucifei'-niatches were not kiu)wn in the country in those days, nor did wo feel any alarm about our IVi i COMMON WAYSIDK PLOWKIiS. I : ill rnnistncks iiiul Ciipfaiu Swiii^'. All clotlu'd in our lionioUcst nttire, wo neither I'ciircd hush nor hrake, (rorso nor hranihlo, — for ovory n-nt hut added to our nierrinient, and "looped and wiiulowed ra^'^n-dness " Iaut>-hed at its own tatters. Althou<^li there was little oi* no ceivniony of any kind, yet there was no boorish rudeness — nothinjif but what awakened the api)rovin<^ smile, or called forth the i^entle rebuke unaeeoTn])anied by anger, if some one erred iuiulvertently. I'read-and-eheeso and cold country bacon, ])laiii ai>')le-i>ie and home-brewed beer, had a relish then which we have never since found, (>ven when the dinner has cost one ji;uinea pei* head, with a lu>avy charjnre for all exti'as. Then, what a pleasure it was, instead of sittinj^ down fornuUly to dine, to make seats of our jackets for the j^jirls, while we threw ourselves on tlie green forest turf, with the huge broad-braiu*hing oaks ovei-head for a cano])y, and ate and drank our fill, repeating stale old jokes — accepted as well as if they had heen new — about "fingers being made lu'fore forks," and " no china-service in Kden ;" making dinner- napkins of our j)oeket-liandkerchiefs, and, instead of shaking them afterwards, ca!ehiiig all the mingled crumbs with one hand, and with a chiu'k sending them after the devoured dinner. W hat a cond'ort it was, ttx), to i'vv\ that we had nothing on that we could do nnich injury t", but might run, dance, climb the trees, and dash through the hriaiy underwood, without doing any harm to our garments. And the girls! — "young ladies" they are calK'd now, but they were nnt so calk'd in our younger days — clu'rry-cheeked fai-mers' daughters, ami [)lain cottage lasses, who milked and uiiide butti'r and cheese, not doing " the meanest chares," for these were done by hired servants, but i72 NUTS, AM) NTTTlXd. busy ns l)ors nonrly all ,l;,y Lui- fni- mH lint, nn-l not nslmim".! to til Ix' seen m tlicir wor kiiiLi- iiiiii-c (.veil sii Into as ii(>arl\- tca- nc, on very l)ii real"! )ro\vn die] er. onlv to lie I'liind on tlie |o|.s (,|" the lia/el-lmuoj IS that fowei-ed In'.-l -'' aliove the iindi^ru ood. niid husked in th ripeiiiiiL;' ravs of (he sun. Soi ne o| us Were sure to o'el |ii>t '""' ; Jiiiil, oh ! what a sli(iiiiiiiM- t i( r.' was ! we startled the wil liirds fn, 111 the trees, mid tl le 'j;iiiie fn.ni the thicket, Willi our '"'"' ""'K'ries ; niid. .•ilier •■ill, it wn^ often nnlv a Iov.m" and his k- wlio. ;is til (' old u'l'aiiusire hI when liiey returned were so lear \\;in the w^ '0(l->t ream wilfully deaf, they wouldn't lic;n-.'' ( l>y which we l;iid d(AV!i full len-th I,. arth, or even as to whether it buries itself at all. All lovers of the country must have noticed the Ix'auty of the catkins of the hazel in Spring, and the i)lume-like elegance with which they droo]) : noi- need they be told that these are the nuile flowers: the female flowers are also verv beautiful, with their tiny crimson tufts, hut are too small to attract atte!»ti»m when the others are in bloom, especially as they appear bi'fore the K\»ve-N slum even imc out early, they renuiin late; and amongst the many beautiful objects of Autumn may be placed the golden-coloured hue of the liiizel-coj)se, ;inil wlu n 174 NITS, AND Nl'TTrXC. that tint is spen, the nuts nro in tlii-ir piinic, and the fow huncluM that riMnaiii in their luisks arc, for flavour, worth more tlian tho gathering- of tlic whole wood a month beforo. A littU> cU'arod space in a copse of ha/cls tnake.s the pi-ettiest summer-arbour one can sit down in; no other bowci* resembU'S it — the stems are so smooth, the leaves so liyht, and far apart, that when the sun shines, it looks like a <,'olden ai-hour. These smooth dai-k stems f(M'med the fishin_n'-ro(ls of our boyish days; a penny a socket was tho price we paid the tinman to finish the joints, and all the rest we did ourselves, tiu-ning out what was considered a perfect article — " Fine liy di'^rccti, and beautifully Iosh." Quantities of hazel-nuts, black with a«»'e, and wliich liavp, perhaj)s, been buried more centuries than we, in our record of time, liavo any knowledge of, have been dug- up in bogs, and amid drift, among tho remains of extinc: aninuils ; but at what undated epoch they grew, or what was the state of our island at that time, wo can never now know. Kveii no longer ago than when the foundations of the new pier at (ireenwich were sunk, bushels of hazel-nuts, black as ink, were found at tlie greatest depth they dug; and, as one of the nu-u told us, h(> went many feet lower than the foundation of the pier, as some gentleman had given him half-a-crown to dig as low as he could in search of them, and that he was only stopped through being overflowed with water. How came they there? A glan e at the hills about Woolwich and Greenwich tells that a mighty avalanche tore and thundered throuo-h wlmt is now the vallev and the river. Were those hills in ancient times covered with hazels? We find the fern there still, and a few thorns in Greenwich l^irk, m COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. SO no-ofl tlmt they Imvu lust every trace of the years that have passed over tliriii. Jieech-unts, or *' beech-mast," as they are sometimes called, are considered by some to almost e(|nal tlii- hazel-nut tor pleasantness of flavour. The biH'ch-nut is, howcvtM', tliouuht but little of now J only pi<^'s are turni'd into the ^voods to feed on it. The acorn belongs to the true nut family, and its beau- tifully-carved cup is only unotlier form of the Imsk of the wood- nut. The ancijnt Britons are said to have had nothinj^ better to make their bread of than acorns : but this we vei'y much doubt, for Ctusar mentions the •^•atherini>- in of their corn from the fields in which his leu;ions skirmished. The sweet-chestnut is set but little store bv in Enn-land, while on some ])arts of the Continent it is a common article of food. Is it because it cannot be u'rown to such perfection on our island? Afention is frequently made of dislu>s of roasted chest- nuts at our ancient banquets. Were they j^'rown in England to greater perfection then than they ari> now? Next to the hazel-nuts — by whatsoever name they may be called — stands the noble walnut, being the onlv one beside that is grown, eaten, or cared much for in England: "wine and wal- nuts " have, indeed, become almost proverbial as essential con- comitants in an iMiglislnnan's dessert. But the larger we grow our walnuts the worse they are, for the finest flavour is only to be found in the smaller ones. There are numbers of splendid w.dmit-trees scattered over England, many of which have grown to an immense size, and are of an age very difficult to ascer- tain, tlioiigh some are well known to have stood two or three cculiiries. 176 '# HOLLY ( iuNi; iii'c tlif Sniiimrr In iiir>. 'I'lu' hinls lijivc left tlic howrrs Wliilc I lie holly true Ki' \w>M bciiitifiil (ill [fi-fs to Id- found ill ;i Wiiit or an.IscMin. is „ iMro-o hoUv-l,,,.!,, Im.mu. uiil, lirio.|„. „.,,„.,, ...riurd I(>av('s ind rriiiiMni he, s ; wlii-ii ll II' scciit' idl finmnd is covered Ullh Sl.nu-, it, siMllds .iMt M.nre I H M „ | i fill I V tl,;.i. the liiu-sf t r(M> fl H- eve evci- dwelt up-ui, Iiuiil;- with tl ic I'oses (if .liiiie, I'oi- uliei tlu> li. .llv-1 "•'•I'l''^ ;mv red, (iiir IicIli'i'S ik. l.uiMer present, tliiifc Itfiilltiful iip|)e;- •;iliee \vl lie flu'v arc 1)1' I I artists liiid it s.i dillienll; to j)aint oil "i- coNcred with a n ICll CillltllSldtl ( owfhaiio'iiii.-, interwoven plmits jind shridi siicli a crowded mixture o|" onrt • I crccpinu^, • s - no loii(_>'ei' show pai'ti-eoldiireil fdlijiu'e, lenvcs of all M all Cdldiir; shapes, and IxM-ries and llowers ( the o-niund and risiiii.- hi-^'h overhead, where the t( creepers curled I'dund diie another, and rocked to and I tcn'inniiiLj' at ijunost ro in tl 10 sunshiiK leii, there were mwa sw I'cps (i| shadow (;ver K-U'reen I'oniini..- and o-din,o-, the sport of every passin.,^ eh.iid,— darl. where the hed-i' fell in, ,-nldi'n-l)ri..'ht wheiv (Iiev hul-vd out, with all their wild fruits a-l»la/,i — red 1 of the honevsuckle, tlie 1 law, scarlet hep, the coral • iirstiiiu- crimson of the hrionv, <>-nsliiin clusters of black l.raiiilileherries, the drooi)in_o- lifdwn df riiie nut.« , .li'loomy iHiisdii-herrii-s a few ,i;'olden-cdldur. d crabs lii.di u p,— these, and a liuiidred other touches, made up tliu Autuu in 179 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 I^|2j8 |25 130 "^~ IIII^H 12.2 12.0 •a 114 ^ III— lis < 6" ► Fhotographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) S73-4S03 ,t* ^ ^o COMMON WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 1. colouring of our great, wild, picturesque hedges. Nor will either privet or hawthorn-hedge stand comparing with one of holly, either for beauty or utility, as it is green all the year round, and as impenetrable as a stone wall, for only a hog in armour would be able to make its way through it, and even to do that the hedge must be very young indeed. Then, the grey-white flowers, which appear about the end of May, clustering about the sharp, spiny leaves which protect them, are pretty objects to look at, if examined minutely. Holly, ivy, and mistletoe, are English household words, though ivy is not used so much now in our Christmas decorations as it used to be in former years. It is the greatest ornament that Time throws around his ruins, seeming as if even he had a wish to bury the dead Past out of his sight, and cover the remains with something green and beautiful. Above all old aSections, Like pleasant recollections, The ivy grows, and a deep veil throwf O'er all Time's imperfections. The empty oriel greening, The shattered column screening, While the fallen shrine it doth entwine, Like a heart that's homeward leaning. The ivy also differs from nearly all other vegetation, as it causes neither damp nor decay, but, on the contrary, is both dry and warm, and therefore a shelter to places to which it is attached ; and many of our old ruins, that wear, no doubt, the green ivy of centuries, would long ago have crumbled into dust had they not been sheltered from the weather by this beautiful and orna- mental protection. Were the ivy a parasitic plant, as many IVY AND MISTLETOE. imagine, it might be injurious to buildings ; but it is not, neither does it cling to anything for nourishment, but mainly for support, drawing its chief nurture from its own roots, and finding life in the air for its leaves, like all other foliage, in a manner not yet thoroughly understood by the wisest of us. There cannot, how- ever, be much doubt about its tight-binding stems injuring the trunks of the trees it covers, by preventing the expansion of the wood and bark, and checking the sap. This woodmen well understand, calling auch trees as the ivy has entwined " starved timber;" nor are we prepared to say that the ivy does not draw some nourishment from the moisture of the trees it encircles, though it is not a parasitic plant, like the mistletoe. There is a great diversity of form in the ivy leaves, those on the lower part of the plant being quite different in shape to the flowery shoots, which latter are nearly heart-shaped, while the five-finger formed leaves shoot out at times into long points, and then again are simply indented suflSciently to mark the angles, so that he must be a very indifferent artist who cannot hit upon one or another of the many shapes the foHage of the ivy assumes. It flowers very late, and there is a buzzing and a humming heard on a sunny day late in Autumn, among the ivy, which will be listened for in vain anywhere else beside, as its pale green blossoms are stored with honey, which attract numbers of insects when the Summer flowers are gone. The dark ivy-berries also ripen late in Spring, and furnish food for birds when the heps and haws are all devoured. The mistletoe is a true parasitic plant, and the only one we can lay claim to as a native of our island. Did it grow on the oak, we wonder, in ancient times ? isi COMMON WAYSIDE FL0WEE3. We read in ancient story, How the Druida, in their glory, Went forth of old, with hooks of gold, To the forests dim and lioary ; And the grey old oaks ascended, And from their branches rended The mistletoe, long, long ago, By maidens fair attended. And we know now that it is found but very rarely on tlie oak, but mostly on the crab, where it is a striking object in Winter, if so found in the midst of a wood, having- somewhat of a golden - bough look, such as the ancient poets have depicted it. On old apple-trees it is also seen, making quite a picture as it hangs down amid the naked branches of the tree, with its green golden leaves and pearl-like berries; it is also found common enough on old thorns, also on the ash, maple, lime, poplar, and miany other trees, in a wild state. It is easily propagated by slitting the bark of a tree, inserting the seeds, and binding over the rent; some say, if this precaution be not taken, the mistle-thrush would be sure to have it out from between the bark, though this we are disposed to doubt, thinking so large a bird takes too much time to fill himself to lose much of it in hunting for a single seed. Bird-lime, so often alluded to by our old writers on Fowling, and so seldom used now, is sometimes obtained from the mistletoe- berries, but more extensively from the bark of young holly shoots, which is considered to make the best and strongest lime. The wood of the holly is hard, fine, and often as white as ivory, and will take as fine a polish ; and sometimes holly-trees are found of such large dimensions as to be both useful and oi'na- mental in cabinet-work, especially when veneered. We have If HOLLY AND IVY. heard of the ivy being worked up occasionally, and turning out very beautiful, but this can only be very seldom, as the wood rarely grows to any size, excepting about the root ,• and tins portion, it is said, when large enough, produces a " richer variety of spots than any wood that is used." Though the ivy is but little used now, as we have before remarked, yet, in our Christmas decorations, *' holly-and-ivy " were inseparable in the olden time, while mistletoe is but rarely alluded to. " Get holly and ivy to deck up thino house," sings simple-minded old Tusser, in summing up the preparations necessary for the Christmas festival, and the burthen rings over again, like the pealing of a bell, in many of the works of our early poets. Then, there is a capital poem in the Harleian Miscellany, written in the form of a dialogue between Holly and Ivy, each contending for the superiority. The holly reproaches the ivy with only producing berries which are eaten up by the birds. The ivy says that the holly branches are worthless, excepting to be browsed on by deer; and so the contest is carried on through several stanzas, in which each claims the supremacy. Holly was formerly called Yule, from Christmas, and amongst the lower order of the Londoners is still called Christmas. It is as common to send for " a penn'orth of Christmas," to decorate the house at the old Decembor festival, as it is to send for the plums to make the Christmas pudding. A cockney came, the other day, into our garden, and the first thing that struck him was the holly hedge. "I know this," said he, ''but have for- gotten its name ;" then, plucking off a leaf, he exclaimed, " Why, it's Christmas, to be sure." 153 .^H. COMMON WAYSIDE FUnVKIiS. Byron calls ivy "the g'arland of Eternity;" and vvi-eathed, as it ofton is, around ancient ruins, and lookiug jis fresh now as it no doubt did centuries ngo, there is soinethinj^ grand and sublime in the emblem, which expands while it is dwelt upon, reminding- us of some of those inspired sentences of Scripture, which seem " meet utterance of the gods." The sombre-looking yew is another tree that was used in festive decorations, and had not, in former times, such gloomy associations connected with it as have been woven round it within the last two or three centuries. The bold bowmen, whose limbs were "pastured in English mould/' formed their elastic bows out of its tough stem ; and there were " most biting laws " made to protect yew-trees in those ancient times, before "vile gunpowder " came into use. It was also a favourite garden-tree, and our simple-minded ancestors delighted in bending it into the form of bowery arcades, under which they sheltered from the Summer sun, knowing nor caring nothing about what is called the " evil influence" of its verdure, which, wo believe, is imaginary, although, as food, it is found to be injurious to cattle. There is something very graceful in the tapering form of the yew ; and, as it is but a very slow grower, it retains its beautiful shape for many years, for wherever we see a flat, broad-topped yew, we are in the presence of an aged tree, that has looked down upon more changes than the oldest living man ever witnessed. In Spring, too, its dark green hue stands out grandly amid the pale budding vegetation, as if it were proud of having stood the wear and tear of Winter so well, and in the great windy struggle retaining the green garment Avhich the IJorean blast had battled for, while so many other trees had lost all. The wood of the 3'^ew 181 vi:\v. ¥ is; !it times vovy hcautil'iil, rinmii)L'' into vaiMcyiitiHl slindcs nl tlccp I'L'd, s))uttod witli ])l;ick, Avliicli s. r\T ic fln'ow up the wh'ti' n- it' it \v(MT ivory; mihI mnnv nf our old ;irm-c]i;iirs, n;iiiicd, w.' know not why, from Wiudsoi-, nrc fomiod entirely of bent y(n\ , excepting- tlio seats, which are gcncrfilly (^hn. Wo lind tho sumo shaped old-fasliioncd Windsor chaits made to fio-ure in some of oui" ohlest oil-paintinf>'s. Children and was])s ai*e vei'v fund of ycw-bcrries; nor ai-e wo aware that tii(!y ever did any liarm to tlio former, unless it wero thronyh over-o-orgino- tluMiiselves. |( is, however, a dangerous experiment to eat thc> leaves, and^ some say, has resulted in death. " 'Twas a noble tree in tin- diws of old, And fin-nisli'd the liows for the arclicfH hold.'