vide that no one has too large a slice, and that every one has a small one

the labourer, does not feel that beneath him yawns a dreadful abyss, a black and bottomless pit, in which, owing to an accident, a strike, an attack of sickness, he and his family will be engulfed, .

want debases him less, and he is less drunken.' Listen, lastly, to the remarks of the latest observer-to Richard Grant White, whose testimony, fully weighed, is perhaps the most disheartening of all. Not easily nor quickly can a form of society be uptorn which is of such slow and steady growth as that of England, and whose roots, like those of some vast British oak, decayed and hollow at heart it may be, pierce the mould of centuries. There is much in England that is mere shell and seems mere sham; but the shell was shaped from within by living substance, and it hardened into form through the sunshine and tempests of hundreds of years; and so it stands, and will yet stand long, although not for ever. The very shams and surface shows of

things in England are strong and stable.'

Such then is England-a crystallized perfection of feudalism, with the mind of the middle classes in a state of arrested development, with its superfine aristocracy and their mass of accumulated wealth, with its labourers and the gulf of pauperism yawning below them, lastly, with its very shams strong and stable. And what is the problem she has before her? To check the course of social and political reform, to continue on the old lines, like the Jews, as a 'survival' in culture, in short, to retrace her steps? Perhaps it might have been, but now she has burnt her boats. Or, again, like ancient Rome, to be revolutionized by barbarians, but barbarians coming from her own people; by the vacant mind of the agricultural labourer, by the hordes gathering in the squalid quarters of great cities ? › Can England put new wine into old bottles? Time only will show.

* George's 'Progress and Poverty,' b. x., chap. iv.

IF

F the stars should appear but one night in a thousand years,' says Emerson, 'how would men believe and adore, and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the City of God which had been shewn.' Might not we apply this thought to the earth's floral beauty also? If the flowers shewed themselves but one day in the year, with what joyful anticipation should we look for that day!

January has been well named 'the gate of the year.' As out of the drear, chill night, dawns the bright morning, so, out of the gloom of winter is born the cheerful spring. The month of May finds the woods rich in blossoms; and the country lanes, in their quiet and their fragrance, offer a pleasing contrast to the crowded city thoroughfares. God Almighty first planted a garden,' writes Bacon; and indeed it is the purest of human pleasures, . . . and the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air where it comes and goes like the tones of music.'

Perhaps there is no department of science around which so many delightful associations cluster, as the study of botany. Of what may be done by one gifted with an enthusiasm for flowers, coupled with a habit of observation, we have an instance in the case of John Duncan, the poor Scottish weaver, who lately presented a most valuable herbarium to the University of Aberdeen. This herbarium contains about twelve hundred specimens of

*A paper read at the Conversazione held at Mrs. Lovell's Educational Institute, Montreal, on the evening of June 3rd, 1881.

the British flora, named and classified. When John Duncan had become fully acquainted with the flora of his own neighbourhood, he used to take harvest work at different places throughout the north of Scotland, with a view to extend his botanical knowledge. The zeal with which he pursued his favourite study is shown in his minute acquaintance with the habits of the plants he collected. John Duncan, it may be said, had no education. His penmanship is the rudest, and his spelling a charming example of the pho

netic.

We do not purpose entering into a study of the science of botany this evening; let us, rather, in imagination, take a ramble through the near woods, pluck a few of our abundant and beautiful wild flowers, and talk a little of such things as suggest themselves by the way.

The Hepatica is said to be the first flower that appears on the melting of the snow, and for this reason has been popularly known as the 'snow-flower.' Observe what a warm, silky coat it has, to protect it against a touch of frost. It is said to be destined to become to Canada what the daisy is to Britain. But it must be a long while ere the Hepatica acquires the renown of the wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower,' as Burns terms the 'Gowan' for that is the Scottish name for the gem of the British meadows. The Daisy has been loved of the poets from the time of the father of English poetry down to the present day. All through Chaucer's works we find allusions to

Under the name of la Marguerite or 'little pearl' the French troubadours and minnesingers were wont to celebrate the wild daisy. It was the very flower, says Chaucer, into which the fair queen Alcestis-who sacrificed her own life to preserve that of her husbandwas changed. The Highlanders have a legend of their own in connection with it. They called it the son of Malvina.' According to the Keltic tradition, when Malvina has lost her son, the daughters of Morven come to console her, singing :-'We have seen, O Malvina, we have seen the infant you regret, reclining on a light mist; it approached us and shed on our fields a harvest of new flowers. Look, O Malvina, among these flowers we distinguish one with a golden disc, surrounded with silver leaves; a sweet tinge of crimson adorns its delicate rays; waved by a gentle wind, we might call it a little infant playing in a green meadow.' Thus, the daughters of Morven called the Daisy, the flower of innocence, the flower of the new born. 'The opening Gowans wet wi' dew,' were not less dear to Robert Burns and to William Wordsworth. The lament of the Scottish bard over the destruction of a 'Mountain Daisy' is remarkable for its pathetic beauty. The Daisy may be taken as the type of a very large family; sunflowers, dandelions, immortelles, and a host of the commonest plants belong to it.

The Hepatica may be said to have a rival in the Claytonia-so named from Clayton, the botanist. Like the Daisy it has the peculiarity of opening its petals to the sun, and closing them at the approach of evening. The Indians called it the 'miskodew,' and we find it referred to in Hiawatha' under that name. We know it as the 'spring beauty,' and the title is peculiarly fitting. The Portulaca may be taken as its representative in our gardens.

The Trillium and Erythronium, the Sanguinaria and the Anemone, are also among our earliest blossoms. The two first are so very abundant in the month of May, as to give the woods quite a holiday appearance. Later we shall find the Cypripedium and the Cardinal plant. Indeed the Canadian wild flowers are so many and so beautiful as to be deserving of more attention than they have yet received. Some of the ferns do well in the green-house.

And who that has had anything to do with the care of a green-house but has learnt what an enjoyment is to be derived from it! especially in this country where the earth is snow-clad during a large portion of the year. Is it not interesting to see how the plants strive to get near the sunlight, turning flowers and leaves as if to greet it? In observing this, it has perhaps occurred to us, that, in the times of our best spiritual health, we are also seeking the sunny side, resolutely setting our faces towards it, and that we are doing our best work when the whole soul is going out in sympathy with humanity. The flowers that have been grown for us are not half so interesting as those we ourselves have planted. We must watch their habits, and need, and development; in short, we must love them. So with any of the arts. Poetry, to be appreciated, has to be studied, just as music must be studied; and the study must be a labour of love, or the labour will be in vain. are players who will finger correctly, who will give time and tune as these are written, but the sounds produced will tell no story, touch no heart. There are verse-makers, also, who are faultless in rhyme, and rhythm, but whose words call no response from the soul.

There

The notes and the rests of a piece of music are like the words and pauses in poetry, and both in music and in poetry, unless the soul of the artist be wafted away on the wings of inspiration, so as to be oblivious to all that is mechanical in his art, he will never be worth listening to. Genius

will occasionally overstep all rules. When a great writer was taken to task by the critics, because, they contended, the form of his poem was without precedent; 'then mine be the precedent!' was the reply.

Here, along the edge of the stream, we see the leaves of the Iris, and are reminded how often flowers are used as symbols. The Iris became the national emblem of France in 1137, having been adopted by Louis VII. It was then called Fleur de Louis,' now corrupted into 'Fleur de Lis.' What are our Christmas cards with their floral decoration but symbols of the peace and hearty good-will that we would fain see spread throughout the universe. Says Ophelia, 'there's Rosemary, that's for remembrance; and there's Pansies, that's for thoughts;

and there's a Daisy too.' 'Have you not seen in the woods,' writes Emerson, 'in a late Autumn morning, a poor fungus or mushroom, -a plant without any solidity, nay, that seemed nothing but a soft mush or jelly-by its constant, total, and inconceivably gentle pushing, manage to break its way up through the frosty ground, and actually to lift a hard crust on its head? It is the symbol of the power of kindness.'

The stories of mythology have much to do with the interest we attach to flowers. Flora was the goddess of gardens among the Romans. In her

hand is the horn of plenty. Apollo presided over poetry. He wears the laurel wreath. The appellation 'poet laureate' is said to come to us through the Latin laurus,' a bay, in allusion to the ancient practice of crowning poets. Petrarch received the crown at Rome in 1341, and Tasso in 1594. In Burns's poem 'The Vision,' you will recollect how the Scottish muse, Coila, addresses the poet :

'All hail! my own inspired bard!
In me thy native Muse regard;
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low;
I come to give thee such reward
As we bestow.

'And wear thou this,' she solemn said,
And bound the Holly round my head;
The polished leaves and berries red
Did rustling play :

And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.'

Victor Hugo, recently, on the occasion of his 79th birthday, was the recipient of several laurel wreaths.

The

Some flowers have had a superstitious reverence attached to them; such, for example, as the Oak and the Mistletoe, which were the objects of religious veneration among the Druids. The Druids used to send round their youth carrying branches of the Mistletoe to announce the New Year. custom of decorating the houses with it at the New Year still prevails in England. The Oak was held sacred by the Greeks and Romans no less than by the ancient Gauls and Britons. The most ancient Grecian oraclethat of Jupiter at Dodona, is said to have given its responses through a grove of oak trees. In our day the oracles are dumb, and we have no deities on Mount Olympus. The theology of the past becomes the history of the present.

The Lotus was held sacred by the ancient Egyptians. It is represented in our country by the Pond Lilies. The root of the yellow Water Lily, found in the North American lakes, is said to be not unlike a sweet potatoe, and is eaten by the Indians. Lotus-eaters abound, it is stated, all over the East. The Egyptian Lotus appears to be possessed of narcotic and other peculiar properties. Tennyson tells of the mild eyed, melancholy, Lotuseaters.' The effect of the Lotus on the followers of Ulysses will be remembered. As soon as the men had eaten of it, they lost all desire to return to their native country, so that Ulysses had at length to resort to force, and have them tied to the ship.

I have here a specimen of a very singular plant. By the monks of old it was supposed to be endowed with miraculous powers, and was an object

The

of something akin to adoration. Rose of Jericho' looks dry and brittle, but if placed in water it will gradually expand and show every appearance of life. For this reason it has come to be popularly known as the 'Resurrection Plant.' It grows in the deserts of Arabia and other arid wastes'; is uprooted by the winds and transported to the sea, where it comes to maturity. The seeds, in their turn, are caught up by the winds and carried back to the desert, where they take root.

Flowers are suggestive. We might compare them to a beautiful picture that is leading us through the silent path of a delightful reverie. Their attitude to us is always calm and smiling. They never wound us with a flat contradiction, never turn round upon us with an 'I told you so?' It would seem as if the late Lord Beaconsfield had taken a lesson from them in this respect, for we notice that when asked how he managed to be always on such happy terms with Her Majesty, he replied: Don't you see that I never contradict, and I often forget.' Flowers stir the imagination and prescribe no limit. We are led to do our own thinking-the true education. Wordsworth has recorded his experience in this matter in his poem 'To the Daisy:

'A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain crouched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power
Some apprehension;
Some steady love; some brief delight;
Some memory that had taken flight;
Some chime of fancy wrong or right;
Or stray invention.'

And in the closing lines of the 'Ode to Immortality,' he says:

To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.'

Again, in the early Spring, we see the poet, calm and thoughtful, seated in a thick grove, listening to the songs of the birds, wondering at the beauty of the flowers, and soliloquizing upon

that topic of our day-the Unity of Nature:

'I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

'To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And rauch it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

"Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And, tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

"The birds around me hopped and played;
Their thoughts I cannot measure:
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air:

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

'If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?'

When the poet exclaims, 'And 'tis my faith that every flower enjoys the air it breathes' we have been inclined to doubt the correctness of this 'chime of fancy. Modern science, however, appears rather to establish its truth, for we find the question has been raised whether plants have not a nervous system, whether, in short, they may not be said to have some degree of feeling. Let us hear what Prof. Huxley says on this subject :

'On each lobe of the leaf of the plant called "Venus Flytrap" (Dionaea muscipula) are three delicate filaments. which stand out at right angles from the surface of the leaf. Touch one of them with the end of a fine human hair, and the lobes of the leaf instantly close, in virtue of an act of contraction of part of the substance; just as the body of a snail contracts into its shell when one of its horns is irritated. The after action of the snail is the result of the presence of a nervous system in that animal. Of course the similarity of the acts does not necessarily involve the conclusion that the mechanism by