O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, On the same circumstance, Dryden writes : This merry chorister had long possessed They try their fluttering wings, and trust themselves in air. The canopy of heaven is all her own: Her youthful offspring to their haunts repair, As to what becomes of the birds that disappear very cold months, Burns asks: during the Ilk happing bird, wee helpless thing, What comes o' thee? Where wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, And close thy e'e? In turn all our summer birds depart; and in their stead come our winter visitants. A summary of some of the facts mentioned in these lessons is contained in the following lines:— Birds-birds! ye are beautiful things, With your earth-treading feet and your cloud-cleaving wings; Ye have nests on the mountain all rugged and stark, Ye dive in the sweet flags that shadow the lake: Ye skim where the stream parts the orchard-decked land, When the bud's on the branch, and the snow's on the ground; The blackbird that whistled through flower-crowned June. When he pulled every blossom of palm he could see, When his finger was raised as he stopped in the bramble, With 'hark! there's the cuckoo; how close he must be.' FAVOURITE FLOWERS. WHO is there that does not love the beautiful flowers with which our beneficent Creator has adorned the earth? Those fairest of all mortal things, That seem like gems from angels' wings, The exquisite colours of some, the elegance of others, the difference of size and variety of form among the several species, and the fragrance of most flowers, are so many illustrations of the infinite wisdom and goodness of God. It has been truly said that there is— Not a flower But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth. Very thankful ought we to be to God for flowers: all of us have great reason to say with Mrs. Hemans— O Father, Lord! The All-beneficent! I bless Thy name, That Thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers, By the breath of flowers Thou callest us, from city throngs and cares, Back to the woods, the birds, the mountain streams, Receive Thanks, blessings, love, for these, Thy lavish boons, Children especially are fond of flowers; and in the country it is one of their chief delights to range the fields and woods during the spring and summer months in searching for and gathering bunches of wild flowers. All our best and most gifted poets have admired and fondly loved them; and doing so have often painted their beauty, or from their bud, blossoming, and decline taught many useful lessons. Herrick, one of the earliest of our writers in verse, says: I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, The great Shakspeare speaks of the time— When daisies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight. And again he says:— I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, A later poet, Thomas Campbell, writes thus of wild flowers: Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true; For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, .... Even now what affections the violet awakes! What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, Robert Nicoll writes of them in a similar strain : Beautiful children of the woods and fields! That bloom by mountain streamlets 'mid the heather, Or where by hoary rocks you make your bields, And sweetly flourish on through summer weather- Beautiful things ye are, where'er ye grow! The wild red-rose-the speedwell's peeping eyes— Beautiful nurslings of the early dew, Fanned in your loveliness by every breeze, And shaded o'er by green and arching trees: I often wished that I were one of you, Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas I love ye all! PART II. THE SNOWDROP, CROCUS, AND PRIMROSE. TOWARDS the close of the month of February indications of the coming spring start up on every side. Now it is that the snowdrop discloses its drooping bells. Like pendent flakes of vegetating snow, The snowdrop, winter's timid child, All weak and wan, with head inclin'd, Mary Lewis says of the snowdrop:- Soft seem thy silvery tones, and sweet, And the rich coming bloom of earth. This flower is worthy of the following beautiful lines: The snowdrop is the herald of the flowers, Sent with its small white flag of truce, to plead |