And yet the flowers I prize so much,

Than cultured flowers are not more sweet,

And they are withered sooner far,

Than those we in the garden meet; Their colours are not half so gay

As tints of flowers from far-off land, From Isle of Greece, or Indian grove, Nurtured by man with careful hand.

But meadow flowers bring to my mind
The thoughts of pleasant days gone by,
When with my sisters, hand in hand,

We roamed beneath the suminer sky;
And twined a garland for our hats,

Of blossoms from each bush around,

And linked the daisies into chains,

And culled the cowslips from the ground.

And then I love the field-flowers too,

Because they are a blessing given,

Ev'n to the poorest little one,

That wanders 'neath the vault of heaven.

The garden-flowers are reared for few,

And to those few belong alone;

But flowers that spring by vale or stream,

Each one may claim them for his own.

The rich parterre is walled around,

But meadow lands stretch far and wide,
And we may gather lovely flowers,
For miles along the river side;
And far amidst the landscape wild,
Wander the scenes of beauty o'er,
Now lingering in the violet glen,

Now roaming on the thymy moor.

Or pause, where foam-like meadow queen
Scatters her blossoms on the lake,

Or where the orchis blooms among
The lady-fern or feathery brake;
Or sit beside the winding path
Bordered by ripening wheat or oat,
When on the gentle summer air
The poppy's crimson banners float.

And O, I joy as Spring comes round,
Flinging her scents o'er glen and hill!
For though I love the garden-flowers,

I love the wild buds better still.
Then let me stray into the fields,

Or seek the green wood's shady bowers, Marking the beauties and the scents,

Of simple blossoms-sweet wild-flowers.

A. P.

WE are apt during the latter months of autumn to look back with regret upon the summer which has left us, and to regard the coming winter as a period when the gay scenes of nature shall have departed, and when the face of earth will be sad and gloomy. It is perhaps the desolate and cheerless appearance of natural objects—of fields and gardens-during November, which

thus casts a cloud over our anticipations of winter; for when that season has fairly commenced, we find it in some of its aspects "beautiful exceedingly."

To say nothing of the charms of the domestic circle, of books read by the fireside to cheerful auditors, of the meeting of friends around one hearth, and all the social pleasures which time, with his many innovations, has yet spared to the English Christmas home, the scene exhibited by earth itself, is often of the most magnificent character. The dazzling snow lying smoothly over a long line of hills and valleys beneath them, or drifted here and there into high mounds, is a sight of great beauty. The long icicles or hoar-frost hanging about the dwellings, and bespangling the casements, give to the buildings the appearance of palaces touched by the enchanter's hand, and bid to glitter to the sun. Every blade of grass is crested with diamonds, and the reflection of the clear blue skies upon the snow, lends it a tinge of most delicate lilac. Then the hollow

dirge-like sounds of the winds, as they drive all before them in their fury, and rustle the dead leaves and the broken branches, or tear up the high trees by their roots, so impress the imagination with sublimity, and bear so wild and deep-toned a music withal, that we are compensated for any temporary fears for our own safety which they awaken; and did we not think upon the sailor on the deep, and the weary halffrozen traveller, and the homeless poor; could we forget all but ourselves, we might welcome winter as a season of sublimity, and even be willing that it should last a month longer than its appointed time.

Those who are not aware that white flowers belong as much to regions of ice and snow as to the glowing portions of earth, may wonder to see so frail-looking a flower as the snowdrop

"Come before the swallow dares,

And take the winds of March with beauty."

A lovely flower it is in itself, its simple English name signifying the intense whiteness which it