associate whatever is beautiful and calculated to add to our enjoyment, with the vices and frailties of human nature, and so make them minister to feelings of discontent and misanthropy.

Broom glow'd in the valley,

For William and Sally,

The rose with the rill was in tune;

Love fluttering their bosoms

As breezes the blossoms,

They strayed through the Woodbines of June.

Oft, oft he caressed her,

And to his heart pressed her,

The rose with the woodbine was twined;

Her cheek on his bosom,

Like dew on the blossom,
Enchanted the tale-telling wind.

Poor Sally was bonny,

But Mary had money,

Ay, money, and beauty beside;
And wilt thou, sweet Mary,
Thou fond and unwary,
Deprive the wise fool of his bride?

Yes, bee-haunted valley!

Poor heart-broken Sally

No more, with her William, will stray

"He marries another!

I'm dying!-O mother!

Take, take that sweet woodbine away!"

The Wild Honeysuckle (Lonicera caprifolium) belongs to the Linnæan class Pentandria, and order Monogynia, and to the Natural order Caprifolia.

THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.

Anagallis; L. Le mouron; Fr. Das gauchhiel; Ger. Het guichelheil; Dutch. Anagailide; Ital. Anagalide; Sp. Murriao; Port.

Ku

yatschja noga trawà; Russ.

My daily walk is o'er the hills,

And through the broad and wealthy vale,
Refreshed and fed by flowing rills;

Whence oft at night, when moonbeams pale
Are dancing on the rippling wave,
Homeward I bend my weary feet,
To gain the rest my labours crave,-
And toil-earned rest is ever sweet,

I tend the flock, and guard the herds,
With active limbs and searching eye,
Cheered by the music of the birds,

Which perch on trees, or soar on high;
Nor do I fail to look around

For favourite wild flowers, blooming fair,
Which grace the hedgerows or the ground,
And shed their perfumes on the air.

The primrose pale and cowslip sweet,
The hawthorn bloom with crimson hue,

And roses wild, my senses greet

With fragrant breath, which life renew;
And if I would the weather know,
Ere on some pleasure trip I go,
My scarlet Weather-glass will show
Whether it will be fair or no.

The blue-eyed Pimpernel will tell
By closed lids of rain and showers,
A fine bright day is known full well

When open wide it spreads its flowers.
Some flowers put on more gay attire,

And this in usefulness excel;

But I, a shepherd, most admire,

The blue-eyed, Scarlet Pimpernel.

MS.

AMONG our indigenous plants, no one, who has paid any regard to them at all, can have failed to notice the rarity of any flowers approaching to scarlet; it is, indeed, asserted, that besides the scarlet poppy, so common on road sides and in cornfields, we have only one native flower of that colour, and that is the Scarlet Pimpernel. This little flower, which often escapes notice, being so diminutive, is exceedingly rich in its colour, which has a somewhat yellow tinge, and the base of the petals are deep blue or purple, which uniting, form a rich spot in the centre, called the eye.

The Scarlet Pimpernel has a very small fibrous root dividing into branches, and a square smooth stem covered with minute purple spots. Its leaves are opposite, and occasionally sessile, acutely egg-shaped, having their principal ribs from the base; they are smooth, and of a bright green colour. The flowers grow on footstalks rising from the axils of the leaves; they are wheel shaped, with a very short tube, and have five petals. The margin of the petals is crenate (notched), with short glandular hairs, which are most plentiful upon the buds, or upon the just expanding flower.

The beautiful flowers of the Scarlet Pimpernel are remarkably sensitive. If the atmosphere be dry, it usually unfolds its petals about eight minutes past seven o'clock in the morning, and so long as the air continues dry, and the sun shines, it will remain expanded until the afternoon; but if moisture be present in the atmosphere, and rain clouds make their appearance, its corolla closes immediately. Thus it is truly a rustic barometer, and has acquired the common name of the Shepherd's Weather-glass. By this provision of nature, the Pimpernel

is enabled to perfect its seeds and perpetuate its kind; and though it is so lowly in its habit, that men do not interest themselves about it, yet it is of great service in the economy of the universe. Its seeds furnish food for insects, whose existence is doubtless essential to the welfare of creation, notwithstanding that we are ignorant of their duties, and of the value of their labours. Some of the smaller species of the feathered tribe prefer its seeds when they can procure them, and as the flower is generally most common on ploughed lands and cultivated fields, we may assume that much of the seed which the husbandman commits to the soil is saved from the ravages of birds, by their preference for those of the Pimpernel, as well as for those of other wild plants.

The Pimpernel begins to bloom early in June, and continues a succession of its bright scarlet flowers until the end of September. It has at various times been thought to possess valuable medicinal properties, but as it has entirely lost its reputation for them, it is not necessary to detail the diseases for which it was supposed to be a remedy.

There is a blue flowered Pimpernel (A. cærulea), which is not so common as the scarlet flower. Some botanists regard the two as distinct species, but the Rev. J, S. Henslow, Professor of Botany in the University of Cambridge, proves by cultivation from seed that they are merely varieties of the same species; that is, he proves it to his own satisfaction, as well as to the satisfaction of many other intelligent botanists. It is said to grow abundantly in Switzerland, and to have been found near Mitcham, in Surrey, and also at Histon, in Cambridgeshire. A friend has noticed it growing about

Terling, in Essex. The eye of the blue flower is

scarlet.

The Pimpernel, from being called the Shepherd's Weather-glass, has called forth several pretty pieces of poetry, among which, Miss Twamley's "The Country Maid and the Pimpernel-flower" is not the least pleasing :

"I'll go and peep at the Pimpernel,

And see if she think the clouds look well;

For if the sun shine,

And 'tis like to be fine,

I shall go to the fair,

For my sweetheart is there;

So, Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky?
If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I."

The Pimpernel-flower had folded up
Her little gold star in her coral cup;

And unto the maid

Thus her warning said!

"Though the sun smile down,

There's a gathering frown

O'er the checkered blue of the clouded sky;
So tarry at home, for a storm is nigh."

The maid first looked sad, and then looked cross,

Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss;

"Stay at home," quoth the flower. "In troth, not I,
I'll don my straw hat with a silken tie;