FEBRUARY. 09 



eye with pleasant reminiscences. However early in the 

 year it is seen, still its starry petals are tinged with 

 sunset hues " purple with the north wind ' -as if 

 reddened with the glow of health and exposure, as 

 MARY HOWITT poetically expresses it ; and we note 

 star after star whitening the pastures, as we see stars 

 glow one after another on the robe of evening, until, 

 as a silver cloud spread upon the scene, the multiplied 

 Daisies in combination pillow the lap of earth, and 

 proclaim the advance of matured spring. AVhether 

 the Daisy really derived its name as being the " eie of 

 the daye," and open only to the call of the sun, or 

 not, we are all familiar with its closing up at niglit- 

 the signal to children in the country that, as the 

 Daisy was gone to sleep, it was time for them to go to 

 bed. The double red Daisy is a familiar denizen of 

 rustic gardens, often lining their borders, and well- 

 associated with the old timber-ribbed thatched cottage, 

 so pleasantly combining with trees and village churches, 

 but now dying away before incursive railroads and 

 thundering locomotives. The singular proliferous 

 variety called the Hen and Chickens Daisy, because 

 the disc of the flowers is surrounded by numerous 

 subsidiary smaller ones, was we remember a favourite, 

 cherished in our little boyish garden, when our mind, 

 like it, was all made up of fancies and flowery conceits 

 both being, in the lapse of years, trodden down, aban- 

 doned, and obscured by the rank weeds that form the 

 realities of life. Yet the old Hen and Chicken Daisy, 

 now so seldom seen, links my mind to the cherished 

 thoughts of the past and revives emotions that had 

 slumbered, and hopes that might almost urge the 

 tired spirits to further efforts. Not in vain are such 



