244 OtIR WII.D FLOWERS AND 



It seem'd a wee star lighted up amang heather ! 



My first thought said, ' Pu' it, and bring it away ' — 

 But a tenderer pleaded — ' How soon it wad wither ! 



Oh ! leave it to bloom on its ain native brae.' 



" ' For wha kens,' pled the Thought, ' hut this bonnie flower blooming 



May hae some kind o' feeUng, or sense, o' its ain ? 

 It '11 change wi' the lift, he it smiling or glooming, 



Exult in the sunshine, and droop in the rain ! 

 And wha kens that it has-na some pleasure in gieing 



Its flower to the e'e, and its sweets to the day ? 

 That it has-na a secret and sweet sense of being ? ' 



Sae I left it to bloom on its ain native brae." 



The soldier soon again left his natal roof, and it was long long 

 before he returned to die : for, as Goldsmith has worded it, " there 

 is something so seducing in that spot in which we first had existence, 

 that nothing but it can please. Whatever vicissitudes we experience 

 in life, however we toil, or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued 

 wishes still recur to home for tranquillity : we long to die in that 

 spot which gave us birth, and in that pleasing expectation opiate 

 every calamity*." This feeling has always operated with peculiar 

 strength on our Border peasantry : — 



" And still, beneath the hallow'd soil, 

 The peasant rests him from his toil. 

 And dying, bids his bones be laid 

 Where erst his simple fathers prayed." 



Once when climbing the mountain-passes of Affghan, wearied with 

 the march, and oppressed with heat, my soldier's eye caught the 

 glimpse of what seemed to be a familiar plant of his own fatherland. 

 With some of his comrades he hurried to the spot, and, true enough, 

 there the common Nettle grew in a few scattered patches f. Now 



* " Scenes of my birth, and careless childhood hours ! 



Ye smiling hills, and spacious fertile vales ! 

 Where oft I wander'd plucking vernal flowers. 



And revell'd in the odour-breatbing gales ; 

 Should fickle Fate, with talismanic wand. 



Bear me afar where either India glows. 

 Or fix my dwelling on the Polar land. 



Where Nature wears her ever-during snows ; 

 Still shall your charms my fondest themes adom ; 



When placid Evening paints the western sky. 

 And when Hyperion wakes the blushing Mom, 



To rear his gorgeous sapphire throne on high. 

 For to the guiltless heart, where'er we roam. 

 No scenes delight us Uke our much-loved Home." 



Robert Millhouse in Hone's Every Day Book, iii. p. 168. 



t " Many years ago I can remember of being told by an officer, who was 

 with our army when we first invaded that mountainous part of India, that 

 he one day saw a party of his black soldiers hurrying from a patch of dark- 

 green weeds which had stung their naked ankles. But the English soldiers, 

 on the contrary, made a rush to the spot with shouts of joy and laughter. 

 The officer curious to know the cause followed, and soon recognised, in this 



