KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL 



109 



the dull, leaden sky. There they lie by- 

 hundreds, by thousands. In former years I 

 have been used to watch them from the tiny 

 green bud, till one or two stole into bloom. 

 They never came on me before in such a 

 sudden and luxuriant glory of simple beauty, 

 — and I do really owe one pure and genuine 

 pleasure to feverish London. How beauti- 

 fully they are placed too, on this sloping 

 bank — with the palm branches waving above 

 them, full of early bees, and mixing their 

 honeyed scent with the more delicate violet 

 odor. How transparent and smooth and 

 lusty are the bunches, full of sap and life. 

 And there, just by the old mossy root, is a 

 superb tuft of primroses, with a yellow 

 butterfly hovering over them, like a flower 

 floating on the air. What happiness to sit 

 in this tufty knoll and fill my basket with 

 the blossoms ! What a renewal of heart and 

 mind ! To inhabit such a scene of peace and 

 sweetness, is again to be fearless, gay, and 

 gentle as a child. Then it is, that thought 

 becomes poetry ; and feeling, religion. Then 

 it is that we are happy, and good. 



Oh that my whole life could pass so float- 

 ing in blissful and innocent sensation, 

 enjoying in peace and gratitude the common 

 blessings of nature — thankful above all for 

 the simple habits, the healthful temperament, 

 which render them so dear. Alas ! who may 

 dare expect a life of such happiness ? But I 

 can at least snatch and prolong the fleeting 

 pleasure — can fill my basket with pure 

 flowers, and my heart with pure thoughts — 

 can gladden my little home with their sweet- 

 ness — can divide my treasures with one, a 

 dear one, who cannot seek them — can see 

 them when I shut my eyes, and dream of 

 them when I fall asleep. 



We love to hear Miss Mitford speak so 

 of the " heat, glare, noise, and fever of 

 London," describing them as the elements 

 of " a great battle." We feel the truth of 

 every word she utters ; and can share all 

 the delights she so vividly pictures in this, 

 her morning ramble. Again we repeat, — 

 " God made the Country I 1 ' 



SPRING 



THE 



FLOWERS. 



DAISY. 



The following remarks by Rousseau, 

 on this beautiful little herald of Spring, will 

 be read with interest. 



Take one of those little flowers which 

 cover all the pastures, and which everybody 

 knows by the name of daisy. Look at it 

 well; for I am sure you would not have 

 guessed by its appearance that this flower, 

 which is so small and delicate, is really 

 composed of between two and three hundred 

 flowers, all of them perfect ; that is, having 

 each its corolla, stamens, pistil, and fruit. 



Every one of those leaves which are white 

 above and red underneath, and form a kind 

 of crown round the flower, appearing to be 

 nothing more than little petals, are in reality 

 so many true flowers ; and every one of those 

 tiny yellow things also, which you see in the 

 centre, and which at first you have, perhaps, 

 taken for nothing but stamens, are real 

 flowers. 



If you were accustomed to botanical dis- 

 sections, and were armed with a good glass 

 and plenty of patience, it would be easy to 

 convince you of this. But you may at least 

 pull out one of the white leaves from the 

 flower ; you will at first think that it is flat 

 from one end to the other ; but look care- 

 fully at the end by which it was fastened to 

 the flowers, and you will see that this end is 

 not flat, but round and hollow, in form of a 

 tube, and that a little thread, ending in two 

 horns, issues from the tube ; this thread is 

 the forked style of the flower, which, as you 

 now see, is flat only at the top. 



Next look at those yellow things in the 

 middle of the flower, and which as I have 

 told you are all so many flowers ; if the 

 flower be sufficiently advanced, you will 

 see several of them open in the middle, and 

 even cut into several parts. These are 

 monopetalous corollas, which expand ; and 

 a glass will easily discover in them the pistil, 

 and even the anthers with which it is sur- 

 rounded. Commonly the yellow florets 

 towards the centre are still rounded and 

 closed. These, however, are flowers like the 

 others, but not yet open ; for they expand 

 successively from the edge inwards. This is 

 enough to show you by the eye, the pos- 

 sibility that all these small affairs, both white 

 and yellow, may be so many distinct flowers ; 

 and this is a constant fact. You perceive, 

 nevertheless, that all these little flowers are 

 pressed, and enclosed in a calyx which is 

 common to them all, and which is that of the 

 daisy. In considering then the whole daisy 

 as one flower, we give it a very significant 

 name when we call it a composite-flower ." 



But we have not yet done with the daisy. 

 Henry Sutton, a young poet, has sung its 

 praises so very sweetly, that we gladly open 

 our columns to let his song be heard through- 

 out the land . — 



THE DAISY. 



A gold and silver cup 



Upon a pillar green, 

 Earth holds her Daisy up 



To catch the sunshine in : — 

 A dial chaste, set there 



To show each radiant hour: — 

 A field-astronomer ; 



A sun-observing flower. 



The children with delight 

 To meet the Daisy run ; 



