KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



321 



BEAUTIES OF JULY,— 

 WILD FLOWERS. 



Dearly I love the field-flowers ! yes, 



Because they are a blessing given 



E'en to the poorest little one 



Who wanders 'neath the vault of Heaven. 



The garden-flowers are rear'd for few, 



And to that few belong alone ; 



But flowers that spring by vale or stream, 



Each one may claim them for his own. 



Ann Pratt. 



ANY PEOPLE IMAGINE that 



it is absolutely necessary 

 for them to become regu- 

 lar botanists, before they 

 can feel a love for flowers 

 or venture to talk of them 

 with enthusiasm ! This is 

 perfectly absurd. Why, the sight of a flosver 

 growing under a hedge in July, with its little 

 innocent head modestly peeping forth to woo 

 the passing stranger, has charms paramount 

 to all so-called philosophy. Let botanists 

 call these summer debutantes what they will, 

 and bestow on them the hardest and ugliest 

 of Latin names — we will love them still the 

 same, whilst we worship them in our own 

 vernacular. Oh, Nature ! blessed mother ! 

 thou art the loveliest of the lovely, the kind- 

 est of the kind. Would that we could live in 

 thy service for ever ! But this cannot be. 

 D.e we must ; yet even on our death-bed may 

 we be found warbling thy praises ! 



Such weather as we are now enjoying, and 

 such sights as are now unfolded and still daily 

 unfolding to our wondering eyes, have surely 

 charms sufficient to make us all " good." We 

 will not believe that any heart, only com- 

 monly instructed in the knowledge of good 

 and evil, can associate with birds, flowers, 

 trees, plants, buds, blossoms, insects, and all 

 the happy summer tribes who are now in the 

 very zenith of their glory, without being 

 wrought upon, naturally, to " love one 

 another,' 1 and to rejoice in the feeling of uni- 

 versal benevolence. Oh, that we could cross 

 the path of every one of those who at this 

 season are " halting between two opinions." 

 We would entreat them to ramble abroad 

 with us for a day or two, and never leave 

 them till we had made converts of them all. 

 Some may smile at the idea in which we so 

 fondly indulge ; yet have we ere now been 

 very successful this way, and enjoyed many 

 a triumph. The victory is worth striving for. 

 It is not, we admit, easily won. Still, " kind- 

 ness " is such a weapon ! 



But we were going to speak of wild- 

 flowers, which just now are in all their beauty. 

 Let us seek them in company ; for there must 

 now be only " one " heart amongst the chil • 

 dren of one great and good Father. His 

 sweet voice reaches our ear in every tree ; 

 and his bountiful hand scatters blessings 

 upon us wherever we tread. 



The heat of June has brought everything 

 so forward, that we now behold flowers of 

 every hue, and of every shape, in the most 

 abundant variety. At every step we take, 

 the blue flowers of different shades of the 

 common speedwell (the plant does look as if 

 uttering a blessing upon us) meets the eye. 

 There are nineteen different species of the 

 speedwell indigenous to this country ; some 

 very rare, but others as plentiful as can be 

 desired. Some grow in pools and running 

 brooks, while others love the shade of woods 

 or the dry sand of hills. One species has 

 never done flowering through both the sum- 

 mer and the winter, and often may its little 

 blossom be seen hermetically sealed in ice. 

 In the centre of the flower bud, there exists 

 a white ring, and from the brightness of the 

 colors together, may have been suggested 

 to the poet the lines upon this plant : — 



" Or caught from Eve's dejected eye 

 The first repentant tear." 



Here, in this field from which the rye has 

 just been carried, is a pansy or heart's-ease. 

 Who, to look at this small plant, with its 

 blue, yellow, and white flower, would suppose 

 it the origin of the beautiful ornaments of 

 our garden, which bear the same name ; yet 

 such is the fact : if the seeds are sown in a 

 light loamy soil, a hundred different colored 

 and larger flowers will be obtained next year. 

 The pansy is equally variable as to its dura- 

 tion ; it may live only one year, as is usual 

 with what are strictly annual flowers, or it 

 may extend over a series of years, perhaps 

 the effect of accident. In this field you may 

 also see the remains of that pest to agri- 

 culturists, the common mustard or charlock. 

 Its yellow flowers cast even the corn of that 

 next field into the shade. Gay as it looks, 

 it is a vile weed. Beside it, is the handsomest 

 of all our wild flowers, the corn-cockle, with 

 its beautiful pink blossoms striped with a 

 darker shade, and the segments of its calyx 

 or cup, which supports the flower high above 

 the blossoms. The plant is very graceful, 

 and, though not loved by the agriculturist, is 

 too beautiful for us to sav a word against it. 

 In this stagnant pool of water is the water- 

 plantain, with its rose- colored flowers, on a 

 long stem, and looking so graceful and cool ! 

 The not-very-inviting-looking yellow flower 

 is the iris, or fleur de-lis ; it possesses a large 

 root, always lying horizontal, and a piece of 

 it held between the teeth is said to cure the 

 tooth ache. It is very acrid, is used for 

 making ink, and we suspect its chief virtue 

 consists in its acrid quality, which, causing 

 the saliva to flow, may cool the mouth. 



In this adjoining thicket, it is very likely 

 we shall find another species, with smaller 

 and purple flowers. It has a very English 

 name, the "roast-beef" plant, from a fancied 

 resemblance to the smell of our national dish, 



Vol. III.— 21 



