KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



149 



in the comparatively barren hills of Scot- 

 land it often attains eight inches, and the 

 stems branch out so as to form a good- 

 sized plant. 



In the hedges, in the month of August, 

 nothing is more common than St. John's wort, 

 which comes to us not only in its own gaudy 

 yellow dress, but all the adventitious circum- 

 stances with which superstition can invest it. 

 The bright flower is often covered with small 

 black spots, which give a curious effect to the 

 whole plant, and from its mystery may, per- 

 haps, account for the almost dread with which 

 it was formerly regarded. The leaves of the 

 common St. John's Avort, on being held up 

 to the light, appear as if perforated with 

 minute holes, from which circumstance it 

 takes its specific botanic name. There are 

 many superstitions connected with the St. 

 John's wort as to its supposed power of keep- 

 ing away witches from nouses, and guarding 

 the persons of children. From whatever 

 cause these superstitions may have arisen, is 

 not likely ever to be known ; but the horrible 

 stench which some of the species emit is 

 enough to scare more substantial frames than 

 we generally assign to the weird sisters. Our 

 ancient physicians have not been behind the 

 vendors of superstition in attributing to the 

 St. John's wort miraculous powers of healing. 

 In some old works it is called " balm of the 

 warrior's wounds," and directions are given 

 as to the hour and the positions of various 

 planets when it is to be gathered for vulnerary 

 purposes. The profusion of flowers which 

 almost cover every plant, however, renders 

 the St. John's wort a striking object. The 

 poet thus alludes to its appearance: — - 



" Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 

 Of flowers, like flies clothing its slender rods, 

 That scarce a leaf appears." 



The large flowered St. John's wort forms 

 an ornamental shrub for plantations around a 

 dwelling. 



We have scarcely allowed ourselves space 

 to say enough of a very graceful and exten- 

 sive family of plants, the thistles, or as bota- 

 nists call them, the compositse. They are all 

 very common in the month of August, and, 

 indeed, throughout the autumn, from the com- 

 mon dandelion on the road-side to the imposing 

 common thistle, which is the emblem of the 

 Scottish nationality. The thistles are a very 

 distinct and natural order of plants ; no one 

 can make a mistake regarding them, and in 

 every species of soil, from a marsh to a dry 

 mountain, they are to be found. The thistle 

 cultivated in Scotland, as its emblem, is more 

 common in England than in the northern part 

 of the empire. No Scotchman can look upon 

 it but with reverence ; and who would destroy 

 the feeling of national pride which it perpe- 

 tuates ? The same feeling has kept Scotland 



unconquered by foreign foe, and may not its 

 presence in the distant lands, to which the 

 Scotchmen are famous for migrating, be at- 

 tended with the same results as it has been in 

 their own dear country ? 



" The great bur-thistle spreading wide 

 Amang the bearded beare — 

 I turned my reaping-hook aside, 

 And spared the symbol dear." 



So sings Burns, Scotland's truest poet, and 

 let us add our wish that the thistle may 

 flourish, however far left to himself the ass 

 may be who chews it. In the fourth scene 

 of the third act of " Much Ado about 

 Nothing," Beatrice is represented to say, 

 " By my troth I am sick ; " to which Mar- 

 garet replies, "Get you some of this distilled 

 carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart ; 

 it is the only thing for a qualm." 



This carduus benedictus has been changed 

 by botanists into the cricus heterophyllus, or 

 melancholy plume thistle, which we almost 

 regret, from its association with one of 

 Shakspeare's most lively characters. The plant 

 is still abundant, but alas ! for its virtues in a 

 qualm, they are unknown. The common 

 daisy, or more beautifully, day's-eye, belongs 

 to this family. This 



" Wee modest crimson -tipped flower " • 



is universal, both in locality and in time of 

 flowering. It is called bellis by botanists, 

 from the Latin, bellus, pretty; and the French 

 have bestowed upon it the title of Marguerite, 

 the name of a woman, which again is derived 

 from margarita, a pearl. There is no end to 

 the daisy, go where we will. There is another 

 plant in this order called the yarrow ; but 

 whether the flower rendered sacred in ancient 

 ballads, is not known. It is well known 

 from its dense head of white, sometimes pink 

 flowers, and its deeply pinnated leaves. Every 

 road-side or ditch has its specimens ; we only 

 mention it from the name which associates it 

 with our youthful passion for old ballads 

 about love and war. To this order also be- 

 longs the camomile, the feverfew, the burdock, 

 and other familiar individual plants. 



FOEEIGN EAILWAYS. 



A REMINISCENCE. 



BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 



I will not deny that I had previously a 

 sort of feeling which I will call railway 

 fever, and this was at its height when I 

 entered the immense building from whence 

 the train departs. Here was a crowd of tra- 

 vellers, a running with portmanteaus and 

 carpet bags, and a hissing and puffing of 

 engines out of which the steam poured 

 forth. At first, we know not rightly where 



