KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

and important, such as ple-ni-po-ten-ti-a-ry and 
ag-erand-ize-ment; but as these things are unfa- 
miliar, and have no practical illustration among 
them, they are forgotten almost as soon as learned. 
Of wild-flowers, a prize of 1s. and four of 6d. are 
offered for the five best nosegays, not exceeding 
18in. by 12in., prepared by children between eight 
and fourteen years of age, and a prize of 1s. and 
two of 6d. for similar nosegays from children 
under eight years of age ; and three prizes of 2s. 
6d., 2s., and 1s. 6d., are offered, respectively, to 
the children of the parish school, who shall answer 
best some questions about the local wild-flowers. 
The day arrives, and the village botanists are 
sauntering up the long walk with the produce of 
their rambles. Presently they are buzzing under 
a group of horse-chestnut trees, making up their 
nosegays—eighteen inches by twelve—and anon 
they show them in the exhibition-booth, in the 
quaintest possible stands—from a ginger-beer 
bottle to a cocked-hat—Damon of the time of 
Watteau, with his arms a-kimbo, looking as proud 
of his load as a Linnean herbalist. Opposite to 
them are arranged the fuchsias, geraniums, roses, 
pinks, stocks, pansies, annuals and perennials, 
nosegays, and device nosegays; and at the end 
the rustics are peeping with astonishment into a 
polyorama and a stereoscope. 
The giving of each prize is accompanied with 
praises and criticism, according as either is needed. 
The fuchsias are pronounced to be excellent; the 
pinks not so good. “You must improve their 
cultivation,” said the Professor, “‘ by the next 
show. In having such jagged edges they look too 
much like cloves. They look as if they had been 
jumping through the brambles and had torn their 
petticoats.” The failing characteristic was under- 
stood in a moment. The wild-flower gatherers 
now stand round to receive their prizes, and to be 
asked questions. It was announced that one little 
girl had added twelve new species to the flora of 
H during the past year; twelve, not brought 
hap-hazard, with a heap of others, but detected 
separately in the field, as not being in the printed 
catalogue, and not hitherto known to the Univer- 
sity Professor of Botany as being inhabitants of 
his parish. Plants from the west of England, not 
before seen by the little botanists, were then shown 
to them, and the class, family, and genus were 
told without hesitation; and when asked to what 
plant known to them they were related, the allied 
local species was named, though differing in 
general aspect. ‘The plant was determined alone 
by its scientific character. 
The prizes were awarded; and it did one’s 
heart good to see the little bob-curtsey and 
intelligent simper that accompanied it. A pre- 
sent of botanical boxes was promised to be 
given on the morrow. ‘The banquet of tea and 
cake for three hundred horticulturists who had 
taken penny tickets, and a hymn of loyalty and 
grateful interchange of huzzas between master 
and servants, concluded the proceedings. The 
parting adieu is still tinkling gently in our 
ears. 
But a yet more interesting sight awaited us. 
On the morrow we visited the parish dame-school. 
The forms were crowded with children, the girls 
neat and intelligent, and the boys somewhat 
quaintly clad, and drowsy. As the Professor 





appeared at the door (looking a little quaint in 
his straw hat, with a rough hoe for a walking- 
stick), the pinafored botanists, who seemed to 
congregate by instinct, stood up to receive him. 
At one end of the room was a cupboard, contain- 
ing the parish herbarium. It consisted of dried 
specimens of the flora of H , neatly arranged 
and named, and outside on a board hung the 
printed catalogue of reference. Opposite to it 
was a large A,B,C table, and some views of the 
Crystal Palace. At the other end of the room 
was the vivarium, or collection of living specimens. 
Each plant was contained in a separate phial of 
water, and two or three hundred or more, all fully 
labelled, were arranged along the wall in wooden 
shelves drilled for their reception. 
The prizes awarded to the most successful field 
botanists were now brought out for distribution. 
They were of three classes—botanical boxes, 
pocket lenses, and cases of forceps. The little 
villagers received their philosophical instruments 
with a shrewd appreciation of the use of them, 
and brought them to bear on a dissection of the 
products of the day with the dexterity of a 
Hooker or a Lindley. The forceps was lifted to 
separate the sepals and petals ; the lens to examine 
the number of pistils and stamens; and class, 
order, and genus were determined by the com- 
peting botanists ina moment. “They beat my 
Cambridge boys,”’ said the Professor; ‘‘ we don’t 
trouble ourselves here about the Artificial system 
of botany: we jump smack to the Natural.” 
One little girl had detected a species of reed 
grass new to her. It was new, as occurring in 
this locality, to the Professor. It was new even 
to his own private herbarium, and rare in all 
England. The girls were now examined as to 
the general characters of plants. A specimen was 
held up and systematically pulled to pieces, and 
the questions put were promptly answered in the 
course of the dissection. All we can ourselves 
remember is a lifting of the forceps, a quizzing 
through lenses, a general consultation and whisper- 
ing, and the simultaneous echo now and then of 
such words as ‘tetradynamous,’ ‘hypogynous,’ 
‘ polypetalous,’ ‘ syngenesious,’ and the like ; 
learned out of a printed formula, which had proved 
much easier to them than the multiplication table. 
‘They beat my Cambridge boys hollow,” again 
remarked the Professor, with a smile. 
In conclusion, all kneeled down on the clean 
brick floor, to repeat a short prayer to the gracious 
Giver of plants, that open out spring lessons for 
intelligent minds; and we went out thoroughly 
impressed with the importance of nature-teaching, 
even in this sequestered pastoral spot. We would 
have given the world at that moment for some 
claim to a share in the blessing that followed the 
reverend Professor home to the Rectory. 

This is philosophy worth talking about. 
It is, indeed, living for a good purpose. If 
the same principle of action were carried out 
ina multitude of other matters, how much 
happier should we be as a nation! 
The feelings of that Reverend Professor we 
can readily enter into. Oh, that we could 
number many more such “ professors” in this 
giddy world of ours! 

