THE HAREBELL —HARVEST-BE LL. 
But most I love ihine azuré braid 
When softer flowers are ail decayed. 
And thou appearest 
Stealing beneatb tbe hedge-row’s shade, 
Like joys that linger as they fade, 
Whose last are dearest. 
Beneath Autumnal breezes bleak, 
So faintly fair, so sadly meek, 
I’ve seen thee bending, 
Pale, as the pale blue veins that streak 
Consumption’s thin, transparent cbeeks, 
With death-bues blending! 
Anon. 
What a depth and variety of instruction opens to 
one who with thoughtful eye gazes upon the fair 
pictured lessons which, in the bright succession of 
flowers, nature spreads hefore her children. Alas ! 
that we should so often turn coldly from them, and 
fail to draw from eaeh the lesson it would inculcate. 
That we may not in the présent instance incur the 
charge of inattention, let us, as the lovely Harebell 
supplies a link in our floral chain, lend a willing 
