Furze. 
(ANGER.) 
T HE Furze and the broom so closely resemble each other, 
both in form and colour, and are so frequently associated, 
that the former is sometimes styled by botanists Genista spinosa 
—the thorny broom. The various names by which this bril¬ 
liant wild flower is known in different parts of the country 
often puzzles readers, and leaves them uncertain as to the 
identity of the plant. In the south it is called furze, whin in 
the east, and in the north, gorse ; and that is how the confu¬ 
sion arises. 
F urze— 
* ‘ The vernal furze, 
With golden baskets hung,”— 
grows abundantly on all our waste lands, not even shunning 
the neighbourhood of our great metropolis itself; and it is re¬ 
corded that Linnaeus, who had never seen this plant in Sweden, 
where the climate is too severe for its spontaneous production, 
was so delighted when he first beheld a common near London 
bedecked with its golden blossom, that he fell on his knees, 
enraptured at the sight. Our lost singer, Elizabeth Barrett 
Browning, in some dainty lines entitled “ Lessons from the 
Gorse,” thus alludes to this story: 
“Mountain gorses, since Linnseus 
Knelt beside you on the sod, 
For your beauty thanking God,—■ 
For your teaching ye should see us 
Bowing in prostration new. 
Whence arisen, if one or two 
Drops be on our cheeks, O worlds! they are not tears, but dew.” 
After such poetry—poetry where lurks hidden, like fragrance 
in the flower, more than meets the casual eye—how difficult it 
