WILD FLOWERS. 
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Wronging, in the bitterness of their grief, the 
plants which were powerless to save him :— 
“Who bade the many-coloured bow 
With brighter, richer hues to glow, 
And from the lowly Field Flowers rose. 
To meet the last of all our race. 
Stern moralizing, face to face, 
With Time and Life, in their last throes.” 
II. Gr. A. 
Let us now put ourselves under the guidance 
of William Howitt —one who knows well 
where the sweetest Wild Flowers- are to be 
found, and who has, moreover, a true eye for 
the beautiful and picturesque in nature, and a 
true heart to sympathize, alike in grief or joy, 
with his fellow-men. See what an English 
landscape opens before us as we follow the 
path which he indicates : “ It is evening, what 
a calm and basking sunshine lies on the green 
landscape. Look around,—all is beauty, and 
richness, and glory. Those tall elms, which 
surround the church-yard, letting the grey 
tower get but a passing glimpse of the river, 
and that other magnificent circle of solemn 
trees, which stretch up the side of the same 
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