the language of flowers. 
79 
Ihe mistletoe is a little evergreen shrub, growing 
on the tops of the tallest trees ; even the proud oak 
becomes its slave, and feeds it with his own substance. 
It was regarded as peculiarly sacred by the Druids. 
Every one is familiar with the English customs con¬ 
nected with it as a Christmas decoration. 
“ Bright-headed as the merry May dawn 
She floated down the dance; 
I thought some angel must have gone 
Our human way by chance. 
I held my hands and caught my bliss : 
Children, I’ll show you how! 
And earth touched heaven in a kiss 
Under the mistletoe bough.” 
Massey. 
MOSS ( Cryptogamia ). Maternal love. 
Like those friends repulsed neither by misfortune 
nor ingratitude, the mosses, banished from cultivated 
fields, advance towards dry, uncultivated lands, to cover 
them with their own substance, which is by degrees 
changed into fertile soil. They extend over marshes, 
and soon transform them into useful meadows. They 
form, in the forest shade, a turfy carpet, where the 
shepherd, the lover, and the poet love to repose. 
Without these plants, so little regarded by us, a part 
of the globe would be uninhabitable. In Lapland, the 
families cover with moss the subterranean huts, where 
they brave the longest winters. Their numerous herds 
of reindeer know no other food, yet they supply their 
masters with delicious milk, eatable flesh, and warm 
furs. 
