THE DAISY OF THE DALE. 
101 
which perished amongst the most beautiful that 
have formed a couch for the declining Summer to 
ie down and die upon, while other leaves still hang 
upon the houghs, until they are withered and 
shrunken by the cold and hollow winds of Autumn, 
when they fall and bury the Harebell after it is 
dead. 
“ While shadows of the silver birch 
Sweep the green above its grave.” 
The Fuchsia we leave to the florist; neither its 
name, nor the quality it is chosen to represent, 
have any English sound about them. Taste, saving 
in allusion to the palate, to us has longed smacked 
of dilettanteism—it was a good word before so 
many good-natured twaddlers rendered it common ; 
middle-tint admirers and murderers of Mozart, and 
pretty verse-makers, have so crowded the temple- 
gates of Taste, that many, who really possess it, are 
ashamed of owning to so amiable a weakness, and 
flatly declare that taste they have none. Mem .— Our 
shaft is only feathered at Pretenders, to which class 
the fair sex but seldom belong. 
The very name of the Fern calls up the forest, 
where it still lives on, though ages ago the mighty 
oaks have been felled—there it still spreads, true 
to its native soil, the hardy image of deep-rooted 
Sincerity. Even where forests have been uprooted, 
and the stately deer swept away, still the fan-like 
