50 
REVIEWS. 
44 V. chamcedrys. —V. bibarbata, Stokes, Bot. Comment, i. 56.—Germander 
Speedwell. Milk-maid’s-eye: Eyebright:— 
* There bloom’d the Strawberry of the wilderness, 
The trembling Eyebright show’d her sapphire blue.’ 
Wordsworth, Memoirs, i. p. 177. 
It is often miscalled the forget-me-not, albeit its ephemeral and deciduous blossoms 
are not false types of that friendship which the world swears shall be life-lasting. 
The plant is common on road-sides, in pastures, and in deans, flowering with the 
hawthorn, which it rivals in beauty, although that beauty has been less celebrated 
in song. Yet it has not been overlooked : thus Ebenezer Elliott, under the name 
of 4 Eyebright’— 
* Blue Eyebright! loveliest flower of all that grow 
In flower-loved England! Flower whose hedgeside gaze 
Is like an infant’s! What heart doth not know 
Thee, cluster’d smiler of the bank ! where plays 
The sunbeam with the emerald snake, and strays 
The dazzling rill, companion of the road 
Which the lone bard most loveth, in the days 
When hope and love are young? O come abroad, 
Blue Eyebright! and this rill shall woo thee with an ode.’ 
It was a beautiful May morning—the 1st of May, in the year of grace forty-four, 
when the 4 Club’ assembled at Etal (Mr. Selby has given an interesting account of 
this meeting in the Transactions of the Club, ii. p. 86), the loveliest village of our 
plain; and so gay and happy with its parterres and green lawn, and broad walks, 
and trees., and ruins, and the Hall, that I ween a prettier village may not well be 
seen anywhere. ( 4 To see what a village in our northern regions may be, and ought 
to be, go to Etal. There you will find flower-gardens in perfection—with the 
village green as a lawn in the best-kept pleasure-ground, and the rustic benches 
under the spreading branches of elm and sycamore. One fine tree, with the seat 
around its trunk, is conspicuous, with an inscription, which shows the consi¬ 
derate kindness of the noble family, now residing in the mansion-house— 44 Willie 
Wallace’s Tree.” I believe the old man is still alive in w T hose honour the tree is 
thus devoted to longevity. But it is to the flower-gardens in front of the 
cottages at Etal to which I am anxious to direct attention, because, as a Erench 
author says, 44 It is the cultivation of flowers which announces a change in the 
feelings of the peasantry. It is a refined pleasure making a way for itself through 
grosser materials, like the first opening of the eyes—it is the perception of 
the beautiful—a new sense awaking in the soul. Those who have wandered 
through country scenes can testify how the rose-tree at the window, or the 
honeysuckle at the door of a cottage, always promise everything that is delightful 
within, and a welcome to the weary traveller; for the hand that cultivates flowers 
never shuts it at the prayer of the destitute or the wants of the stranger. In all 
countries women love flowers, and make bouquets of flowers, but it is only in the 
midst of comfort that they conceive the idea of adorning their dwellings with them.” 
—Rev. Dr. W. S. Gilly, 4 Peasantry of the Border,’ p. 13, 1841. It does one good 
to visit that florulent village; and the zephyr, full of fragrance, that came upon us, 
sunning from a thousand blossoms, gave a whet to the appetite, when the call to 
breakfast hurried us from these aerial essences to a substantial fare. The hearty 
and substantial meal over, we again sally forth to saunter a-field, amid such wild¬ 
nesses as modern agriculture permits—in meadows and woods, in brakes and deans, 
and 
‘ By shallow rivers to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals,’ 
And so away—all chatting—few listening—the admiration of every ruddy-cheeked 
lass, and the wonder of every Colin Clout—a queer group, as pied in dress, and 
cast in as many characters, as a strolling company; the clerical suit of sober black, 
mellowed and relieved by the freckled and chequered sporting jackets that suit so 
