Imatges de pÓgina
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many petals are narrow, white, tipped with a slight tinge of crimson, and are placed in a single row around the centre. This is the single, or wild variety; but cultivation has rendered the flower double, and has developed many beautiful colors and shades. The “hen and chickens" is one of these experimental varieties, in which the main flower-head is surrounded by several smaller ones. Beside this, called prolifera, there are the large double, and the double-quilled, the latter being a deep rich crimson, with globular heads, and usually cultivated in pots. There are also choice varieties of white, blush, rosecolor, striped, and other tints. Division of the plants is said to be an easy and successful way of propagation. The daisy is sometimes used as a border for flower-beds, and patches of these lovely little flowers set in the turf of lawns frequently mown, form a very pretty sight for the lover of flowers.

Burns's beautiful but somewhat melancholy lines on a mountain daisy, on turning one down with the plow in the month of April, have been often quoted, but will not lose their charm from re-reading:

“Wee, modest, crimson-tipped Auw'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For 1 maun crush amang the stoure

Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my power,

Thou bonnie gen.

" Snch is the fate of artless maid,

Sweet floweret of the rural shader
By love's simplicity betrayed,

And guilelebs trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid

Low in the dust.
"Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starred I
Unskillful he to note the card

of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow bard,

And wbelm bim o'er.
" Such fate to suffering worth is given,
Who long with wants and woes has striven,
By human pride or cunning driven

To mis'ry's brink,
Till, wrenched of ev'ry stay but Heaven,

He, ruined, sink!
" Even thou who mournst the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine-no distant date
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,

Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight

Shall be thy doom |” One more tribute to the daisy and we have done. Our readers will not be inclined, we think, to weary over the perusal of Wordsworth's beautiful lines addressed to this little flower:

“In yonth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to bill in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent

Most pleased when most uneas;
But now my own delights I make-
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature's love partake

of thee, sweet Daisy!
" When Winter decks his few gray hairs,
Thee in the scanty wreath be wears;
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs,

That she may sun thee;
Whole summer fields are thine by right;
And Autumn, melancholy wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight

When rains are on thee.
“In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greetest the traveller in the lane;
If welcome once thou countest it gain;

Thou art not daunted,
Nor carest if thou be set at nought;
And oft alone, in nooks remote
We meet thec like a pleasant thought,

When such are wanted.
" Be Violets in their sccret mews

The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;
Proud be the Rose, with rains and dews

Her head impearling;
Thou livest with less ambitious aim,
Yet hast not gone without thy faxe
Thou art indeed by many a claim

The Poct's darling.
" If to a rock from rains he fly,
Or, some bright day of April sky,

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie Lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!

Wi’spreckled breast,
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet

The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid thy storm,
Scarce reared above the parent-earth

Thy tender form,

" The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and walls maun

shield, But thou beneath the random bield

of clod or stone, Adorns the listic stubble-field,

Unseen, alone.
" There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snowy bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming lead

In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,

Ard low thou lies!

Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie

Near the green holly,
And wearily at length should fare,
He needs but look about, and there
Thou art I-a Friend at hand, to scare

His melancholy.

" A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power

Some apprehension;
Some steady love; some brief delight;
Some memory that had taken fight;
Some chime of fancy wrong or right;

Or stray invention,

"When, smitten by the morning ray,
I see thee rise, alert and gay,
Then, cheersul Flower, my spirits play

With kindred gladness:
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast

Or careful sadness,
“And all day long I number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,

To thee am owing;
An instinct call it, a blind sense;
A happy, genial influence,
Coming one knows not how, nor whenee,

Nor whither going.
"Child of the year, that ronnd dost run
Thy course, bold lover of the sun,
And cheerful when the day's begun

As morning Leveret,
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;
Dear shalt thou be to future men
As in old time;-thou not in vain

Art Nature's favorite."

“If stately passions in me burn,
And one chance look to thee should turn,
I drink out of an humbler urn

A lowlier pleasure;
The homely sympathy that heeds
The common life, our nature breeds;
A wisdom fitted to the needs

or hearts at leisure.


It was strawberry time, and, like most she thought, she would hull the berries other children, little Deena West felt it to with her very own fingers, and how nice it be the happiest moment of her life when would be to have them for tea! For Deena she had permission to take her bright tin was fond of goodies, and strawberries and pail and go to the fields on a berrying ex- cream stood in her estimation exactly on a pedition. It was so delightful to look for level with ice-cream. Imagination could the red tempting berries, and when she go no further. had found them, to pick them as fast as On she went, across the road, climbing she could, calling out to her companions over the stone wall, going through the that she had found “such a thick spot!" wide orchard to reach the field just beA great many of the berries went into her yond. The robins were singing sweetly mouth instead of the pail, it must be con- among the apple trees, and Deena listened fessed, and perbaps that was what made to their mellow notes and thought to herher lips look so much like two ripe straw- self how funny it was that one of them, berries.

with a wonderfully bright breast, should Deena usually had companions when keep saying so earnestly, “Kill him, cure she went berrying, but one bright morning him! Kill him, cure him!” while he eyed she could find no one to go with her, and her as if he thought she could do someso concluded to go alone, bearing in mind thing about it. the fact that perhaps her pail would be “ I should think," she mused, that it fuller than if she had company. Not that would be better to cure him first, and she was very selfish in such matters, but then-but no! what would be the use, if she was inclined to console herself some- he's got to be killed, after all? And how how for her loneliness.

anybody could be killed and then cured' is So, with her broad-brimmed hat tied se- more than I know. There don't seem to curely under her chin, and her hands en- be much sense in it, anyway, and I don't cased in the little cotton mittens her moth- believe the robins know themselves." er had made to keep her hands from get- Then she added aloud to the robin, “I ting poisoned or sunburnt, she departed, guess you've made a mistake, Mr. Robin, swinging her pail, and thinking how full it for folks can't be cured after they're should be before she went home. Then, killed, not if they're real dead, you know. Leastways, I never heard of such a thing. grasses, so she stepped carefully forward, But perhaps," she added, politely, as an and, looking down, saw on the other side after-thought, "perbaps I don't under- of the bough a little nest snugly resting in stand you right."

its place, and five little speckled eggs laid The robin stared at her fixedly for a close together in it. There were wild second or two, and then, giving his broad flowers blossoming all around it, and altotail a contemptuous dirt, he flew away to gether it was a very pretty sight to see. another tree, calling out, “O1 01 0!” as Deena forgot her precious strawberries, much as to say, “I should think you didn't and some of them were spilled on the understand! 'Kill him, cure him,' indeed! ground as she bent over the sparrow's nest What nonsense !"

in speechless delight. Such cunning little “Well," thought Deena, as she went on, eggs as they were, and such a nice little “he's nothing but a robin, anyway, and he nest! O, how glad she was that she had needn't have been provoked! I'm sure it found it, all alone by herself! Then she sounded just like ‘kill him, cure him,' remembered the frightened bird, and drew and how was I to know ?"

away quietly, hoping to see her go back to

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One more wall to climb, and then Deena was in the strawberry field, which, after all, was not far from the house, being within calling distance. The patches of vines were scattered all over the field, and Deena went from one to another, finding the berries quite ripe and thick. Full of ambition to get her pail full, she picked very steadily, troubled with no fear but that of seeing a snake: but, to her great delight, not one was visible. The time flew, the sun grew hotter and hotter, and the pail was almost full. Suddenly, as Deena stepped toward the fallen limb of a tree that lay on the ground, a little brown bird flew up with a chitter of alarm. Deena knew that it was a ground sparrow, and that they build their nests among the

her tiny home. She did not watch in vain, for presently the sparrow flew back, looked around suspiciously, and then, as all was still, she disappeared from sight, and Deena was right in conjecturing that she had settled down upon her nest.

Full of the precious discovery, Deena began again to pick berries, busily thinking all the while whether she should tell any one about it or not. At first she thought it would be very nice to tell her two particular friends and playmates, Frank and Jessie Lawrence, that she had something to show them, and then lead them to the nest and surprise them with it. But sho remembered that her mother had told her that it was cruel to disturb little birds, and if she ever found any nests she must

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