In every clime, in every age, Mankind have felt their pleasing sway; Old and young, rich and poor, the learned and untaught, all acknowledge alike the common sentiment. The humblest little child delights to gather them; the greatest scholar disdains not to bend his cultured intellect in scanning their simplest beauties. They are bound in our memories with the sports of childhood, the pleasures of youth. Who, in later years, can look upon even the humble daisy, that raises its glad face from out the meadow grass, or scent the fragrant hawthorn from the roadside hedge, and not feel 'My childhood's earliest thoughts are link'd with thee : Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety, Listen'd as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he did bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears, When birds, and flowers, and I were happy peers.' Or who can see a group of village children roaming the meadows in search of flowers, and not remember, 'I did the same in April time, And spoilt the daisy's earliest prime; Ah! it was with joy undimmed we wandered amongst the beauteous wild blossoms, ever ready with loving, hearts to admire, wonder, linger over them; and with what force and eloquence they ever spoke to our hearts of affection and piety! Who can look upon a flower, and not feel the power, the wisdom, and beneficence of a Supreme Being, who decks our world with such heavenly beauties, who regulates the changing seasons, the bursting bud, the opening blossom, the ripening fruit, and falling leaf? All these teach us the truth of the Psalmist's words, that it is 'the fool who hath said in his heart, There is no God;' for 'There is a tongue in every leaf, A voice in every rill A voice that speaketh everywhere, In flood and fire, through earth and air, 'Tis the Great Spirit, wide diffused That with our spirits communeth I am sure, my dear young friends, you must all delight in flowers; and I purpose that we take each month a country ramble together, and see what loveliness adorns our earth, wandering through woods, and lanes, and sunny meadows, adown the streamlet's banks, or out upon the healthful, breezy moor, culling our little bouquet as we go, and tracing God's love even in 'the flower of the field;' for 'There is a lesson in each flower, A story in each stream and bower; Therefore, in our rambles, by which we hope to add to our enjoyment of nature, our further knowledge of the useful and beautiful, and renewed vigour to mind and body, let us be careful we 'rightly read' those 'written words;' 'For, though we view each herb and flower That sips the morning dew, Did we not own Jehovah's power, How vain were all we knew!' I. JANUARY. ANUARY is a cold, withering month, and but few plants dare to expose the delicacy and beauty of their blossoms to its ungenial influence; yet still, in a clear, bright, frosty morning, we may venture forth, and hope to find a stray flower or two. We must not grieve if a carpet of snow hides from our eyes the beautiful grass-land; but remember how beneath it lie, protected from nipping frost and chilling blast, the many roots and seeds that will spring and bud when summer skies appear. The trees are leafless; and one wonders where the sparrow or robin finds a sheltering nook; but their pretty twitting is still heard from joyous, grateful hearts, as they flit about the hedge-row, picking a chance hep from the dog-rose or white-thorn, and hiding, to enjoy their prize, beneath the foliage of a holly-bush. Very beautiful is the holly (Ilex aquifolium) at all seasons, but never more so than during these winter months, when its bright, dark leaves glance among the otherwise bare branches of the thorn, or privet hedge. In ancient days, this beautiful evergreen was called Holy HOLLY-Ilex aquifolium. Tree, on account of its being used to deck the churches at Christmas time, and hence the corruption of holly. Its pretty, white, wax-like flower does not appear until April; but is scarcely so beautiful as its poisonous scarlet |