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rounded with a circlet of paler lemon-coloured petals. Its leaves are long, narrow, and a bright, deep green.

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NARCISSUS-Narcissus poeticus.-DAFFODIL-Narcissus pseudo-narcissus.

It is rare, I believe, in Scotland, but in the south of England blooms freely in many a moist meadow, its usually brilliant golden blossoms sometimes assuming a more delicate cream-like tint, equally beautiful. It belongs to the narcissus tribe, named after Narcissus, a beautiful youth, who, as the poets tell us, falling in love with his

own image in the water, pined away into a daffodil. But the poetical narcissus (Narcissus poeticus) is a fairer and more rare blossom than the daffodil. It has a snowwhite flower, composed of six petals, with a yellow cup in the centre, edged with a fringe of deep purple or scarlet, and is scented with a strong, delicious fragrance. "Narcissus, drooping on his rill,

Keeps his odorous beauty still.'

It is a less hardy plant than the daffodil, and does not bloom until May, thus escaping the easterly winds that are so destructive to it.

'When the chilling east invades the spring,

The delicate narcissus pines away.'

We have now, I think, gathered almost all our March flowers, and the waning sun bids us hasten homeward. As we go, let us observe how the hazel-tree is now decked with its hanging tassels, and the sombre alder is donning its dark, gloomy foliage. The flowers of the ash are coming out on its leafless boughs; the spiry branches of the Lombardy poplar are unfolding their drapery; and the beautiful green bursts forth from its winter shield in the well-cased buds of the horse-chestnut, that, ere summer dawns, will be

" Clad with blossoms white and fair,
Blossoms that perfume the air ;
Spreading wide, and towering high,
Emblem of luxuriancy.'

How beautiful are the golden balls, or children's 'pussy-cats,' of the willow, which is usually called palm, and used in the religious ceremonies of Palm Sunday! In Ireland, where the church holds the anniversary of Christ's entrance into Jerusalem as a high festival, branches of yew are used instead of willow, and, after the priest's benediction, become 'blessed palms,' to be suspended in the church or home. Many are the associations of trees and flowers with the religious ceremonies of the church, as well as the celebration in olden times of great national sports and victories, when Beauty was crowned with myrtle, the patriot with oak,-when bays formed

'The victor's garland, and the poet's crown.'

And in later times each saint's day claimed its own particular flower: St. Valentine, the crocus; St. George, the harebell; St. Bartholomew, the sunflower; St. Patrick, the wood-sorrel; and we are told that

'The Michaelmas daisy, among the dead weeds,
Blooms for St. Michael's valorous deeds.'

Thus, when wandering through rural scenes, we are surrounded by the most interesting associations, awakened, it may be, by the humblest blossom that has sprung in our pathway, and which also, by the perfection of its beauty and structure, is ever telling of a supreme Creator, and proclaiming

'The hand that made it is divine.'

D

How often, also, when viewing the trees of the forest, or 'flowers of the field,' may we be reminded of portions of Scripture, and of Scripture truth! Our Saviour himself drew the attention of his disciples to the beauties of the earth for this purpose: 'Behold the grass of the field.' 'Consider the lilies.' Think of the mustard-seed, the barren fig-tree, the seed-corn and tares, and APPLY YOUR HEARTS UNTO WISDOM.'

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IV.

APRIL.

April has come, the capricious in mien,

With her wreath of the rainbow, and sandals of green;
Storms on her forehead, and flowers at her feet,
And many-toned voices, but all of them sweet;
Playing, like childhood, with tear and with smile,
Weeping for ever, and laughing the while!
Months follow, fairer, when April is gone,
But none of the year have a gift like her own;
Richer their colours, and sweeter their breath,
But no month of them all sees so little of death.'

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OW lovely are our woodlands in this showery, sunshiny month of April, when the young-leaved boughs of the forest trees, in their half-unfolded beauty, are gently waving, and the songs of the joyous birds ring merrily through the woods!

'Up, let us to the fields away,
And breathe the fresh and balmy air;

The bird is building in the tree,

The flower has opened to the bee,

And health, and love, and peace are there.'

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