ON FLOWER SEEDS.

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THERE appears to be a natural, or an acquired, love of the wonderful in the human heart. man who takes up his pen to write about the burning mountains of Vesuvius, Etna, and Catopaxi, the Pyramids of Egypt, the Falls of Niagara, the Caves of Elephanta, or the Icebergs of the Northern Ocean, need be under any serious apprehension that his readers will be few; but if, through the frequency of narration, even such subjects as these should fail to excite curiosity, there are others of never-failing interest ever at hand.

There is always some subject more or less occupying and absorbing public attention; and whether this be the missing whalers, the Nassau balloon, the fire at the Royal Exchange, or Murphy's almanack, every line that is written thereon is with avidity devoured. The love of the wonderful is as epidemical as the small-pox; it runs, it revels, it rages, and every new wonder, like a

wave of the ocean, takes the place of its prede

cessor.

It is possible that many may pass over the title chosen for my present remarks, who would have been arrested by a more wonderful announcement. Had I chosen an account of a sea-snake a hundred yards long, a terrible encounter between a bull and a buffalo, a desperate highway robbery on Blackheath, a fearful battle, a horrid murder, or a frightful, sudden death, every eye that fell on the wonderful announcement would have been spellbound. As it is, I must be satisfied with readers of a calmer cast.

There is, and it cannot be denied, a feverish excitement, a turbulent gratification, in relating marvellous adventures; but much more delightful it is to tell of the lonely revellings we have had in the overhanging coppice, the secluded nook, the shadowy dell, and flowery dingle, where we have given way to our emotions without restraint, with no eye upon us save the eye of the Eternal!

It is, indeed, a treat, in an hour of recreation, to give imaginary forms to the snowy sun-lit clouds of heaven; to gaze on the ripple of the pebbled brook; to trace the shadows of the overhanging brushwood in the deep, clear, motionless water of the miniature bay of a river, or to sit down on the brink of a ditch, gorgeous with straggling plants and autumnal foliage!

Then, again, there are secluded nooks, and shadowy dells, in the every-day occurrences of domestic life, that are dear to us all; little events, and private circumstances, that call forth our affections; and I had rather write you one chapter on such things, while my heart overflows with tender feelings, than ten chapters of overwhelming wonderment.

I have taken up my pen in a kindly mood, having just such an interesting little occurrence to relate as is after my own heart. Bear in mind that it is nothing wonderful, nor will there be any attempt on my part to make it so. If I were to try to be great and grand, wise and learned, I should deserve to be laughed at for my folly; but as I only seek to interest you with what has interested me, you must try to like my simple narration.

In the beginning of last year, I received a packet from one that I have a right to love. As absence often increases affection, so distance frequently gives value to a letter or a parcel. Absence and distance exercised their influence, and I opened my little packet with much complacency.

It contained small packets of flower seeds; each packet labelled with the name of the seed it contained, with some remarks thereon: these

remarks much pleased me, and it is because I entertain the hope of their pleasing others, as well as myself, that I now venture to lay them before

you.

The packets were neatly wrapped up, and the accompanying remarks were written in pencil, thereby setting forth of how little importance the writer considered them. You shall have the inscriptions as they are now before me.

MAJOR CONVOLVULUS.

"The prevailing colour of this flower is a deep heaven-like blue. Look upon it when you have the head-ache, or the heart-ache, or are under any mental excitement, for it is of a soothing and gently joyous nature, telling us of things calm and lovely, rather than of those which are gay and gladdening. It is not good to live ever in sunshine, nor desirable to remain always in the shade. Set the major convolvulus on each side the front door, that it may grow up a moderator of joy, and a soother of sorrow. You love to support the feeble; give my convolvulus a stick to lean upon, and he will hold up his head, and cheerfully thank you for the deed."

SWEET PEA.

"Almost all plants of the curly, twirly, winding, twining class, are looked upon with tenderness,

and with almost tearful eyes. The sweet pea, like unto the convolvulus, doth seem to love all things that its wiry, spiry stem can touch. I doubt me not that it would grow around your finger. You can try it, if it pleaseth you; but, at all events, set my sweet pea, and if it twine itself not round your finger, it will, I know, for my sake, twine around your heart.

"It will grow on one side the garden gate, or against the palisades at the foot of the laburnum, and look lovely any where."

GILLY FLOWER.

"Common though the gilly (or July) flower be, despise it not like the sweet-william, it is the flower of the poor: you may look for the one and the other in the Sunday blue coat button-hole of aged Roger Blake, or in the broken blue jug in the alms-house window of Deborah Martin. It is called the wall-flower, and I have seen it peep out of perilous places, clinging to the high mouldering brick or stone wall. There is poetry in its clustering blossoms in such circumstances; but in its proper place, it groweth in the little garden of a cottage wherein dwelleth an aged man, or a lonely widow set it in yours, perhaps it may never come up, but if it should, and you cannot love it for its own sake, love it for mine.

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