CHAPTER XVI.

FORGET-ME-NOT-HAUNTS

OF COUNTRY CHILDREN

ISLETS ON THE STREAMS-USE OF FORGET-ME-NOT BY THE GERMANS-FIELD OF WATERLOO-VARIOUS NAMES OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT-HAIRS ON PLANTS-EFFECT OF ACCURATE INVESTIGATIONS ON MENTAL HABITSBORAGE-HELIOTROPE-COMFREY-GROMWELL.

Ye field-flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 't is true,
Yet, wildings of nature, I dote upon you,

For ye waft me to summers of old,

When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight,
And daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold.

Even now what affections the violet awakes,
What loved little islands, twice seen in the lakes,
Can the wild water-lily restore !

What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks
What pictures of pebbles and minnowy brooks,
In the vetches that tangle the shore!

Campbell.

IF, amid the rich glow of summer noon, we ramble abroad, how delighted are we to rest in

glen or copsewood, or beside the river, which, "gliding at its own sweet will," diffuses a sense of coolness even on the hottest day. It is pleasant to linger on the river brink, and to find a group of children playing among the flowers, and collecting images of beauty to which they may look back in future days. Not altogether idle are the hours spent in wading among the sedges to gather the forget-me-not, or in throwing stones into the stream-for the little loungers are drinking in the delights of the blue cloudless summer heavens, and sweet melodies of birds, and murmurings of waters, and sounds of playful and healthful breezes, and all the beauties and choruses innumerable, which are to render

"The mind a mansion for all lovely forms,
The memory as a dwelling-place

For all sweet sounds and harmonies,"

which may soothe them in coming years of sorrow or toil. They will not perchance any of them be poets, yet there is somewhat of the

spirit of poetry in many a human heart, and it is seen when the toil-worn man turns him back to the scenes of his childhood, and expatiates on the rural joys which he then knew, and snatches a moment from busy thought to shut his eyes on the world, and bring before hist mind the grassy turf and the flower-crowned stream, once so familiar, and never to be forgotten.

Happy are the children whose home is in the country! Happy, not alone the child of the rich, but the little cottager! Nay, it is more especially among the latter class that we are led to this remark; for we instinctively compare him with the poor child of the town, where, in some narrow alley, groups of little ones play amidst the dirt, breathing the impure and confined air, and exhibiting, to its full extent, the saying of Lamb, "that the children of the poor are often dragged up, not brought up." The wide-spreading meadow is the scene of the early sports of the peasant child,-his first companions the young lambs and summer

flowers. His labours are fitted to inspire him with cheerful feelings, and he drives the birds from the field, or wanders with the cattle down the green lane, or otherwise joins in rustic employ, with as light a heart as the morning bird or the evening grashopper.

How beautiful are the little islands of the stream, edged with the tall white meadowsweet, which sends its perfume far up over the green lands that lie around, and contrasts with the deep lilac colour of the purple loosestrife! The willow herb, or codlins and cream, as children call it, grows in perfection there; and there too bloom the tall yellow water - flag, and the vetches, and the rich water-lily, which, seated on its round leaf, seems to swim over the crystal stream. The water-plantain, with its numerous small pink blossoms, grows in thick clusters quite down in the water, mingling with the white flowers and large spear-shaped leaves of the arrow-head, or half shading the large cup of the yellow water-lily. Then, too, the blue-eyed forget-me-not covers the little isles in

such abundance that many of them well deserve the name of azure islands. The water-rat hides among the flowers, nibbling with much glee at the arrow-head, or rushing out from under its broad green leaves; and the water-fowl, followed by her young, sails across the stream in all the stateliness of matron dignity, and the little meek-eyed daisy grows beside the yellow velvet flower of the silver-weed, or the blue blossoms and succulent leaves of the brooklime.

A little bright blue flower-the meadow scorpion-grass (Myosótis arvensis) which is common in green fields, is often called the forget-me-not; but the plant, which by botanists and sentimentalists throughout Europe is pronounced to be the true forget-me-not, is the flower which grows upon the stream. It is the largest species of scorpion-grass that is to be found wild. The Myosotis palustris has a blossom of a bright blue colour, shaped something like that of a primrose, but much smaller: it has a yellow centre, with a small portion of white on each segment of the coloured part of the flower. The