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 round 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 wallflower, and I have seen it peep out of perilous places, clinging to the_high mouldering brick or stone wall.. There is a little 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. A homely flower should have a homely name; if I clothe it with a botanical name, you will not thank me for my pains."

Lupin.

"This flower is a general favourite, and yet, I know not why, it never would have had much interest with me, only that it grew in my grandmother's garden. I like the gay and grand, or the retiring, the lovely, and delicate; and this, whether pink, blue, or yellow, doth not partake of these qualities. Set it, at any rate, for I have said enough to make you like it. It would be a pity, indeed, to undervalue that which is lively, and pretty withal, and beloved by everybody."

Marygold.

“There is nothing poetical about this flower; it thrusts up its round face like the dandelion, and stares in the sun's countenance with a most unflower-like

boldness. In days gone by, I ate some of the petals of the flower in a basin of porridge, and ever since then, I have ranked it with pot-herbs. Set it, however, for it has a curious neatness and exactitude in its construction, and if you should ever pull it to pieces, you shall see what you shall see! Set it under the old wall, or any where else, so that it is a long way off my sweet pea, and my major convolvulus."

Carnation Poppy.

"Though not very commanding in size, this flower is gay and grand, and fit to be gazed on when the heart is full of some bright dream. It gives a mo ment of great assurance, almost seeming to promise what the heart desires. Set the seed, and if it springeth up, pluck a flower and place it before when you, fancy is required to paint the fair fuits fading nature, and of the hollowness ture in gorgeous colouring. Talk not of of this world's promises; tell me not that you have had enough of Madam and we will talk together of its withered Bubble," but set my carnation poppy, petals when they are withered."

Nasturtium.

"You cannot set too much of this; there cannot be too much of it in the garden. I have looked into the tangled and beauteous confusion of a cluster of nasturtiums, till mine eye has brimmed again with delight. It is a wilderness wherein a poet loveth to rove and revel. I like the leaf, and I love the flower. The smell of the plant, though it pleases. not many, pleases me; there is a strangeness in it. Set it right liberally, and if you cannot love it, I will love it for you."

Hollyhocks.

"No garden should be without a hollyhock, whether it belong to a prince or a peasant. Stately and aspiring, and requiring space, it yet wisely accommodateth itself to its circumstances; adorning alike the gay parterre and the cottage door. Whether peuce, crimson, scarlet, yellow, or white, it is always elegant; never forget that it is a hollyhock! It reminds me of the foxglove of the fields, growing much after the same fashion; the fox-glove reminds me of the thistle, and both flowers remind me of you, for they were always favourites with you. See that you set my hollyhocks!"

Mignonnette:

"And now I am come to my last packet. The mignonnette is not a flower to take with a stranger; but it is very dear to its friends. It promises nothing which it does not perform. It is not so gaudy as the tulip, nor so proud as the pæony, neither hath it so prepossessing an appearance as the dahlia; but it surpasseth them all in its grateful influence, and loves to give pleasure even to those who despise it. Set it. I do not say love it, for you cannot help doing that. You have a neat green trough, or a painted pot; set it there: or you may put it in the little bed nearest the back window. Yes, that will do nicely, and when it springs up and perfumes the air, if you have nothing better to think of, think of me."

Now, there is in the above observations a sprightly playfulness, a fulness of meaning, and a tender affection, that exactly suit my disposition; I know not when a packet has given me greater pleasure. It is said that the Chinese have a language of flowers, and I wonder not at it, for there is much in them well calculated to express our thoughts.

So long as I have been employed in noting down the remarks of another on flowers, and flower-seeds, I have felt strong; but now that I come to put down my own observations, I feel shorn of my strength. A child that walks well in leading-strings, totters without them. I want words as playful, and thoughts as pleasing, as those that I have recorded, but I cannot find them; and yet for all that, the inscriptions on the packets are so much in unison with my affections, that I feel as though I had almost a right to call them my own.

You have felt, perhaps, something like this spirit of appropriation before now, at a Bible or Missionary Meeting, when some highly gifted speaker, as popular for the warmth of his heart as for the eloquence of his tongue, has carried you away captive at his will, and made your bosom burn again, in setting forth, in glowing language, the immeasurable goodness of God, and the triumphs of the ever-blessed gospel!

You could not speak like him, but you felt like him. Not a sentiment did he express that was not your own, and at the moment, setting aside all distinctions of rank and talent, all restrictions of etiquette and custom, you could have

burst forward to take him by the hand, as a Christian brother who had given utterance to the pent-up emotions of your heart.

I scarcely need say, that the flower seeds were set. Some of them flourished, and others of them died without coming to maturity, but they all live in my remembrance. While I write these remarks, a sprig from one of them is sticking in my bosom.

Tell me not that there is nothing to be gathered from these remarks; for I think otherwise. I should feel grateful to him who could teach me to look on a daisy, ay, on a blade of grass, with an added interest. The more we see God in his works, the more shall we trust him in his ways; for if He so adorns the flowers of the garden, so clothes "the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith ?”

When we look on the flowers that we have set, and watered, and watched over, in a right spirit, we regard them as God's handywork, and, uniting wonder with thankfulness, feel, whether or not we express it, "that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

It is unnecessary, after the inscriptions I have given, for me to enlarge on the subject of flowers; my closing remarks shall be, therefore, brief. In passing through the garden of life, I have met with friends of many kinds, with major convolvuluses, gentle spirits, that have gladdened my eyes and my heart; with sweet peas, tender, affectionate, and loveable; with gilly flowers, homely, pleasant, and excellent; with lupins, common-place, but ever welcome; with marygolds, busy, bustling, and goodnatured; with carnation poppies, florid and hopeful, always painting the future in sunshine; with nasturtiums, eccentric, talented, and exciting, making me glad to be alive; and with consistent hollyhocks, so adorning their pathways by their graces, that I have loved them, and longed to be like them. To these must be added others of the true mignonette class, professing little, and doing much; making themselves to be felt rather than observed, and unobtrusively spreading their kindliest influence around.

I will now put by my inscriptions, though most likely, if life be spared.

THE second subdivision of the Linnean system places all plants in genera, or families. The generic characters, or family features, are found in the parts of fructification, that is, in the different parts of the flower. These are the CALYX, COROLLA, STAMEN, PISTIL, which were described in No. II. of these papers; also the SEED, PERICARP, RE

CEPTACLE.

It will be necessary to glance at the varieties of the Calyx, of which there are seven. It is called,

PERIANTHIUM. When situate near the flower, it permanently answers the purpose of protection; and when placed below the fruit and flower, it is called the perianthium of the fructification, as in the primrose tribe.

When placed above the fruit, it is called the perianthium of the flower; it is either one-leaved, as in solanum, or many-leaved, as in stellaria. The student must be careful not to confound the one-leaved perianthium with the many-leaved, as some are so deeply divided as to appear as if they were composed of several distinct leaves, which, if examined to the base, will be found but one.

In compound, that is syngenesious flowers, the perianthium is termed common, because it encloses many florets, as in the sun-flower. The calyx is also termed,

INVOLUCRUM, which is the calyx of the umbelliferæ. It generally consists of five leaves, situate at the base of the