"You are like a bear with a sore head this morning, growling at every one," said Crawford, good humouredly.

But Qurlett turned away making no reply, Wilson shortly following his example.

"Do you think what Qurlett said about me will make any difference?" Phil asked of Crawford after the others had left.

"Well there is no use saying it won't, because it will,” he replied after a short pause, "you see the Governor is very particular about 'leading new boys astray' as he calls it."

66

to."

They didn't do that, I would not have gone unless I wanted

"That doesn't make any difference so long as he thinks they did; there is the bell."

An intense silence of expectation settled over the scholars as the Principal made his appearance in the schoolroom that morning, looking unusually grave; most of the boys knew that some of their fellows were up for expulsion.

Directly after prayers he stood up in his place at the great desk! "Boys," he began, "it has not often fallen to my lot since I have had charge of this school, to perform perhaps the most painful of my many duties, that of expulsion from the school; three boys, all of considerable ability, have flragrantly violated some of the best known rules of the school, what my duty is in one case where the affair has been aggravated by an offence of which I hardly believe any of my boys capable, is plain; even here it is with genuine sorrow, and the greatest reluctance, that I inflict the extreme penalty; could I avoid it I would, but my duty to the rest prevents;" so saying he left the room, and that afternoon as the delinquents did not make their appearance in the schoolroom, it was rumored that all were gone, but towards evening, Qurlett and Phil put in an appearance as usual, and when questioned as to their experience, generally replied with a grin, "that it was all right;" which was the substance of their information. Wilson, the scholars never saw again as a pupil, and he rapidly faded from their memories as the time slipped by.

BE STILL.

As the lily all the livelong night

Shades her white breast, waiting for the sun,
As the lotus to the moonbeams bright

Opes her full heart when the day is done;
Night and day I turn me to the spot,
Night and day I seek but thou art not,
O weary heart,

O weary heart, be still.

As the bulbul pineth for the rose
When her carmine blossoms all are shed,
When her dewy eyes no more unclose,
And he mourneth "Ah! my rose is dead,"
The hue of sadness wraps my life forlorn,
For thou, not here, art dead, and so I mourn,
O weary heart,

O weary heart, be still.

As the sea-shell moaneth for the sea
That ripples on the Caspian's golden sand,
When that the hymning waters ebbing be,
And leaves it all athirst upon the land,
So sighs my soul to hear thy music, sweet!
So thirsts my lips to kiss thy foam-white feet,
O weary heart,

O weary heart, be still.

As the lily opes when morning rises,
As blooms the lotus when the moon is full,
As sea-shell when the tide its lip surprises,
As joys the bulbul when revives the ghul,
So floods my life with joy, for thou art here
My sun, my moon, rose, sea, my Nouradheer,-
O joyous heart,

O joyous heart, be still.

HUNTER DUVAR.

THER HERE are two ways of looking at plants. First of all, we may view them in relation to their structure, the peculiarities of their modes of existence and reproduction, and the places, in an orderly classification, to which they belong. Or they may be regarded in relation to their associations, for almost every plant, if one but took the trouble to find it out, is surrounded by a halo of human thought. When this halo is properly discerned, the commonest flowers and shrubs and trees assume new aspects, and become full of new interest. Fairies reside in them, they influence good fortune, they reveal the secrets of the future, they scare away witches, they preserve from evil, they are red with the blood of loving hearts, or bright with weird light from another world. Now, it is this second mode of observing them that I propose to dwell on in this and the following articles. We shall look on the vegetable world, not as furnishing subjects to be dissected and peered at through microscopes, but as affording objects round which cluster the strange beliefs and practices of an almost bygone age. Our subject, you observe by the title, is the Folk-lore of British Plants. Now, you ask, what, exactly, is Folk-lore? The word has not been long enough in use in this country for its meaning to have become very clearly defined, and it is as well, before going farther, to have a right understanding about it. Well, it means, generally, just such superstitious notions as those alluded to. But, to be more precise, let me quote a satisfactory definition given by Mr. Harland in his work on the superstitions of Lancashire. "Folk-lore," he says, "in its present signification means the notions of the folk or people, from childhood upwards, especially their superstitious beliefs and practices, as these have been handed down from generation to generation, in popular tradition and tale, rhyme, proverb, or saying, and it is well termed Folk-lore, in contradistinction to book-lore or scholastic learning. It is the unlearned people's inheritance of tradition from their ancestors-the modern reflection of ancient faith and usage." This, then, is what we are to consider here, in connection however, solely with plants.

Of all times when the study of Folk-lore might be engaged in with profit, the present is, perhaps, the best. Our age is so practical, so utilitarian, so unbelieving, as a rule, that the mind, for health's sake, is the better for taking refuge, now and again, in the

consideration of the idle dreams of the past. Matter-of-fact things are very good in their way, but all our life should not be given to them, and a small portion of our time and a nook in our memory may well be devoted to the ethereal fancies of our forefathers. How much poetry, it has been said, has left the earth since Oberon and Titania

and the cowslips were the pensioners of the fairy queen! But we may do something to recall, in a new form, that happy time. may unite, in our own minds, the poetry of mystery and the poetry of progress. The elfin world may again open to our view as aweinspiring as ever, and, by contrast with our own material advancement, far more wonderful.

There is one pleasant circumstance connected with the treatment of plants, that it leads us into the sweetest corners of nature, and amidst the fairest of her productions. By three famous English writers, if not by more, flowers have been called the stars of earth. It is a natural as well as a beautiful comparison. Flowers enliven the face of earth just as the stars enliven that of heaven, and I know not which are the sweeter or the more lovable. And as the stars by their movements indicated the progress of the circling year, so do the flowers by their appearances, one gaily succeeding another till winter has changed to summer, and summer back to frost and snow.

Man seems always to entertain a kindly feeling towards plants and flowers. He seems unable to divest himself of the feeling that in some strange way their life is bound up with his own. He finds himself, or at least something akin to himself, in them. He has life, so have they; but, if anything, their existence is more mysterious than his own. Their life, perhaps, even excites his envy, for they enjoy it without hurry or bustle; they have food. without work, perpetual holiday, and total exemption from harassing care. The plant world he sees to be always the same- all in it is now as in the days of yore. It contains no learning, no arts to make the rising generation better than their fathers. Happy world! always standing still, yet ever beautiful and ever contented. Amongst plants, too, man discovers, or fancies that he discovers, an approach to human expression. He credits them with the possession of pride, modesty, boldness, delicacy, joy, sorrow, ambition, and a thousand other attributes of a like nature. Can we wonder, then, that, taking this view of the vegetable creation, man should, in time, have come to possess a folk-lore of plants as extensive as it is interesting?

My object in the series of articles of which this forms the first, is to go over the whole field of the folk-lore of British plants in a more thorough manner than has ever yet been attempted. The idea of grouping together all the superstitions connected with the vegetable kingdom is not a new one, however; it seems to have

occurred to several different writers, though none, up to this time, have acted upon it. Mr. Mill, for example, in his "History of Chivalry," published many years ago, says: "A very amusing little volume might be made on the romance of flowers-on the tales which poetry and fancy have invented to associate the affections and the minds with plants, thus wedding the pleasure of the feelings and the imagination to those of the eye," etc.

Though we shall concern ourselves only with British plants, we shall by no means confine our attention to British superstitions. Were we to do so, a very narrow view indeed would be taken of the great subject of folk-lore. It is true that British superstitions alone are worthy of notice, but they are doubly so, when taken in connection with those of kindred nations. By extending our survey in this fashion, we shall obtain many new ideas concerning the common origin of the human race. Our observations may land us in the conclusion that the world is much smaller than we supposed; but it cannot fail to inspire in us a deeper and more enlightened interest in other nations, who, speaking a different language, have yet the same curious notions and odd practices as ourselves.

It is possible that to some the following notices of different plants may appear incomplete. It may seem to them that a great deal more might have been said, that more superstitions might have been given, that more speculation might have been ventured upon, that the writer has, in short, in many cases presented only the cream of the matter. To these objectors I reply with the maxim of La Fontaine

"Loin d'épuiser une matière,

On n'en doit prendre que la fieur."

There is much, you must know, connected with every subject that is not worth preserving, and a subject thoroughly exhausted is often uncommonly exhausting to every one who has anything to do with it. Such a result as that of weariness ought to be avoided at any hazard. Were this made a rule what large and tedious works would the world be spared, and how much easier would it be to compass all necessary learning! My aim at the present moment I avow it, and hope never to have a worse one-is to be interesting, and I should utterly fail in being so were I to rake together everything that has been written or said in connection with the business on hand.

But, whilst bent on securing attention by presenting the subject in its most engaging features, I trust it will not be found that I have sacrificed truth and accuracy for the sake of effect. It is a sacred duty, laid on every one who deals with such topics as the ancient superstitions and the old customs of a country, to deal honestly by his materials, and to present them to the public just as they come to his hand. Truthful writing, so far as it goes, is essential; without it the discussion is altogether valueless. To