THERE are two books from which I collect my divinity, the one written of God, the other of his servant, Nature; that universal manuscript which He has expanded to the eyes of all. But I never so forget God as to adore the name of Nature. SIR T. BROWNE.

CAN there be such who gaze on your divine,
Your beautiful and art-defying forms,
And 'mid the miracles of earth and sky,
Unawed, deny the existence of a God,

And in his stead, exalt the phantom Chance!

CARRINGTON.

YON countless worlds in boundless space,

Myriads of miles each hour;

Their mighty orbs as curious trace,

As the blue circle studs the face

Of that enamel'd flower.

LORD BROUGHAM.

CORN-FLOWER.

THE blue Cyanus we'll not forget,
'Tis the gem of the harvest coronet.

L. E. L.

THE Cornflowers rise, an azure band,
From earthly cell;

Nought else can I do but stop and stand,
And greet you well.

Welcome on earth's green breast again,
Ye flow'rets dear;

In spring how charming 'mid the grain,
Your heads ye rear;

Like stars, 'midst lightning's ray,

Ye shine so blue.

Oh, how your summer aspect gay

Delights my view!

DANISH POEM.

WHILE the golden ears their stores are yielding, The azure cornflowers fall among the corn.

MRS. C. SMITH.

FLOWERS are, in the volume of Nature, what the expression" God is love" is, in the volume or revelation. What a desolate place would be a world without a flower! It would be a face with out a smile, a feast without a welcome; they are emblems and manifestations of God's love to the creation, and they are the means and ministrations of man's love to his fellow-creatures; for they first awaken in his mind a sense of the beautiful and good.

CHAPTER ON FLOWERS.

THAT delicate field flower,

With scented breath and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling life,

A visible token of the upholding love,

That are the soul of this wide Universe.

BRYANT.

F

SMALL BINDWEED.

THE Bind-weed, pure and pale,
That sues to all for aid,
And when rude storms assail
Her snowy virgin veil,

Doth, like some timid maid,

In conscious weakness most secure,
Unscathed its sternest shocks endure.

How fair her pendent wreath

O'er bush and brake is twining!

While meekly there beneath,

'Mid fern and blossom'd heath,

Her lowlier sister's shining,

Tinged with the blended hues that streak A slumbering infant's tender cheek.

MISS STRICKLAND.

THY beauty, blushing through the dew, Which Summer sheds at early morn, Fair fading flower, I love to view, Beneath the shade of yellow corn.

J. W.

No class of plants present a more varied and exquisitely beautiful structure than the mosses; whether we consider their foliage, their capsules, or the delicate single or double fringe which surrounds the mouth of the latter. No part of the globe appears to be entirely destitute of them. "Affording," says Linnæus, "a harbour to an immense number of insects, protecting them, lest they should be destroyed by the frosts of winter, or be parched by the heats of summer, or withered by the vicissitudes of spring, or decayed by the damps of autumn." So that nothing, we may be assured, not even the minutest vegetable, is made in vain.

SIR W. HOOKER.

THE least proclaims, and loudly too,
The forming finger of a God.

CARRINGTON.