AUTHOR OF "A PLAIN AND EASY ACCOUNT OF BRITISH FERNS."

FULLY ILLUSTRATED

BY J. E. SOWERBY.

LONDON:

ROBERT HARDWICKE, 192, PICCADILLY.

PREFACE

My little book on Ferns has been so kindly and well received, that I bave been encouraged to supplement it with these pages on "Wild Flowers worth Notice." It has been a difficult task to make a selection, for what flowers are not worth notice? As, however, this cannot pretend to be an exhaustive treatise on the British Flora, such as exists in many forms and in large ponderous volumes compiled by profound and learned botanists, I have endeavoured to choose such plants as are representatives of particular families, and are remarkable either for their beauty of appearance or useful properties, and to give the best botanical description I can either find or make of them, so as to insure their recognition with the aid of the plate, and to add such traditions, legends, and poetical fancies, as are associated with them, in order to increase the interest with which they may be regarded.

I lately heard a very eloquent and popular preacher discourse of wild flowers and the "lilies of the field," in a strain so completely in harmony with my own thoughts while I had been busy during the week in writing of all their charming and modest beauty, that I felt he too must be a lover of wild flowers and have himself rejoiced in these blessed gifts of beauty which gladden the earth, and remove from man one of the great evils of his fall. Surely, said the preacher, we may regard all that is lovely in nature, the trees, grass, blue sky, sunshine, and above all, wild flowers, as secondary blessings, which we receive and enjoy by virtue of the covenant made with Adam. No thanks to the husbandman that they spring up on every side, gladdening our hearts and cheering our lives; there they are each in its season, without care, without tending. The Great Architect of this glorious world depends not on his creatures for the preservation of these adornments of his universe, but has implanted within each tiny cup or bell that which shall perpetuate itself, and from age to age shall gladden the heart of the poorest wayfarer. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I

say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

Longfellow well says

"Wond'rous truths, and manifold as wond'rous,
God hath written in the stars above;

But not less in the bright flow'rets under us
Stands the revelation of His love."

Then the natural connection between wild flowers and bright sunshine, or the first warm days of spring, does it not recall many a pleasant ramble to those who are in the enjoyment of youth and health? And even to the feeble or afflicted, the remembrance of the soft lulling influence of a summer's day, in sweet rural scenes, when everything seems joyous and yet tranquil, is a refreshment and a delight. In a charming series of short essays, called "The Recreations of a Country Parson," is one 66 'Concerning Summer Days," which is so full of pleasant thoughts and the love of green trees and fields, hedges and hedge-rows, that I cannot but wish he would also write "Concerning Wild Flowers." When I first began to write of "Wild Flowers," it was suggested to me that I should select only those susceptible of cultivation; but to me, the great charm of the whole subject is to fancy the beautiful creatures in their natural homes, where they love to grow, not where they are artificially placed and tended by the hand of man. The wild bryony and clematis climbing luxuriantly over hedge and neighbouring tree-none the less rich for the demands made upon it by groups of happy smiling children for wreaths and festoons of wonderful length. The blue forget-me-not peeping out from its bed of green leaves by the side of the clear running stream, asking only for moisture to fringe its sides with turquoise flowers. A hundred other lovely "children of the earth," as the blind girl of Bulwer calls them, owe much of their charm to the "lap" from which they spring-fresh and untouched by the hand of man. Not that I would in any manner depreciate the gardener's art or the skill of the florist, in so tending and cultivating even our native plants, as to produce such perfection of colour and symmetry of form, that it is difficult to recognize our friends of the wayside in the beauties of the garden. But this is surely the admiration with which we regard the welldressed and fashionable denizens of a city in contrast with the more simple, but, perhaps, not less refined rustic beauties. Then these favourites of ours must be sought for,-they call forth the energy and self-denial of their admirers, and while making great demands in the shape of country walks, and mountain rambles, bestow on their captors rosy cheeks, the inestimable prize of healthful and vigorous frames.

I have often, when urging the necessity of long walks and frequent exercise, been told by young folks living in the midst of rustic lanes, "There is no object to go out for. In cities and towns there are a hundred objects, and we are thus beguiled into walking." Why not then secure an object, if but one, for a country walk; an object which will unfailingly repay you and be cheering in the remembrance? Cultivate an acquaintance with the wild flowers of your own district, study them, gather them, transplant them if you will into a corner of your own garden; but, above all, visit them in their own homes, and be not satisfied till you have made a tolerable friendship with most of our British plants. Like all things of beauty, they perish quickly; and though each month of the year brings its own attractions with it, from the snowdrop of the early spring to the misletoe and lichen of dark December, the lover of flowers will like to preserve the forms of as many favourites as possible, by drying; and few who have botanized in youth, cannot moralize in maturer age over the remembrances thus furnished, and few who have once engaged in collecting plants ever lose the recollection of the study or the interest it inspired. I therefore say to all, observe, collect, and preserve, the wild flowers you find; arrange and name them scientifically, if possible; but if that be not in your power, still they will always be interesting to you as a pleasing record of "times and places, and old familiar faces," which one day you will value. When you have become well acquainted with the wild plants of your own neighbourhood, there are always rare ones to look for, and great is the interest and excitement attending the discovery of a rare species in an unexpected locality; but before you can expect to become a discoverer, you must be a tolerable botanist. But botany, like other sciences, requires earnest and systematic study. Those who wish to be able to discover the name of a plant by the aid of botanical books, must first thoroughly understand the structure of a plant. Such a knowledge may be gained by the study of the late Professor Henfrey's "Rudiments of Botany," or Dr. Dresser's " Popular Manual of Botany." When the structure has been mastered, then the descriptions in such volumes as Babington's "Manual of Botany," and Bentham's "British Flora;" or the larger works of Smith, Withering, and Sowerby, may be used with success.

Let it not be supposed, however, that this search after wild flowers need be confined to such as have at their disposal all the appliances of science. The poorest inhabitant of a cottage has within her reach the same delight from this pursuit as the lady of the mansion, and we have many instances of the successful cultivation of botany by those who have to labour hard for their daily bread. Among the hills which surround the great