"The wee modest crimson-tipped flower,"

which Burns celebrates. It is what we raise in greenhouses, and call the
mountain daisy. Its effect, growing profusely about fields and grass
plats, is very beautiful.

We read much, among the poets, of the primrose,

"Earliest daughter of the Spring."

This flower is one, also, which we cultivate in gardens to some extent.
The outline of it is as follows: The hue a delicate straw color; it
grows in tufts in shady places, and has a pure, serious look, which
reminds one of the line of Shakspeare--

"Pale primroses, which die unmarried."

It has also the faintest and most ethereal perfume,--a perfume that
seems to come and go in the air like music; and you perceive it at a
little distance from a tuft of them, when you would not if you gathered
and smelled them. On the whole, the primrose is a poet's and a painter's
flower. An artist's eye would notice an exquisite harmony between the
yellow-green hue of its leaves and the tint of its blossoms. I do not
wonder that it has been so great a favorite among the poets. It is just
such a flower as Mozart and Raphael would have loved.

Then there is the bluebell, a bulb, which also grows in deep shades. It
is a little purple bell, with a narrow green leaf, like a ribbon. We
often read in English stories, of the gorse and furze; these are two