The gorgeous blue ribbons and stars upon their breasts looked, at a short distance, as magnificent as the order of the garter on the noble owner of Chatsworth.
As they promenaded the streets, two-and-two, with a very fair band playing before them, an eye accustomed to the step of our gallant volunteers, could not but regret that they did not march in time. However, they all seemed to enjoy themselves, even the two leaders who carried the large banner—evidently a work fraught with difficulty and danger—and as the spectacle was not professedly military, its most important end may be considered to have been attained. The young ladies from the neighbouring factories also came out in force, and fine, tall, rosy-cheeked, dark-eyed damsels a great many of them were. A southern spectator might have been surprised that a young lady whose dialect he would have had considerable difficulty in comprehending, should, nevertheless, wear a bonnet trimmed with Rosa Magenta, a new and extremely fashionable colour. The last statement is made on feminine authority.
The cause of water-drinking has lately received a considerable impulse from the erection of drinking-fountains in many of the principal towns. Might it not aid the good cause for which these have been built, if their foundation was commemorated by some ceremony as graceful and as harmless as the tap-dressing at Wirksworth.
I’VE LOST MY HEART.
Where is my heart? Alas! not here.
It wander’d from my careful keeping,
And “stole away” one summer’s eve
When I was too securely sleeping.
I called it back. Ah, truant heart,
It would not heed the timely warning,
But vow’d, with many a blush and smile,
It would return before the morning.
The morning came; but not my heart;
I’ve never seen the wanderer since,
And can’t forgive the faithless elf
For keeping me in such suspense.
I’ve lost my heart. What must be done?
’Tis plain I cannot live without it;
Perchance, someday it may return,
If I don’t say too much about it.
For hearts, I know, are so perverse,
That if they think you prize them highly,
They give themselves conceited airs,
And very often treat you vilely.
And so I’ll try to hear my loss,
My wounded feelings I must smother,
I may, perhaps, repair my loss,
And some day find myself another.
Will no one volunteer a loan
Until I can get back my own?
The heart I’ve lost is warm and light,
And has a trick of loving blindly,
If you should find the wayward sprite,
I hope you’ll treat it very kindly.
Should you neglect it, ’twill rebel,
And surely die if you are cruel;
But if you understand it well,
You’ll find this heart a priceless jewel.
So if it chance to come your way,
Don’t keep it there at any cost,
Unless you’ll use it tenderly,
But send me back the heart I’ve lost!
NEPENTHES; OR, PITCHER PLANTS.
The almost endless diversity of form and colour which mark the productions of Nature, so definite in the broad lines which separate the great divisions from each other, so extensively varied within those limits, so often characterised by forms of symmetry and blendings of colour inimitably beautiful, call forth universal admiration, while they invite and reward intelligent research.
This extreme variety in vegetable life constitutes one great charm of foreign travel, while it contributes largely to the ever-fresh and welcome enjoyment of the home garden and the conservatory. This pleasure is every year shared by increasing numbers, and few signs of social progress are more gratifying than the addition of one or both these latter sources of recreation and instruction to nearly all except the lowest class of rural or suburban dwellings.
The relations subsisting between the structure of plants and peculiar conditions of temperature and climate have given to different parts of the world a specific and peculiar vegetation. Formerly, the plants peculiar to each region were known to few beyond the inhabitants of the countries in which they grew; but the pursuits of commerce and science have, in recent years, made the inhabitants of Europe acquainted with the production of all other countries; and the increased attention to horticulture in our own country, especially the labours of the Horticultural Society, have encouraged and rewarded the introduction and culture of whatever rare, curious, or beautiful forms of vegetable life have been found in any part of the globe.
Among plants of the latter class few are more remarkable and striking than the Nepenthes, or Pitcher-plants. One variety of this remarkable plant, Nepenthes distillatoria, was introduced to England towards the close of the last century from China, and hence for a long time was designated the Chinese Pitcher-plant. In recent years this, and other species belonging to the same genus, have been found in countries at a remote distance from China. Mr. Ellis saw the kind first brought into England growing, apparently in a wild state, in Madagascar; other species have been discovered in Bengal and Ceylon, and a considerable number in the large and but partially explored island of Borneo.
All the plants of this genus are natives of the tropics: but two other genera of plants, the Sarracenia and Cephalotus, greatly resembling the Nepenthes in organic structure, and exhibiting also in a modified form the Pitcher, or Ascidium, are natives of more temperate parts. The former, which is sometimes called the Side-saddle Plant, having been found in the United States, and the