fruit. The fruit became the ensign of the city, which was the birthplace of our poor Queen Katherine of Arragon, and in remembrance of that fair home of her youth the pomegranate became her badge, and afterwards that of her daughter Mary. now. CHAPTER XXIII WILLOW HERB AND FUCHSIA THE rule of four is observed by all the plants we come to They all look a good deal alike when they are young, for they all have leaves growing in pairs on opposite sides of the stem, simply shaped, rather pointed, and often toothed; and their petals, their stamens, and their seed cells are always either four, half four, or twice four, and generally rich red and purple colouring. There are the willow herbs, the tall French willow herb, with its curiously-cut petals and red calyx and spires of blossom, and the English willow herb, better known as "codlings and cream," which opens its fine red blossoms by the river side, the white stigma within divided into four, and opening like another little flower. There are three or four poor little pale willow herbs besides, which do not look as if they were of the same family as these fine handsome flowers, but, like them, have very beautiful seeds, each furnished with a very long graceful feather of white silk with which to fly away to seek their moist nursery. The parts of willow herbs are all in fours; four petals, four divisions of the calyx, four seeds, twice four stamens; and so it is with the bright-coloured yet grave bell that is ringing in all gardens, almost in all houses, and taking its part in the last chimes of summer. The fuchsia I mean, with its deep red calyx, and the fine violet petals rolled round the long stamens, one of the most richly coloured of flowers. It grows wild in Mexico, where its crimson flowers hang down from very large bushes, high up on the wild volcanic hills. The first that was ever brought to England was a present from a sailor to his old mother who lived in some small street in London, and kept it in a flower-pot in her window. Much must the old woman have delighted in watching the unfolding of the long crimson drops into the drooping blossoms, so unlike all that she had ever seen before, and putting her in mind how her son had remembered her and thought of her in lands so far away over the broad sea. But she was not the only person who admired the flowers, though no one could have loved them so much; a lady stopped at the sight of what was so beautiful and uncommon, looked at the blossoms, and heard their story. She went to a great gardener to try to find this new plant there, and described it to him, but he had not seen one, nor even heard of such a flower. He asked the direction to the old woman, went to her, and offered half a guinea, one guinea, two guineas for the beautiful plant, but still the mother would not part with it till he had promised her that the first young plant he could raise should be hers. He took it home, pulled off every blossom, cut it up into slips, and put them into a forcing frame, where they quickly grew and flourished. And soon fuchsia plants at two guineas a piece were in the grandest drawing. rooms in London, but the most prized of all was that which came back to the old mother. She had her share of the profits too, and when the sailor son came home from his next voyage he found that his present had provided for the comfort of her old age, as well as cheered her in his absence. This was a long time ago, and the fuchsia thus obtained is now called "the old-fashioned fuchsia," and not often found except in the gardens of old houses, it is rather larger and more delicate than those we usually see, which are for the most part seedlings. There are several large new sorts, but they have in general lost their grace while becoming larger, and their colours are not so good and deep as those of the smaller and hardier ones. I suppose it is an acknowledgment of the beauty of the fuchsia that it is a very favourite shape for ornaments, such as brooches, pins, etc., which, however, only serve to show us how miserable and clumsy are man's best imitations of the wonderful works of God. How well I remember days when it was our delight to keep shops in the garden-grocers, dressmakers, jewellers, etc.-with flowers, leaves, and grass to represent the goods. We all wanted to have fuchsias in our shops because they were so pretty, and I think we used them very ill, for they were ear-rings at the jeweller's, and artificial flowers at the milliner's, and at last our little tailor decided "that they were a very curious sort of trousers," and so they figured in her shop. A fuchsia is a very puzzling word to spell till one learns that it was called after a German botanist named what would be Fox in English, but is Fuchs in German. To these must be added the Enchanter's nightshade, a very pretty little plant, with a long spike of delicate white flowers and pink buds, but only two stamens. It comes up as a weed in gardens, but I do not know the reason of its name. L |