flower

If the faade of Langeais, with its severe simplicity and solidity, its great stone towers, massive walls, _chemin de ronde_ and machiolated cornices, gave us an impression of power and majesty, we found that it also had a smiling face turned toward the hill and the lovely gardens. Here the windows open upon a lawn with turf as green and velvety as that of England, and parterres of flowers laid out in all manner of geometrical figures. From a court basking in sunshine, two beautiful Renaissance doors lead into the castle. Through one of them we passed into a small room in which the inevitable postcards and souvenirs were sold by a pretty little dark-eyed French woman, who acted as our guide through the castle. We begged her to stand near the vine-decked doorway to have her photograph taken, which she did with cheerful alacrity. Some soldiers, who were buying souvenirs, stepped through the doorway just in time to come into the picture, their red uniforms adding a delightful touch of color as they stood out against the gray walls of the chteau. It was a charming scene which we hoped to be able to send you, but alas! a cloud passed over the sun, and this, with the dark stone background, made too dull a setting, and by the time the sun was out again our guide was in request to take a party of tourists through the chteau, ourselves among them. Langeais is so popular during this busy touring season that hours and turns are strictly observed.

Anne Hollingsworth Wharton
In Chteau Land

The "everlasting" white Pea is a most satisfactory plant by day or night. Hedges covered with it are a pure delight. Do not fear to plant it with liberal hand. Be very liberal, too, in your garden of white Foxgloves. Even if the garden be small, there is room for many graceful spires of the lovely bells to shine out everywhere, piercing up through green foliage and colored blooms of other plants. They are not only beautiful, but they are flowers of sentiment and association, endeared to childhood, visited of bees, among the best beloved of old-time favorites. They consort well with nearly every other flower, and certainly with every other color, and they seem to clarify many a crudely or dingily tinted flower; they are as admirable foils as they are principals in the garden scheme. In England, where they readily grow wild, they are often planted at the edge of a wood, or to form vistas in a copse. I doubt whether they would thrive here thus planted, but they are admirable when set in occasional groups to show in pure whiteness against a hedge. I say in occasional groups, for the Foxglove should never be planted in exact rows. The White Iris, the Iris of the Florentine Orris-root, is one of the noblest plants of the whole world; its pure petals are truly hyaline like snow-ice, like translucent white glass; and the indescribably beautiful drooping lines of the flowers are such a contrast with the defiant erectness of the fresh green leaves. Small wonder that it was a sacred flower of the Greeks. It was called

Alice Morse Earle
Old-Time Gardens

"This is Mr. Belasco," said Cohen, and then Neil knew the woman who was standing behind Mr. Belasco's chair. It was the still beautiful Miriam. The happiness of perfect love lighted the dusky white of her complexion and filled her glorious eyes. A brilliant silk kerchief was thrown over her black hair, and she wore a rich, flowing garment of many colors. There were gems in her ears and around her neck, and her slim, brown fingers sparkled with sapphires and diamonds. Behind her was the whitewashed wall of a room on which was traced some black Hebrew characters--wise or comforting passages from the Psalms or the Prophets; and on shelves of ordinary wood, a quantity of beautiful china, some silver vessels, and a copper lamp with seven beaks, brightly polished. Before her sat Belasco, his swarthy face revealing both power and intellect, purposely veiled beneath a manner of almost obsequious deference. But his voice, like Cohen's, was full of those vague tones of softness and melody, of which Orientals preserve the eternal poetry, with the eternal secret. Outside, but within sight and hearing, was the vibrant, noisy, military life of New York--western turmoil--hurry of business--existence without pause; but here, in this grave, unornamented room, with its domestic simplicity and biblical air, was the very atmosphere of the East.

Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr
A Song of a Single Note

In our Carnegie prize contest nothing yields its judges more pleasure than to inculcate the garden rules of perspective to which we have just referred and to see the blissful complacency of those who successfully carry them out. I have now in my mind's eye a garden to which was awarded the capital prize of 1903. A cottage of maybe six small rooms crowns a high bank on a corner where two rural streets cross. There are a few square yards of lawn on its front, and still fewer (scarcely eight or ten) on the side next the cross-street, but on the other two sides there is nearly a quarter of an acre. On these two sides the limits touch other gardens, and all four sides are entirely without fencing. From the front sward have been taken away a number of good shrubs which once broke it into ineffectual bits, and these have been grouped against the inward and outward angles of the house. The front porch is garlanded--not smothered--with vines whose flowers are all white, pink, blue or light purple. About the base of the porch and of all the house's front, bloom flowers of these same delicate tints, the tallest nearest the house, the lesser at their knees and feet. The edges of the beds--gentle waves that never degenerate to straightness--are thickly bordered with mignonette. Not an audacious thing, not a red blossom nor a strong yellow one, nor one broad leaf, nor any mass of dense or dark foliage, comes into view until one reaches a side of the dwelling. But there at once he finds the second phase in a crescendo of floral

George W. Cable
The Amateur Garden

As a garden flower it is not showy, yet it stands out well in a group; the nodding cup-shaped bloom is a bright green colour, and, for a time, the outer sides of the sepals only are seen; but when the flowers are more fully expanded, the numerous and somewhat long stamens (which are a creamy-white) seem to nearly fill the cup; to my mind, its greatest charm is in the fragrant odour which it yields, resembling that of elder flowers. A single blossom, if plucked dry and when in its prime, scents a small room; at such a stage, the anthers are loaded with pollen, and the tubular petals are richly charged with nectar. True, these last-named qualities are common to the genus, but when they are coupled with that of a sweet perfume, and produced by an open-air plant in winter, such a plant, be its blossoms green or red, is too valuable to be neglected. The flowers are borne on stems 6in. to 12in. high, which are twice and thrice branched or forked, having six to twelve blossoms on a stem. The flowers are bright green, nearly 2in. across, cup-shaped, and drooping. The sepals are somewhat oval, concave, and overlapping; petals very short, pale green, and evenly arranged; stamens creamy-white; styles green. The flowers are supported by floral leaves, which are much divided, in the way of those of _H. purpurascens_, but the segments are more irregular in shape. The radical leaves have long stems, and are palmate; divisions lobed. It dies down entirely during the autumn. Being a vigorous grower and free bloomer, and the flowers

John Wood
Hardy Perennials and Old Fashioned Flowers

We looked out for Khabarova. On the north side of the sound there was a mark; a shipwrecked sloop lay on the shore; it was a Norwegian sealer. The wreck of a smaller vessel lay by its side. On the south side was a flag-staff, and on it a red flag; Khabarova must then lie behind it. At last one or two buildings or shanties appeared behind a promontory, and soon the whole place lay exposed to view, consisting of tents and a few houses. On a little jutting-out point close by us was a large red building, with white door-frames, of a very homelike appearance. It was indeed a Norwegian warehouse which Sibiriakoff had imported from Finmarken. But here the water was shallow, and we had to proceed carefully for fear of running aground. We kept heaving the lead incessantly--we had 5 fathoms of water, and then 4, then not much more than we needed, and then it shelved to a little over 3 fathoms. This was rather too close work, so we stood out again a bit to wait till we got a little nearer the place before drawing in to the shore.

Hyacinths, lupins and hollyhocks were freely interspersed with the glistening foliage of the shrubbery. The tiger and yellow mountain lilies were not yet in flower, although we frequently saw their tall stems bearing undeveloped blossoms. The columbine and white and yellow clematis were much in evidence, and presented a charming picture as they wound in and out, and over and around the green leaves of the shrubs, displaying their creamy blossoms with a dainty air and self-conscious superiority. In open places beneath the forest trees, where no large underbrush grew, a fern-like, low shrub, locally known as bear clover, completely hid the earth. It bore a white blossom with yellow center, for all the world like that of a strawberry. To my surprise, the Spanish bayonets in full bloom reared their heads above the lower growing evergreens. We saw them no further north than the Tule River canyon. What a picture the sunlight made on the mountain tops and the sloping sides of the lateral valleys of the canyon! Ah, that river, how beautiful it was! There it ran below us, in the very bottom of the canyon, ever moving, ever turbulent, ever flashing in the sunlight, ever tossing its foamy spray far up into the air, a thing of life, of joy and ecstatic force. It sang and laughed and gurgled aloud in the happiness of its life and freedom. Above was the sky, pure and radiantly blue. Its exquisite coloring was intensified by the wild riot of color beneath it. We still ascended. Each breath of air we drew was rich with the odor of

refer to MacDowell's log-cabin in which he used to compose, and they are the same that are inscribed over his grave. _From a Log Cabin_ opens quietly, with a grave theme and a clashing accompaniment that produces a different effect to that of any of the composer's earlier work, but recalls vividly the bleak second theme of _Mid-Winter_. Some powerful though small climaxes may be noticed, and then a new theme is heard softly, _con tenerezza, pensieroso_, over a florid accompaniment. After this has run its course, it is followed by intensely passionate outbursts of sorrow, the whole culminating in a thunderous repetition of the first theme. This reappears with great solemnity, which is emphasized by tolling, drum-like strokes, in the bass. The close is mysterious and impressive; the widespread chords, the wailing, clashing discords in the final bar but one, and the far away last chord, _pppp_, all tend to increase the depth and mystery of the piece. _From a Log Cabin_ is an inspired tone poem suggesting the atmosphere of a quiet evening in the woods, with the slow setting of the sun in the Golden West; a scene by which Nature often creates the sense of the mysterious more impressively and truly than any man-made attempts can equal. This view of declining day, the gradual shutting off of light and life, was strangely prophetic when MacDowell wrote it, for his own end came by a similar process in the form of an ever deepening gloom fatalling obscuring his mental light.

On a bright May morning we set out for a fortnight's sojourn in the western marismas. For the last few miles the route lies through broken woodlands, all wrapt in the glory of the southern spring-time. There is no lack of verdure here at mid-winter--not even the deciduous trees are ever really bare: but in May the whole plant-world is fresh-clad in brightest garb and beauty--it is worth staying a moment to examine such prodigal luxuriance. Before us, for example, is a grove of stone-pines, embedded to their centres amidst dark green thicket; through the massed foliage of lentiscus and briar shoots up a forest of waving bamboos, tall almost and straight as the pines themselves; the foreground filled with the delicate mauve of rosemary, with giant heather and heaths of a dozen hues, all wrestling for space, with clumps of pampas-grass and palmetto, genista, butcher's-broom, and wild fennel. Here a mass of _abolaga_, or Spanish gorse, ablaze with golden bloom; an arbutus blanched with waxen blossoms, or the glossy foliage of mimosa; there the sombre tones of the ilex are relieved by the pale emerald of a wild vine entwined upon the trunk. Even the stretches of grey gum-cistus have become almost gaudy with their pink, white, and pale yellow flowers. The air breathes of vernal perfumes, and the infinite chorus of spring bird-notes--the soft refrain of Goldfinch and Serin, Nightingale, _Hypolais polyglotta_, Orphean and other warblers, the dual note of Hoopoe, and flute-like carol of Golden Orioles, mingled with the harsher

Abel Chapman
Wild Spain (Espana agreste)

a half-hour's drive away, toward Matlock. And the stiff parterres, terraces, and alleys of Le Notre are equally out of place in such a scene. If, indeed, as at Versailles, they bounded and engrossed the view, so that natural surfaces should have no claim upon your eye,--if they were the mere setting to a monster palace, whose colonnades and balusters of marble edged away into colonnades and balusters of box-wood, and these into a limitless extent of long green lines, which are only lost to the eye where a distant fountain dashes its spray of golden dust into the air,--as at Versailles,--there would be keeping. But the Devonshire palace has quite other setting. Blue Derbyshire hills are behind it; a grand, billowy slope of the comeliest park-land in England rolls down from its terrace-foot to where the Derwent, under hoary oaks, washes its thousand acres of meadow-vale, with a flow as charming and limpid as one of Virgil's eclogues. It is such a setting that carries the great quadrangle of Chatsworth Palace and its flanking artificialities of rock and garden, like a black patch upon the face of a fine woman of Charles's court.

Various
Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 73, November, 1863

By way of contrast, there is a lovely English girl, with eyes as shy as violets, and a voice as sweet!  She has a sweet Gainsborough head, and a great Gainsborough hat, with a mighty plume in front of it, which makes a shadow over her quiet English eyes.  Then she has a sage-green robe, "mystic, wonderful," all embroidered with subtle devices and flowers, and birds of tender tint; very straight and tight in front, and adorned behind, along the spine, with large, strange, iridescent buttons.  The revival of taste, of the sense of beauty, in England, interests me deeply; what is there in a simple row of spinal buttons to make one dream--to _donnor a rever_, as they say here?  I think that a great aesthetic renascence is at hand, and that a great light will be kindled in England, for all the world to see.  There are spirits there that I should like to commune with; I think they would understand me.

Henry James
A Bundle of Letters

[088] _The origin of the Daisy_--When Christ was three years old his mother wished to twine him a birthday wreath. But as no flower was growing out of doors on Christmas eve, not in all the promised land, and as no made up flowers were to be bought, Mary resolved to prepare a flower herself. To this end she took a piece of bright yellow silk which had come down to her from David, and ran into the same, thick threads of white silk, thread by thread, and while thus engaged, she pricked her finger with the needle, and the pure blood stained some of the threads with crimson, whereat the little child was much affected. But when the winter was past and the rains were come and gone, and when spring came to strew the earth with flowers, and the fig tree began to put forth her green figs and the vine her buds, and when the voice or the turtle was heard in the land, then came Christ and took the tender plant with its single stem and egg shaped leaves and the flower with its golden centre and rays of white and red, and planted it in the vale of Nazareth. Then, taking up the cup of gold which had been presented to him by the wise men of the East, he filled it at a neighbouring fountain, and watered the flower and breathed upon it. And the plant grew and became the most perfect of plants, and it flowers in every meadow, when the snow disappears, and is itself the snow of spring, delighting the young heart and enticing the old men from the village to the fields. From then until now this flower has continued to bloom and although it may be plucked a

David Lester Richardson
Flowers and Flower-Gardens

Of this kind is an Experiment lately related to me by Mr. _Halley_, who, in diving deep into the Sea in a diving Vessel, found in a clear Sun-shine Day, that when he was sunk many Fathoms deep into the Water the upper part of his Hand on which the Sun shone directly through the Water and through a small Glass Window in the Vessel appeared of a red Colour, like that of a Damask Rose, and the Water below and the under part of his Hand illuminated by Light reflected from the Water below look'd green. For thence it may be gather'd, that the Sea-Water reflects back the violet and blue-making Rays most easily, and lets the red-making Rays pass most freely and copiously to great Depths. For thereby the Sun's direct Light at all great Depths, by reason of the predominating red-making Rays, must appear red; and the greater the Depth is, the fuller and intenser must that red be. And at such Depths as the violet-making Rays scarce penetrate unto, the blue-making, green-making, and yellow-making Rays being reflected from below more copiously than the red-making ones, must compound a green.

Isaac Newton
Opticks

For a fortnight the people had been denied sight of the god Jagannath [while his image was being painted anew]; and their grief changed into joy when, at the expiry of the period, the eye-painting (i.e., the last stage) being over, they could again see him. The Master went thither with all His followers. First marched Kashishwar, making a lane through the crowd, next went Govinda with a bowl of water. In front of the Master walked the Puri and the Bharati, and by His side Swarup and Adwaita, the other _bhaktas_ bringing up the rear. Anxiously did He go to Jagannath's temple and in passion of longing stepped beyond the rules, asking to see the fair face of the god in the dining room. The thirsty eyes of the Master ardently drank in the face of Krishna, like a pair of bees sucking in a lotus. The god's eyes surpassed the blooming lotus in beauty, his cheeks flashed radiance like a polished turquoise mirror, his lower lip was sweet as the Bandhuli flower, a light smile spread a ripple of nectar over his form. As the _bhaktas_ gazed on, the charm of the god's countenance increased every moment; their thirst increased with its gratification; their eyes could not move from that face. Thus did the Master with His following gaze at the god till noon, perspiring, trembling, weeping incessantly, and again checking these outbursts in order to have a clearer view of the deity. At the time of _bhog_ He began to sing _kirtan_, forgetful of everything else in the bliss of gazing. The _bhaktas_ led Him back to His quarters at noon. The servitors offered

Krishna das Kaviraja
Chaitanya's Life And Teachings

At last a low voice sung, all alone, clear and high as a bird in the air. After that, deep, deep silence settled on the whole congregation, and everybody dropped down on their knees. Then one of the men in scarlet and gold went a step higher on the altar, and took from it a gold cup, which he held high up in one hand. Out of this cup he lifted a round thing that looked more like a cracker than anything else, and held it up between his thumb and finger. I was going to ask E. E. what it was all about, but she was bending forward, with her face almost on the floor, and everybody around us was taking an extra kneel, which I did not understand. Everything kept still, the congregation bent close to the floor, and everybody seemed to be thinking to themselves for as much as ten minutes. Then the whole congregation lifted its head. The boys in red and white frocks swung the brass lamps, which sent clouds of sweet, white smoke up amongst the flowers, and out came another burst of music, louder, sweeter, and more triumphant than anything I had heard yet. It just carried me right off from my feet.

Our modern feeling for forests is not only at times sombre and oppressive; we also derive a sense of sublime composure from them. This latter sentiment was hardly shared by the mediaevals. Dante was only following earlier poets when he located the opening of Hell by a gloomy wood, and his repeated metaphor of life as a forest, "confusing," "gloomy," and "dark," accords with the feeling of his age. He would not have appreciated Chateaubriand. He has left us, however, a rare and interesting reference to the soughing in the pines on the Adriatic, which shows how well his ear could interpret its solemn beauty. The mystical apple-tree, moreover, near the close of the _Purgatory_, whose blossoms are so exquisitely defined, indirectly reminds us how exceptional is a mention of fruit trees in flower. Yet the Provencal, French, and German lyrics constantly begin with the joyousness of spring, and the happy contrast from the season that destroys flowers and foliage. Nothing is more conventional than these nature preludes. Over and over, till we close our books impatiently, we hear reiterations of the charm of spring and summer. There is a slender kind of grace and sincerity that would lend interest to many of these, if they had come down by themselves; but they lie together in books in wearisome uniformity. A dandelion in April is much prettier than the dandelions in June. These preludes are usually in keeping with the love-phrases that follow, cold and imitative. For poets thought and felt in exterior

Edward Tompkins McLaughlin
Studies in Mediaeval Life and Literature

This grows 4ft. high, and the foliage, though fern-like, has an untidy appearance, from the irregular way in which it is disposed. It is herbaceous, and comes from the Caucasus. The flowers are somewhat singular, arranged in corymbs of a multiplex character; they are very large, often 5in. across. The smaller corymbs are arched or convex, causing the cluster or compound corymb to present an uneven surface; the small flowers are of rich old gold colour, and have the appearance of knotted gold cord; they are very rigid, almost hard. The leaves are linear, pinnate, lobed and serrated, hairy, rough, and numerously produced. From the untidy and tall habit of this subject, it should be planted in the background; its flowers, however, will claim a prominent position in a cut state; they are truly rich, the undulating corymbs have the appearance of embossed gold plate, and their antique colour and form are compared to gold braid by a lady who admires "old-fashioned" flowers. It will last for several weeks after being cut, and even out of water for many days. A few heads placed in an old vase, without any other flowers, are rich and characteristic, whilst on bronze figures and ewers in a dry state, and more especially on ebony or other black decorations, it may be placed with a more than floral effect. In short, rough as the plant is, it is worth growing for its quaint and rich flowers alone; it is seldom met with. Soil and propagation, the same as for _A. gyptica_.

John Wood
Hardy Perennials and Old Fashioned Flowers

The first mad fury of the squall lasted for only some five minutes; but after that it still continued to blow so fiercely that we were compelled to scud for fully three hours before we dared venture to round-to. Then, having first with great difficulty clewed up and furled the fore-topsail, we watched our opportunity and, taking advantage of a momentary lull, put the helm over, and brought the ship to on the starboard tack.  We now, for the first time, had an opportunity of realising the full strength of the wind, which still blew with such violence as to careen the ship gunwale-to, even under the small canvas which remained exposed to the blast.  It was still intensely dark overhead; but the surface of the sea, highly phosphorescent, and scourged into foam by the wind, gave forth a pale lambent light against which the hull of the ship and all her rigging up to the level of the horizon stood out with tolerable distinctness.  The swell, meanwhile, was rapidly rising, but there were as yet no waves, the wind instantly catching any inequality in the surface of the water and carrying it away to leeward in the form of spindrift.  This lasted until daybreak, when the strength of the gale had so far moderated that--despite the fact of the wind having backed to the southward--I ventured to set the fore-topsail, close-reefed; more, however, for the sake of steadying the ship than for any other advantage that I expected to get from it.

Harry Collingwood
The Cruise of the "Esmeralda"

To suggest the ordinary appearance of calm water--to lay on canvas as much evidence of surface and reflection as may make us understand that water is meant--is, perhaps, the easiest task of art; and even ordinary running or falling water may be sufficiently rendered, by observing careful curves of projection with a dark ground, and breaking a little white over it, as we see done with judgment and truth by Ruysdael. But to paint the actual play of hue on the reflective surface, or to give the forms and fury of water when it begins to show itself--to give the flashing and rocket-like velocity of a noble cataract, or the precision and grace of the sea wave, so exquisitely modeled, tho so mockingly transient--so mountainous in its form, yet so cold-like in its motion--with its variety and delicacy of color, when every ripple and wreath has some peculiar passage of reflection upon itself alone, and the radiating and scintillating sunbeams are mixt with the dim hues of transparent depth and dark rock below;--to do this perfectly is beyond the power of man; to do it even partially, has been granted to but one or two, even of those few who have dared to attempt it....

Various
The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to Prose, Vol. VI (of X)--Great Britain and Ireland IV

When we have decided upon our subject, the next step is to set our camera in the proper position to permit the plate to take in what we wish. Usually it will be necessary to shift our position several times until we find the proper position. The tripod should be firmly set on the ground and the camera made as level as possible. The camera should then be focussed with the stop or diaphragm wide open. The fact that the image is inverted as it appears on the ground glass will at first be confusing to a beginner, but we soon become accustomed to it and never give it a thought. Our focussing cloth should be tightly drawn about the head to keep out as much outside light as possible. At first we have some difficulty in seeing the image on the ground glass, but after we learn to look at the glass and not through it we should have no further trouble in this respect. By moving the lens backward and forward we finally strike a position where the principal image to be photographed will appear sharp and clear. The camera is then in focus, but we shall discover that other objects more in the background or foreground will appear blurred and confused. Often it is desirable to have a blurred or “fuzzy” background, but if we desire to bring the indistinct objects in focus we must “stop down” our lens first by trying the No. 8 stop, and if this does not accomplish the results the No. 16, and so on until we get what we wish. As we look at the image on the ground glass, it will be evident that as we stop down our lens,

Claude H. Miller
Outdoor Sports and Games

It cleared in the afternoon though the wind was still very high and we set off--on donkeys this time--and mother in her chair, to the other side of the island. Two or three girls, handsome enough in their bright skirts, bare brown legs and thick braids of hair, came with us to take charge of the donkeys. As we were going up a steep flight of steps (which the donkeys did very well and deliberately) they began to tell us about Mrs. Norton and said we should pass her house. It was amusing to hear them talk of her wonderful luck in being married to this "bel Inglese"; "adesso fa la signora sta in camera tutto il giorno--colle mani bianche" ("Now she does the lady, sits in her room all day with white hands"). We passed several houses rather better than the ordinary fisherman's cottage and then came upon a nice little white house, standing rather high, with a garden and gate, which they told us was Mrs. Norton's. We stopped a moment at the gate, looking at the garden; mother's bearers put her chair down and gave themselves a rest, and we saw a lady appear very simply dressed in something dark, who came to the gate and asked us in very nice English with a pretty accent if we would come in and rest, as the day was hot and we had had a steep climb. We heard all the fisher-girls giggling and saying "Eccola la Signora." We were half ashamed to have been seen gaping in at her garden, but the invitation was simply and cordially given, and we accepted. Her manner to mother was quite pretty, respectful to the older lady. We went into

Mary Alsop King Waddington
Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Life

To show that the sentiments of mankind with regard to female beauty, have been very various in different ages and nations, and that it is not possible to establish a standard which shall comprehend all, without discriminations, a few facts may be mentioned. Among the ancients, a small forehead and joined eyebrows were much admired in a female countenance; and in Persia, large joined eyebrows are still highly esteemed. In some parts of Asia, black teeth and white hair, are essential ingredients in the character of a beauty; and in the Marian Islands, it is customary among the ladies to blacken their teeth with herbs, and to black their hair with certain liquors. Beauty, in China and Japan, is composed of a large countenance, small, and half-concealed eyes, a broad nose, little and useless feet, and a prominent belly. The Flat-head Indians compress the heads of their children between two boards, with a view to enlarge and beautify the face; some tribes compress the head laterally; others depress the crown, and others make the head as round as possible. "The Moors of Africa," says Park, "have singular ideas of female perfection; the gracefulness of figure and motion, and a countenance enlivened by expression, are by no means operative points in their standard; with them corpulency and beauty are terms nearly synonymous. Or women of even moderate pretensions, must be one who cannot walk without a slave under each arm to support her, and a perfect beauty is a load for a camel. In

Alexander Walker
Beauty

mantelpiece--a marvellous piece of work, represents the sacrifice of Isaac. A state bed and a massive candelabrum in oak, surmounted by a figure carved by Victor Hugo, are also noticeable objects; but they are almost eclipsed by the splendid door of entrance, which, as seen from the interior, is as brilliant as a church window. Two spiral columns sustain a pediment of oak with Renaissance grotesques, surrounded by arabesques and monsters; it advances with two folds, which are resplendent with paintings, among which are eight large figures of the martyrs, attired in gold and purple, the principal being St. Peter. There is inscribed on the lintel, '_Surge, perge_,' and close by the words of Lucan, 'The conquerors have the gods, with the conquered Cato remains.' There are also numerous maxims, poetic and otherwise. Hugo's own room was the look-out--a little belvedere open in all directions, but very small in extent. It contains the poet's writing-table and an iron bed. Whether regarded from the point of view of its noble situation, or from that of the artistic treasures which find a lodgment in its interior, Hauteville House is a place to inspire a poet of a far less expansive imagination than Victor Hugo.

G. Barnett Smith
Victor Hugo: His Life and Works

The railway from Cape Town runs so close to the shore of the bay that you cannot hear yourself speak for the noise of bursting surf. It brought me to Simonstown in the full glare and heat of the afternoon. The prisoners were encamped about a hundred yards out of the town, and as we walked through the street we spoke with pity of men imprisoned on such a day. What we expected I do not quite know--dungeons perhaps, or cells hewn out of the rock--but it was with something like a shock of disappointment or relief (according to our notions of appropriate treatment for prisoners) that we caught our first view of the encampment. Just beyond the town the hillside takes a gentler slope, dipping a lawn of sea-grass into the water; and it was upon this charming spot, enclosed with a double fence, that the prisoners were quartered. We pressed our faces against the wires and stared, much as one stares in the Zoo at a cageful of newly-arrived animals that have cost a great deal of money and maybe a life or two. Fine, big men, stalwart and burned brown by the sun; stern-looking, but with that air of large contentment they wear who live much alone and out of doors; massive of jaw and forehead, moulded after a grand pattern. They were lying on the grass, standing in little groups, sauntering up and down in the hot sunshine, playing cricket with ponderous energy, bathing and sporting in the clear apple-green water. It was not their contentment that surprised me, but the perfection of their circumstances. They were

Filson Young
The Relief of Mafeking

We went first to the Cathedral, built on the site of the great mosque of Abou Youssuf Yakoub. The tall Giralda beckoned to us over the tops of the intervening buildings, and finally a turn in the street brought us to the ancient Moorish gateway on the northern side. This is an admirable specimen of the horse-shoe arch, and is covered with elaborate tracery. It originally opened into the court, or _haram_, of the mosque, which still remains, and is shaded by a grove of orange trees. The Giralda, to my eye, is a more perfect tower than the Campanile of Florence, or that of San Marco, at Venice, which is evidently an idea borrowed from it. The Moorish structure, with a base of fifty feet square, rises to the height of two hundred and fifty feet. It is of a light pink color, and the sides, which are broken here and there by exquisitely proportioned double Saracenic arches, are covered from top to bottom with arabesque tracery, cut in strong relief. Upon this tower, a Spanish architect has placed a tapering spire, one hundred feet high, which fortunately harmonizes with the general design, and gives the crowning grace to the work.

Bayard Taylor
The Lands of the Saracen

It is probable that the genus _Euonymus_ is more generally known than that of _Celastrus_, from which the order takes its name; besides, the latter is composed of unfamiliar genera, so it is more likely that the reader will not care about any reference to them; it may concern him more to know that the above somewhat long name belongs to a very dwarf hardy evergreen shrub, having a neat habit and very beautiful foliage. This variety is one of many forms which come under the name _E. japonicus_, none of which, however, have long been cultivated in this country, the date of the introduction of the type being 1804. The genus is remarkable for the number of its species having ornamental foliage, and not less so, perhaps, for the insignificance of their flowers. The species under notice (_E. japonicus_) in cultivation has proved sportive, which habit has been taken advantage of, whence the numerous forms, including the one I have selected for these remarks. Some of the Spindle Trees do not flower in this climate, and others, which do, produce no seed; these facts are in connection with the more finely leaf-marked sorts, and it may be inferred that such unfruitfulness arises from their hybrid nature or abnormal tendency, as seen in "sports."

John Wood
Hardy Perennials and Old Fashioned Flowers

beside him, holding his thin white hand in hers.  Often they talked about that wonderful day in the country, where they had seen the roses. Often, too, they talked about Jesus, and the still more beautiful country where He lived.  The children were very ignorant, but they had been to Sunday School, and learnt something about the dear Lord who loves children.  One cold, dark day, little Willie was much worse, and he said to his sister--"Oh!  I wish I could see a rose once more.  I wish you would go and get me one of those roses we saw that day!"  So the little sister, who loved him dearly, set out to walk to the place where they had seen the flowers.  After a long and weary journey, she came to the field where they had played, and the garden where the roses grew.  But the field and the garden were white with snow, and there were no roses there.  The little girl was worn out with hunger and fatigue, and she dropped on her knees in the snow, and prayed, and this was her prayer--"Dear Jesus, send me one rose, only one, for little Willie."  Just then a carriage came along the road, and the lady who rode in it had a beautiful red rose in her hand, which had grown in a greenhouse.  She dropped it from the window, I suppose, by accident, but when the little girl saw it lying on the snow, she thought that Jesus had sent it to her, and took it up lovingly to carry to her brother.  But she had no more strength to struggle through the cold night, and when the morning came they found her dead upon the white

H. J. Wilmot-Buxton
The Life of Duty, v. 2

It was at the time of year when the heather is red. It grew over the sand-hills in thick clumps. From low tree-like stems close-growing green branches raised their hardy ever-green leaves and unfading flowers. They seemed not to be made of ordinary, juicy flower substance, but of dry, hard scales. They were very insignificant in size and shape; nor was their fragrance of much account. Children of the open moors, they had not unfolded in the still air where lilies open their alabaster petals; nor did they grow in the rich soil from which roses draw nourishment for their swelling crowns. What made them flowers was really their color, for they were glowing red. They had received the color-giving sunshine in plenty. They were no pallid cellar growth; the blessed gaiety and strength of health lay over all the blossoming heath.

Selma Lagerlof
Invisible Links

_Evening Dress_ of white _tulle_, worn over a _jape_ of rich pink satin; the waist and point of a moderate length; the sleeves and front of the corsage covered with fullings of _tulle_, clasped at equal distances by narrow bands of green satin; the skirt extremely full, and looped up on each side; the trimming, which reaches from the waist on each side the point to the bottom of the skirt, composed of loops of green satin ribbon edged with gold. Magnificent ribbons or beautiful flowers accompany the light trimmings which ornament the lighter evening dresses. A young lady is never more beautiful than when dressed in one of those robes, so rich in their simplicity, and distinguished by their embroideries, form, and trimmings. A robe of tarlatane, trimmed with seven flounces, deeply scalloped and worked with straw colored silk, is much in vogue. The same trimming, proportionably narrow, covers the berthe and sleeves. When worked with white silk, this dress is still more stylish. White or black lace canezous, worn with low-bodied silk dresses, are very much admired. They are open over the chest, and more or less worn with basques or straight trimmings round the waist, with half long sleeves, fastened up on the front, for the arm, by a ribbon bow.

Various
The International Monthly, Volume 3, No. 2, May, 1851

Another sound made me look at the house again, and I was not in the least surprised when I saw Henri Deslois standing framed in the doorway.  His head was bare, and his arms were swinging.  He stepped out into the garden and looked far off into the plain.  His hair was parted on the side, and was a little thin at the temples.  He remained perfectly still for a long minute, then he turned to me.  There were only two trees between us.  He took a step forward, took hold of the young tree in front of him with one hand, and the branches in flower made a bouquet over his head.  It grew so light that I thought the bark of the trees was glittering, and every flower was shining.  And in Henri Deslois's eyes there was so deep a gentleness that I went to him without any shame.  He didn't move when I stopped in front of him.  His face became whiter than his smock, and his lips quivered.  He took my two hands and pressed them hard against his temples.  Then he said very low, "I am like a miser who has found his treasure again."  At that moment the bell of Sainte Montagne Church began to ring.  The sound of the bell ran up the hillsides, and after resting over our heads for a moment ran on and died away in the distance.

Marguerite Audoux
Marie Claire

cars flew by, looked to Fleda constantly like finger-posts of the past; and back, at their bidding, her thoughts and her spirits went, back and forward, comparing, in her own mental view what had once been so gay and genial with its present bleak and chill condition. And from this, in sudden contrast, came a strangely fair and bright image of heaven  its exchange of peace for all this turmoil  of rest for all this weary bearing up of mind and body against the ills that beset both  of its quiet home for this unstable strange world, where nothing is at a standstill  of perfect and pure society for the unsatisfactory and wearying friendships that the most are here. The thought came to Fleda like one of those unearthly clear north-western skies from which a storm-cloud has rolled away, that seem almost to mock earth with their distance from its defilement and agitations. "Truly I know that it shall be well with them that fear God!" She could remember Hugh  she could not think of the words without him and yet say them with the full bounding assurance. And in that weary and uneasy afternoon, her mind rested and delighted itself with two lines of George Herbert, that only a Christian can well understand

Elizabeth Wetherell
Queechy, Volume II

Balder was the most god-like of all the gods, because he was the purest and the best. Wherever he went his coming was like the coming of sunshine, and all the beauty of summer was but the shining of his face. When men's hearts were white like the light, and their lives clear as the day, it was because Balder was looking down upon them with those soft, clear eyes that were open windows to the soul of God. He had always lived in such a glow of brightness that no darkness had ever touched him; but one morning, after Idun and Brage had gone, Balder's face was sad and troubled. He walked slowly from room to room in his palace Breidablik, stainless as the sky when April showers have swept across it because no impure thing had ever crossed the threshold, and his eyes were heavy with sorrow. In the night terrible dreams had broken his sleep, and made it a long torture. The air seemed to be full of awful changes for him, and for all the gods. He knew in his soul that the shadow of the last great day was sweeping on; as he looked out and saw the worlds lying in light and beauty, the fields yellow with waving grain, the deep fiords flashing back the sunbeams from their clear depths, the verdure clothing the loftiest mountains, and knew that over all this darkness and desolation would come, with silence of reapers and birds, with fading of leaf and flower, a great sorrow fell on his heart.

Charles Madison Curry
Children's Literature

"And be sorry for it afterwards," Colonel John repeated quietly. "Kinsman, come here," he continued with unusual gravity. And taking Uncle Ulick by the arm he led him to the end of the garden, where the walk looked on the lake and bore some likeness to a roughly made terrace. Pausing where the black masses of the Florence yews, most funereal of trees, still sheltered their forms from the house, he stood silent. The mist moved slowly on the surface of the water and crawled about their feet. But the sky to eastward was growing red, the lower clouds were flushed with rose-colour, the higher hills were warm with the coming of the sun. Here and there on the slopes which faced them a cotter's hovel stood solitary in its potato patch or its plot of oats. In more than one place three or four cottages made up a tiny hamlet, from which the smoke would presently rise. To English eyes, to our eyes, the scene, these oases in the limitless brown of the bog, had been wild and rude; but to Colonel John, long familiar with the treeless plains of Poland and the frozen flats of Lithuania, it spoke of home, it spoke of peace and safety and comfort, and even of a narrow plenty. The soft Irish air lapped it, the distances were mellow, memories of boyhood rounded off all that was unsightly or cold.

Stanley John Weyman
The Wild Geese

When you were a bird you knew the fairies pretty well, and you remember a good deal about them in your babyhood, which it is a great pity you can’t write down, for gradually you forget, and I have heard of children who declared that they had never once seen a fairy. Very likely if they said this in the Kensington Gardens, they were standing looking at a fairy all the time. The reason they were cheated was that she pretended to be something else. This is one of their best tricks. They usually pretend to be flowers, because the court sits in the Fairies’ Basin, and there are so many flowers there, and all along the Baby Walk, that a flower is the thing least likely to attract attention. They dress exactly like flowers, and change with the seasons, putting on white when lilies are in and blue for blue-bells, and so on. They like crocus and hyacinth time best of all, as they are partial to a bit of colour, but tulips (except white ones, which are the fairy-cradles) they consider garish, and they sometimes put off dressing like tulips for days, so that the beginning of the tulip weeks is almost the best time to catch them.

I turned my dazzled eyes down again and looked into the delicious darkness under the bushes. The ground was brown with fallen leaves, or green with ferns; and here and there a slant ray of sunlight pierced through the shade, and flashed on the brown leaves, and on a gray stem, and on a crimson jewel which hung on the stem, and there, again, on a bright orange one; and as my eye became accustomed to the darkness, I saw that the stems and larger boughs far away into the wood were dotted with pods, crimson, or yellow, or green, of the size and shape of a small hand closed with the fingers straight out. They were the cacao-pods, full of what are called at home cacao-nibs. And there lay a heap of them, looking like a heap of gay flowers; and by them sat their brown owner, picking them to pieces and laying the seeds to dry on a cloth. I went up and told him that I came from England, and never saw cacao before, though I had been eating and drinking it all my life; at which news he grinned amusement till his white teeth and eyeballs made a light in that dark place, and offered me a fresh broken pod, that I might taste the pink sour sweet pulp in which the rows of the nibs lie packed, a pulp which I found very pleasant and refreshing.

Various
With the World's Great Travellers, Volume 2

Starworts or Aster-like flowers of the Compositae family are found in many parts of the world. In far-off China a flower-loving Catholic missionary noted a showy flower of late summer and early autumn. That was nearly two hundred years ago. The flower was what is botanically known as Callistephus, a Greek term meaning beautiful crown. From a scientific standpoint it was not an Aster at all, though closely related to that family. This wild Daisy-like Callistephus bore many graceful single flowers about the size of our largest wild Asters. The flowers consisted of a single row of light bluish-purple ray petals surrounding a golden disk-like center. In 1731 the Jesuit missionary sent seeds of it to France. It was liked from the first, and its early French cultivators politely named it _Reine Marguerite_--Queen Daisy.

Various
The Mayflower, January, 1905

_Peduncle._--This, as already remarked, cannot be distinctly separated from the capitulum; it is much compressed; it is composed of unusually thin and delicate membrane, transversely wrinkled and thickly clothed with long cylindrical horns or spines of chitine. These horns (fig. 8 _c´_) are not the analogues of the spines which are articulated on the external membranes of many Pedunculated and Sessile Cirripedes, but of the calcified scales on the peduncle of Scalpellum and Pollicipes; for they pass through the membrane (the underlying corium being marked by their bases) and are persistent, being added to, like the valves, during each successive period of growth. Their bases are concave, so that a section of the layers of growth exhibits a series of pointed cones, one within another. Each spine is nearly cylindrical, irregularly curled, and nodose or slightly enlarged at intervals: the apex smooth and pointed; the exterior surface longitudinally and finely ribbed, like the valves. The spines increase irregularly in size from the bottom to the top of the peduncle, those at the carinal and rostral ends being generally the longest; they point upwards and hide the bases of the valves. They are not arranged symmetrically, and new ones are formed over all parts of the peduncle. They are formed of the same substance as the valves, and do not contain any calcareous matter. These horns are yellowish, generally ringed with pale and dark blueish brown, which on pressure becomes slightly opalescent with pale blue and fiery red:

Charles Darwin
A Monograph on the Sub-class Cirripedia (Volume 1 of 2)

In spite of the undercurrent of criticism against the worldliness of the clergy which discovers itself to the historian of the later Middle Ages, the social movements connected with incorporated Christianity were vital enough to justify the existence of the Church.  It acted as the traditional center of philanthropy, and its immense wealth made this feature a real force among the poor.  But the other associated functions were slowly separating themselves from their original connection and striking roots in the secular life of the time.  In place of the cathedral towns clustered around the cathedral and the bishop's palace, the commercial towns pushed to the front both in wealth and importance.  The wealthy merchant or banker vied in riches with the churchman.  Art and literature passed from the hands of the Church to the laity.  This process was very gradual, but steady and persistent.  By the time of the reformation, it was in full swing. Beneath the framework of feudalism and the Mediaeval Church, a new society had been forming, far more complex than the old and full of potentialities which we are only now beginning to measure.  Industry, commerce, geographical discovery, national literature, guilds, municipal governments, courts, science, secular art, philosophy, all were present either in bud or in full flower.  Out of the fertile and fearless life which came from the interplay of these tendencies and activities, new ideas and values were born and soon found or created appropriate organs for their expression apart from the Church.  Try as

Roy Wood Sellars
The Next Step in Religion

God-fearing Thomas and his brothers added to their mother's artistic equipment not only a list of variously shaded brown from the bark of the black walnut tree, and of yellows from the leaves and twigs of the sumac and wild cherry, but numberless others. She was an untiring color hunter, an experimenter with the juices of plants and flowers and berries, and with every unwash-outable stain. She set herself to the exciting task of repetition and variation. She tried the velvet shell of young butternuts upon threads of her white wool, and found a spring green, and if she spread over it a thinnest wash of hemlock bark, they were olive, and if she dipped them in mitigated indigo, lo! they were of the green of sea hollows. The butternut in all stages of its growth, from the smallest and greenest to the rusty black of the ripe ones, and the blackest black of the dried shell, was a mine of varied color; and the brass kettle of from ten to twenty quarts capacity, which served so many purposes in domestic life, could be tranquilly carrying out some of her propositions in the corner of the wide chimney while dinner was cooking, or in the ashes of the burned-out embers while the household slept.

Candace Wheeler
The Development of Embroidery in America

In Figure75, _B_, is shown such a flower as it appears in the winter and early spring following. The leaves are thick and fleshy, closely pressed together, as is seen by dividing the flower lengthwise, and each leaf ends in a long point (_D_). The ovules are still very small. As the growth of the tree is resumed in the spring, the flower (cone) increases rapidly in size and becomes decidedly green in color, the ovules increasing also very much in size. If a scale from such a cone is examined about the first of June, the ovules will probably be nearly full-grown, oval, whitish bodies two to three millimetres in length. A careful longitudinal section of the scale through the ovule will show the general structure. Such a section is shown in Figure77, _G_. Comparing this with the sporangia of the pteridophytes, the first difference that strikes us is the presence of an outer coat or integument (_in._), which is absent in the latter. The single macrospore (_sp._) is very large and does not lie free in the cavity of the sporangium, but is in close contact with its wall. It is filled with a colorless tissue, the prothallium, and if mature, with care it is possible to see, even with a hand lens, two or more denser oval bodies (_ar._), the egg cells of the archegonia, which here are very large. The integument is not entirely closed at the top, but leaves a little opening through which the pollen spores entered when the flower was first formed.

Douglas Houghton Campbell
Elements of Structural and Systematic Botany

There is in Albany, New York, a lovely garden endeared to those who know it through the memory of a presence that lighted all places associated with it with the beauty of a noble life. It is the garden of the home of Mrs. Abraham Lansing, and was planted by her father and mother, General and Mrs. Peter Gansevoort, in 1846, having been laid out with taste and an art that has borne the test of over half a century's growth. In the garden are scores of old-time favorites: Flower de Luce, Peonies, Daffodils, and snowy Phlox; but instead of bending over the flower borders, let us linger awhile in the wonderful old Lilac walk. It is a glory of tender green and shaded amethyst and grateful hum of bees, the very voice of Spring. Every sense is gratified, even that of touch, when the delicate plumes of the fragrant Lilac blossoms brush your cheek as you walk through its path; there is no spot of fairer loveliness than this Lilac walk in May. It is a wonderful study of flickering light and grateful shade in midsummer. Look at its full-leaf charms opposite page 138; was there ever anything lovelier in any garden, at any time, than the green vista of this Lilac walk in July? But for the thoughtful garden-lover it has another beauty still, the delicacy and refinement of outline when the Lilac walk is bare of foliage, as is shown on page 220 and facing page 154. The very spirit of the Lilacs seems visible, etched with a purity of touch that makes them sentient, speaking beings, instead of silent plants. See the outlines of stem and branch against

Alice Morse Earle
Old-Time Gardens

Though it grows to a height of twenty feet in places, it can never properly be called a tree. Its downy stems are never very stout. They branch a good deal, and it should be noted that the branches are always given off in pairs, a branch from each side of the stem at exactly the same height; the leaves are produced in the same order. These leaves, which are three or four inches in length, are much wrinkled, heart-shaped, with a blunt, small end, white beneath, and the edges very finely toothed. The flower-cluster is a cyme, and it should be noted that all the white flowers comprised in it are of the same size and form, the corollas being funnel-shaped, with five lobes, and the five stamens are extruded from the mouth. The flowers, which are jointed to the stalks, are out in May and June, and the flattened oval fruits that follow are, as already stated, at first red, then black.

Edward Step
Wayside and Woodland Trees

It is very interesting to watch a plant grow, it is like taking part in creation. When all outside is cold and white, when the little children of the woodland are gone to their nurseries in the warm earth, and the empty nests on the bare trees fill with snow, my window-garden glows and smiles, making summer within while it is winter without. It is wonderful to see flowers bloom in the midst of a snow-storm! I have felt a bud "shyly doff her green hood and blossom with a silken burst of sound," while the icy fingers of the snow beat against the window-panes. What secret power, I wonder, caused this blossoming miracle? What mysterious force guided the seedling from the dark earth up to the light, through leaf and stem and bud, to glorious fulfilment in the perfect flower? Who could have dreamed that such beauty lurked in the dark earth, was latent in the tiny seed we planted? Beautiful flower, you have taught me to see a little way into the hidden heart of things. Now I understand that the darkness everywhere may hold possibilities better even than my hopes.

"Now I shall go and tell the student," said the goblin. With these words he went quietly up the back stairs to the garret, where the student lived. The student's candle was burning still, and the goblin peeped through the keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book which he had bought out of the shop. But how light the room was! From the book shot forth a ray of light which grew broad and full like the stem of a tree, from which bright rays spread upward and over the student's head. Each leaf was fresh, and each flower was like a beautiful female head--some with dark and sparkling eyes and others with eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear. The fruit gleamed like stars, and the room was filled with sounds of beautiful music. The little goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard of, any sight so glorious as this. He stood still on tiptoe, peeping in, till the light went out. The student no doubt had blown out his candle and gone to bed, but the little goblin remained standing there, listening to the music which still sounded, soft and beautiful--a sweet cradle song for the student who had lain down to rest.

Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales

sang Namgay Doola again and again, and I racked my brain for that lost tune. It was not till after dinner that I discovered some one had cut a square foot of velvet from the centre of my best camera-cloth. This made me so angry that I wandered down the valley in the hope of meeting the big brown bear. I could hear him grunting like a discontented pig in the poppy-field, and I waited shoulder deep in the dew-dripping Indian corn to catch him after his meal. The moon was at full and drew out the rich scent of the tasselled crop. Then I heard the anguished bellow of a Himalayan cow, one of the little black crummies no bigger than Newfoundland dogs. Two shadows that looked like a bear and her cub hurried past me. I was in act to fire when I saw that they had each a brilliant red head. The lesser animal was trailing some rope behind it that left a dark track on the path. They passed within six feet of me, and the shadow of the moonlight lay velvet-black on their faces. Velvet-black was exactly the word, for by all the powers of moonlight they were masked in the velvet of my camera cloth! I marvelled and went to bed. Next morning the Kingdom was in uproar. Namgay Doola, men said, had gone forth in the night and with a sharp knife had cut off the tail of a cow belonging to the rabbit-faced villager who had betrayed him. It was sacrilege unspeakable against the Holy Cow. The State desired his blood, but he had retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and windows with big stones, and defied the world.

Rudyard Kipling
The Kipling Reader

With solemn music, and attended by the apparitors, in their two-colored mantles, and the ancient pikemen, the few officials ascended the platform. The chief of the two Landammnner present took his station in front, between the two-handed swords, and began to address the assembly. Suddenly a dark cloud seemed to roll away from the faces of the people; commencing in front of the platform, and spreading rapidly to the edges of the compact throng, the hats disappeared, and the ten thousand faces, in the full light of the sun, blended into a ruddy mass. But no; each head retained its separate character, and the most surprising circumstance of the scene was the distinctness with which each human being held fast to his individuality in the multitude. Nature has drawn no object with so firm a hand, nor painted it with such tenacious clearness of color, as the face of man. The inverted crescent of sharp light had a different curve on each individual brow before me; the little illuminated dot on the end of the nose under it hinted at the form of the nostrils in shadow. As the hats had before concealed the faces, so now each face was relieved against the breast of the man beyond, and in front of me were thousands of heads to be seen, touching each other like so many ovals drawn on a dark plane.

Various
Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 118, August, 1867

It is a rustic jardiniere, or flower-pot. The first step toward making it is to find a small stump about ten inches high, and as odd and twisted in shape as possible. It should have a base broader than its top, and three or four little branches projecting from its sides. Carry this treasure home, brush off any dirt which may cling to it, and ornament it with mosses and lichens, glued on to look as natural as possible. Make three small cornucopias of pasteboard; cover them also with mosses and lichens, and fasten them to the stump between the forks of the branches, using small brads or tacks to keep them firm. Stuff the cornucopias with dry moss, and arrange in each a bouquet of grasses, autumn leaves, and dried ferns, dipping the end of each stem in flour paste, to make it secure in its place. Sprays of blackberry-vine or michella, and the satin-white pods of the old-fashioned "honesty," make an effective addition. When done, we have a delightful winter-garden, which will keep its beauty through the months of snow and sleet, and brighten any room it stands in. Nor is its use over when winter ends, for, inserting small glass phials in the cornucopias, fresh flowers can be kept in them as in a vase, and the grays and browns of the lichened wood set off their hues far better than any gay vase could.

Various
St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877-Nov 1878

I find it a good plan to grow this subject amongst tall and early flowering plants, such as lupins, foxgloves, and lilies, the old stems of which form ample supports for the climber; moreover, they are rendered less unsightly from being thus furnished anew with leaf and flower, even though not their own. Another method is in early summer to place a short twiggy branch over the pushing growths; it will soon become covered, and if not too large, the ends of the shoots will slightly outgrow the twigs and hang down in a pleasing manner. The plant should be started in light sandy loam and have a warm situation, otherwise flowers will be scarce and the whole specimen have a weedy appearance. When once it becomes established, it will be found to spread rapidly by means of its running roots, which, unless checked, will soon become a pest. I simply pull out all growths except such as shoot up in the desired position, and so continue to treat them as weeds throughout the growing season. Stems furnished with flowers a yard or more long, in a cut state, make rich festoons; single blooms (the smaller ones) look well as "buttonholes," being neat and effective, without gaudiness. I ought to state that a succession of flowers is kept up for fully three months; this fact adds not a little to the value of this handsome flesh-coloured bloomer. Roots may be transplanted at any time; the smallest piece will produce a blooming plant the first season, if put into a proper soil and situation.

John Wood
Hardy Perennials and Old Fashioned Flowers

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,-- Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field. Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. "Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered! Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet; This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. Such in the soul of man is faith.  The blossoms of passion, Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe."

A sudden silence fell upon them.  The voices of their companions seemed very far in the distance; the warm breath of the flowers appeared to be drowning their senses; they tried to speak, but could not; they were so near to each other that the two long blades of a palm served to hide them.  In the midst of this profound silence a voice that was like and yet unlike Maruja's said twice, "Go! go!" but each time seemed hushed in the stifling silence.  The next moment the palms were pushed aside, the dark figure of a young man slipped like some lithe animal through the shrubbery, and Maruja found herself standing, pale and rigid, in the middle of the walk, in the full glare of the light, and looking down the corridor toward her approaching companions.  She was furious and frightened; she was triumphant and trembling; without thought, sense, or reason, she had been kissed by Henry Guest, and--had returned it.

Bret Harte
Maruja

Beyond the ancient town and its dark green orange gardens, between the tilled plain and the shore, the sandhills roll away to north and south, with here a dwelling, there a patch of herbage.  To Iskender, lying prone on the crest of the highest dune, caught up into the laugh of sunset, their undulations appeared flushed and softly dimpled, like the flesh of babes.  Returning homeward, hungry, from a day of much adventure, he had espied from this eminence a camp of nomads in a certain hollow, and at once forgot his supper in desire to sketch it. He had settled to the work with such complete absorption that Elias Abdul Messih, his companion, for once grew tired of the sound of his own voice, and left him, with a sigh for his obtuseness.  And Iskender was glad to be rid of him, to lie alone and nurse his secret joy; for he had this day made the acquaintance of an Englishman, whose affability restored his pride of life.  Might Allah bless that light-haired youth, for he was the very lord of kindness, and beautiful as an angel from Allah.  His cheeks had the same rose-bloom as the Sitt Hilda's, while his blue eyes danced and sparkled like sea-waves in sunlight.  How different from the priest of the Mission, whose gaze was of green ice!  Moreover, he had praised Iskender's painting and taught him a trick of colouring, which consisted in washing the page yellow and letting it dry before setting to work on it.  The artist had never been so happy since the day, six months ago, when the missionary had

Marmaduke Pickthall
The Valley of the Kings

Maelzel now informs the company that he will disclose to their view the mechanism of the machine. Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys he unlocks with one of them, door marked ~ in the cut above, and throws the cupboard fully open to the inspection of all present. Its whole interior is apparently filled with wheels, pinions, levers, and other machinery, crowded very closely together, so that the eye can penetrate but a little distance into the mass. Leaving this door open to its full extent, he goes now round to the back of the box, and raising the drapery of the figure, opens another door situated precisely in the rear of the one first opened. Holding a lighted candle at this door, and shifting the position of the whole machine repeatedly at the same time, a bright light is thrown entirely through the cupboard, which is now clearly seen to be full, completely full, of machinery. The spectators being satisfied of this fact, Maelzel closes the back door, locks it, takes the key from the lock, lets fall the drapery of the figure, and comes round to the front. The door marked I, it will be remembered, is still open. The exhibiter now proceeds to open the drawer which lies beneath the cupboards at the bottom of the box--for although there are apparently two drawers, there is really only one--the two handles and two key holes being intended merely for ornament. Having opened this drawer to its full extent, a small cushion, and a set of chessmen, fixed in a frame work made to support them perpendicularly, are discovered.

Edgar Allan Poe
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe

In the moist portions of the jungle toward the foot of the hill were whole groves of the fragrant pandanus, ferns of infinite variety, and a species of wild mignonette with a perfume like that of commingled strawberries and lemon. Now and then we paused beneath the thick green foliage of the _Magnolia grandiflora_, as it towered in stately grandeur above its sister flowers, acknowledged queen of the parterre, and dispensing with genuine Oriental profusion its rare and delicious perfume. A step farther and our gaze was riveted by the modest purity of the spotless japonica, the fragrant tuberose and Cape jessamine, the graceful passion-flower, with its royal beauty and storied reminiscences, the peerless dauk-male, fragrant and fair, the _Kalla Indica_, with its five long petals of heavenly blue, the gold-plant of the Chinese, and crimson boon-gah-riah of the Malays, the last two consecrated symbols in the religious rites of those nations. What a medley of sweets, flaunting their gay colors in the bright tropical sunshine! Then the innumerable company of roses--tea, moss, perpetual, cluster, climbing, variegated, and a score of others--how fair, fresh and fragrant they are, peerless, queen-like still, even amid such a gorgeous array of ripe floral charms! These, and a thousand others for which we have no names in our language, are scattered profusely over those sunny lands of dreamy beauty, vieing with each other in rare, rich perfume, exquisite grace of form and matchless blending of their

Various
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. XII, No. 29. August, 1873.

At the time of Denis O'Meara's arrival, he was darning the widow Joyce's thatch for her, and "not killin' himself ever the job," as people said, when they reckoned how many days he had been visible crawling about on the top of her little house, a conspicuous position in which he looked, Mrs. Con Ryan remarked, "a quarer great gawk than he did on dry lan'." He was occupied thus on the first afternoon that Denis walked up there with some of the other lads, and while they talked to Mrs. Joyce and Theresa underneath, the thatcher took a leisurely and critical survey of the scarlet and golden newcomer, from his wonderfully polished boots to his sleek dark head and fierce moustache. The verdict he pronounced to himself with unfeigned satisfaction was, "Grandeur's no name for him." Hugh himself, of large and lumbering frame, had a shag of reddish flaxen hair, which made thatch-like eaves above his small, light-blue eyes and high burnt-brick-coloured cheek-bones. He wore whitey-brown rags. After the rest had gone on and in, he slithered down to the ground and told Theresa, who was still standing by the door, that she didn't look the size of a bit of a lady-bird beside the soldier fellow. If anybody else had made this personal remark, Theresa might have been a little hurt by it, as she wished herself of more imposing stature; but sure nobody minded poor Hugh McInerney; at any rate she said, "Aye, he's a terrible big man, isn't he? Apt to knock the head off himself he'd be if he was offerin' to come in at our door."

Barlow Jane
Strangers at Lisconnel

When the sun began to go down, Monsieur Pickard Leberfink invited the family to go into his garden, which adjoined their own, and take a little refreshment. Beside Wacht's new possession the noble decorator and gilder's garden formed a most ridiculous and extraordinary contrast. Whilst almost too small in size, so that the only thing it could perhaps boast in its favour was the good height at which it was situated, it was laid out in Dutch style, the trees and hedges clipped with the shears in the most scrupulous and pedantic fashion. The slender stems of the fruit-trees standing in the flower-beds looked very pretty in their coats of light blue and rose tints, and pale yellow, and other colours. Leberfink had varnished them, and so beautified Nature. Moreover they saw in the trees the apples of the Hesperides.[17]

E. T. A. Hoffmann
Weird Tales, Vol. II.

=FRITILLARIA.=--There are fifty species or more belonging to this genus, but many of them, although highly interesting, are so dull in colour or small in blossom, that they are only likely to be met with in botanical collections. The common Crown Imperial (_F. imperialis_), shown in Plate 16, figs. 65 and 66, with its sturdy stems, 2 to 3 feet high, bright green wavy leaves, and bright yellow drooping blossoms, is probably the best known; but there are many forms of it in which the flowers vary in colour from yellow to orange and bright red. The Snake's Head (_F. Meleagris_) is another well-known species to be seen growing naturally in moist meadows in parts of England. Its beautiful white, rosy or purple blossoms (see Plate 8, fig. 33) droop from the stalks, 1 to 1-1/2 feet high in April and May, and are beautifully chequered with deeper coloured bands. For naturalising in the grass with Narcissi, Dog's Tooth Violets, &c., this is a very valuable plant. _F. Moggridgei_, a dwarf form of the purple, brown, and yellow _delphinensis_, is another good garden plant shown on Plate 8, fig. 31. The following kinds may be used for naturalising in the grass or for grouping in nooks of the rock-garden:--_Fusco-lutea_, _aurea_, _citrina_, _lusitanica_, _lutea_, _askabadensis_ (finely figured in "FLORA AND SYLVA,") _discolor_, _pallidiflora_, _pudica_, _Thunbergi_, _Whittalli_, all with yellow or greenish-yellow blossoms, and ranging from 6 to 12 inches high. To these may be added _F. recurva_ (Plate 8, fig. 34), a Californian species,

John Weathers
Beautiful Bulbous Plants

At such times the seeds of all sorts of little annual plants, including grasses, daisies, lupines, and a host of others, sprout quickly, and give rise to a carpet of vegetation as varied and beautiful as that of the prairie. Thus the desert has not only its own peculiar bushes and succulents but many of the products of vegetation in swamps, grasslands, and forests. Though much of the ground is bare in the desert, the plants are actually crowded together as closely as possible. The showers of such regions are usually so brief that they merely wet the surface. At a depth of a foot or more the soil of many deserts never becomes moist from year's end to year's end. It is useless for plants to send their roots deep down under such circumstances, for they might not reach water for a hundred feet. Their only recourse is to spread horizontally. The farther they spread, the more water they can absorb after the scanty showers. Hence the plants of the desert throttle one another by extending their roots horizontally, just as those of the forest kill one another by springing rapidly upward and shutting out the light.

Ellsworth Huntington
The Red Man's Continent

The fourth morning at breakfast-time, was a burning day, with a sky almost cloudless, and a slow sea which had the surface of its rich blue deeps shot with turquoise lights, while fields of saffron gulfweed stained it; and we had, close over our port bow, the most beautiful island in the world. It is useless to deny it, and to declare you know a better island. Can’t I see Jamaica now? I see it most plain. It descends abruptly from the meridian, pinnacles and escarpments trembling in the upper air with distance and delicate poise, and comes down in rolling forests and steep verdant slopes, where facets of bare rock glitter, to more leisurely open glades and knolls; and then, being not far from the sea, drops in sheer cliffs to where the white combers pulse. It is a jewel which smells like a flower. The “Capella” went close in till Port Antonio under the Blue Mountains was plain, and though I could see the few scattered houses, I could not see the narrow ledges where men could stand in such a steep land. We crawled over the blue floor in which that sea mountain is set, and cruised along, feeling very small, under the various and towering shape. For long I watched it, declaring continually that some day I must return. (And that is the greatest compliment a traveller on his way home can pay to any spot on earth.)

H. M. Tomlinson
The Sea and the Jungle

On a small lake between Barrier Lake and Teshekpuk Lake (July 29, 1951) a male and female attracted our attention by uttering guttural notes and occasionally a sound resembling the meowing of a cat. This lake was approximately 200 feet long and 40 feet wide and was bordered by exceptionally high sedges. Several points of sedges projected into the lake from its edge. When the loons were approached they dove under water with a splash suggesting the sound made by a beaver as it strikes its tail against the water before submerging. A loud high-pitched shrieklike call was given just before diving. They remained under water for about 20 seconds, came to the surface, and repeated the behavior. These birds were capable of leaving the lake but remained in close proximity to their young that were hiding in the grasses and sedges along the side of the lake. Both adult birds were collected. A broken egg was on one of the points of vegetation that projected into the lake. This lake was approximately 600 feet from feeding grounds at Teshekpuk Lake where small fish three-fourths of an inch in length were numerous (30 per square foot) along the edge of the lake. Other red-throated loons were noted on July 29 through August 4.

James W. Bee
Birds Found on the Arctic Slope of Northern Alaska

Sweet peas, of course, are to be sown early and deep, where they are to stand half an inch apart, like garden peas, and then thinned out so that there is not less than an inch between (two is better, but it is usually heartbreaking to pull up so many sturdy pealets) and reenforced by brush or wire trellising. Otherwise I plant the really worthy, or what might be called major annuals, in a seed bed much like that used for the hardy plants, at intervals during the month of May, according to the earliness of the season, and the time they are wanted to bloom. Later, I transplant them to their summer resting places, leaving those that are not needed, for it is difficult to calculate too closely without scrimping, in the seed bed, to cut for house decoration, as with the perennials. Of course if annuals are desired for very early flowering, many species may be started in a hotbed and taken from thence to the borders. Biennials that it is desired shall flower the first season are best hurried in this way, yet for the gardenerless garden of a woman this makes o'er muckle work. The occasional help of the "general useful" is not very efficient when it comes to tending hotbeds, giving the exact quantity of water necessary to quench the thirst of seedlings without producing dropsy, and the consequent "damping off" which, when it suddenly appears, seems as intangible and makes one feel as helpless as trying to check a backing horse by helpless force of bit. A frame for Margaret carnations, early asters, and experiments in seedling Dahlias

Mabel Osgood Wright
The Garden, You, and I

"Canada is not rich in roses; only three species occur throughout the two provinces. Among the Ribes and the Ericace, however, are found many of the most beautiful ornaments of the English garden: Andromedas, Rhododendrons, Azaleas, and Kalmias belong to the latter order. The Azalea was thus described by one of the earlier European botanical travelers. Professor Kalm[169] (in 1748): 'the Mayflowers, as the Swedes call them, were plentiful in the woods wherever I went to-day, especially on a dry soil, or one that is somewhat moist. The Swedes have given them this name because they are in full blossom in May. Some of the Swedes and the Dutch call them "Pinxter Bloem" (Whitsunday flowers), as they are in blossom about Whitsuntide. The English call them wild honeysuckles, and at a distance they really have a resemblance to the honeysuckle or lonicera. Dr. Linnus and other botanists call it an Azalea (Azalea Nudiflora, _Linn. Spec. Plant._, p. 214.) Its flowers were now open, and added a new ornament to the woods, being little inferior to the flowers of the honey-suckle and hedysarum. They sit in a circle round the stem's extremity, and have either a dark red or lively red color; but by standing some time, the sun bleaches them, and at last they get a whitish hue. The height of the bush is not always alike. Some were as tall as a full-grown man, and taller; others were but low, and some were not above a palm from the ground; yet they were all full of flowers. They have some smell, but I can not say it is very pleasant.

George Warburton
The Conquest of Canada (Vol. 1 of 2)

The long day reached its close at last. The western clouds flushed into fire; the shadows of the hills stretched out across the valley. A ponderous Boer waggon, with its long team, crawled slowly along the track towards the town. The Kaffirs collected their herds and drew around their kraal. The daylight died, and soon it was quite dark. Then, and not till then, I set forth, I hurried to the railway line, pausing on my way to drink at a stream of sweet, cold water. I waited for some time at the top of the steep gradient in the hope of catching a train. But none came, and I gradually guessed, and I have since found that I guessed right, that the train I had already travelled in was the only one that ran at night. At last I resolved to walk on, and make, at any rate, twenty miles of my journey. I walked for about six hours. How far I travelled I do not know, but I do not think that it was very many miles in the direct line. Every bridge was guarded by armed men; every few miles were gangers' huts; at intervals there were stations with villages clustering round them. All the veldt was bathed in the bright rays of the full moon, and to avoid these dangerous places I had to make wide circuits and often to creep along the ground. Leaving the railroad I fell into bogs and swamps, and brushed through high grass dripping with dew, so that I was drenched to the waist. I had been able to take little exercise during my month's imprisonment, and I was soon tired out with walking, as well as from want of food and sleep. I felt very

Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, after having flung the donkey's shoes into my tent, I put some fresh wood on the fire, which was nearly out, and hung the kettle over it.  I then issued forth from the dingle, and strolled round the wood that surrounded it; for a long time I was busied in meditation, looking at the ground, striking with my foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of grass and thistles that I met in my way.  After some time, I lifted up my eyes to the sky, at first vacantly, and then with more attention, turning my head in all directions for a minute or two; after which I returned to the dingle.  Isopel was seated near the fire, over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her dress--no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion remained; she had just added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled the dingle.

George Borrow
Lavengro

She is prettily dressed in gray poplin, trimmed with gray velvet, and set off by a ribbon of deep red tied in a bow at the throat. She is nearly as tall as Lady Janet herself, and possesses a grace and beauty of figure not always seen in women who rise above the medium height. Judging by a certain innate grandeur in the carriage of her head and in the expression of her large melancholy gray eyes, believers in blood and breeding will be apt to guess that this is another noble lady. Alas! she is nothing but Lady Janet’s companion and reader. Her head, crowned with its lovely light brown hair, bends with a gentle respect when Lady Janet speaks. Her fine firm hand is easily and incessantly watchful to supply Lady Janet’s slightest wants. The old lady--affectionately familiar with her--speaks to her as she might speak to an adopted child. But the gratitude of the beautiful companion has always the same restraint in its acknowledgment of kindness; the smile of the beautiful companion has always the same underlying sadness when it responds to Lady Janet’s hearty laugh. Is there something wrong here, under the surface? Is she suffering in mind, or suffering in body? What is the matter with her?

The poste leaves Valence--the home of the White Hermitage--for Die at 2.30 P.M., and professes to reach its destination in six hours; but sad experience showed that it could be unfaithful to the extent of an hour and a half. So long as the daylight lasted, there was no dearth of objects of interest; but when darkness came on, the monotonous roll of the heavy diligence became aggravating in the extreme. The village of Beaumont, once the residence of an important branch of the great Beaumont family,[88] retains still its square tower and old gateway; and the remains of a chateau near Montmeyran, the end of the first stage, mark the scene of the victory of Marius over the Ambrons and Teutons, local antiquaries believing that the name of Montmeyran is from _Mons Jovis Mariani_.[89] The road lies through the bright cool green of wide plantations of the silkworm mulberry,[90] with its trim stem and rounded head; and, in the more open parts of the valley, walnut trees of size and shape fit for an ornamental park in England relieve the monotony. The nearer hills are covered to the top with vines, and the higher and more distant ranges have a naked and thoroughly burned appearance, which suggests the idea of volcanoes to a traveller ignorant of volcanic facts. The villages which lie at the foot of these rocky hills are built of stones taken from the beds of the streams, and are so completely of one colour with the background of rock, that in many instances it is difficult to determine whether a distant mass of grey is a village or

George Forrest Browne
Ice-Caves of France and Switzerland

To take the pattern of a natural flower, you must remove the petals carefully, sorting out how many there are of an equal size. Take the shape of one out of each set, in the following manner: Place the petal upon a sheet of writing paper, holding it firmly to the paper with the point of the fore finger of the left hand. Take a large brush containing a very little colour and pass it round the edge. The exact form will be left upon the paper without tearing the edges of the petal, even though it were unusually fragile. When the requisite flower cannot be procured, a proper pattern can be obtained at Soho Bazaar, or at my residence, 35, Rathbone Place, where I am happy to receive visitors, daily, from ten in the morning till six o'clock in the evening. Place the pattern upon the dull side of the wax, and as the grain runs the length of the same, cut each petal accordingly, for the wax takes the paint much better in that direction.

Emma Peachey
The Royal Guide to Wax Flower Modelling