advise my readers to try it, and see if our fields will not afford a bouquet as charming as can be produced from the more refined conservatory. The idea of making such common things subserve the purposes of elegance may not have occurred, but if any one wishes to obtain a signal triumph of nature over art, let her try the effect of a large bouquet of wild grasses placed in the grate when fires are no longer required, and she will be amply repaid for the trouble of collecting them by the expressions of admiration which they will infallibly call forth; and henceforward the doom of cut paper and knitted stove veils will be considered sealed.

A word or two more on the arrangement of flowers, and I have done. I should like ladies to show more taste than to compose bouquets entirely of flowers without leaves. Does Nature ever do the like? Look at her proportion of flowers and leaves, and then imagine a rose-bush all roses! The same criticism applies to the productions of some of our most accomplished flower painters, (though, all honour to the Miss Mutries, they have broken through the rule), who seem to ignore the existence of anything green. There is indeed great art displayed by the Covent Garden professors, and very scientific effects they certainly produce; but their productions, although on right principles as to colour, are so insufferably formal that I for one cannot tolerate them.

As a rule, I am apt to think that two flowers, or flowers of two sorts well contrasted and with sufficient foliage, are elegant enough for any one. Topsy's inherent taste led her to the selection of a pomegranate and a jasmine. Can any one improve upon it ?

If a large ornament for a table is wanted it is a good and safe rule to take the three primitive colours or their nearest representatives, and arrange them for the centre, placing the other flowers around them at the greatest possible distance from the colours which they too nearly resemble—an unavoidable propinquity of colour may be overcome by placing a green leaf or white flower

between but let your nosegay by all means possess the three primitives, or at least two of them, and the tiniest morsel of the third will be sufficient, if scarce. Surround the whole with leaves of one kind, but belonging to one of the flowers in the group; and believe me you will be satisfied with your work.

Very effective groups are made by placing together all the flowers of one colour, which has something of the effect of one composed of a few large flowers; and it is far preferable to the scattered appearance produced by putting in flowers without any definite rule. But by all means secure as many dark flowers as possible, both to brighten the others by contrast, and to afford a resting place for the eye. For this purpose some of the dullest and most uninteresting to the general observer are invaluable to the professed fleuriste; for on having plenty of them the brilliancy of the group principally depends.

Try my plan if you really love flowers; but if not, meddle not with them, nor with anything else for which you have no loveI mean, of course, in matters of taste; for alas! many things for which we have no inclination must be attempted if we would prove ourselves worthy combatants in the battle of life.

Ruskin says that no artist ought to paint that for which he has no love, and very beautifully does he describe the treatment of the Oxalis Acetosella or Wood Sorrel by Fra Angelico, adding this elegant note, which we liked to remember when we beheld its delicate foliage during that pleasant spring-time covering the earth with its verdant carpet:-"The triple leaf of this plant, and white flower stained purple, probably gave it a strange typical interest among the Christian painters. Angelico, in using its leaves mixed with daisies in the foreground of his Crucifixion, was perhaps thinking of its peculiar power of quenching thirst." A note from the printer makes this suggestive addition, "I rather imagine that his thoughts, if he had any beyond the mystic form

of the leaf, were with the Italian name, Allelujah, as if the very flowers round the Cross were giving glory to God."

Ruskin adds that "in the valleys of Dauphiné, it is called 'Pain du Bon Dieu,' and it whitens the grass and rocks of the hill crest like manna." It has certainly always been a favourite plant with the religious, and disputes with the shamrock the honour of having been selected by St. Patrick as an illustration of the Trinity in his preaching to the Pagan Irish.

How much more interesting is the appropriation to plants of such names, or even of some of the more legendary ones, than the heathen appellations by which they are frequently known! To be sure Iris, Adonis, Hyacinth, Circea, and such like, will convey some poetical ideas, but the Old Gods,' as Thorwaldsen called them, are going out, and their names are surely not comparable with the English names of our rural favourites. Daisy! Primrose Peerless! Sweet Cicely! Cuckoo flower! Ladies' Traces! Eye Bright! A poem might be written on each of them! But Allelujah! Gethsemane! Star of Bethlehem! what a world of thought crowds on our minds as we utter them! And even if they produce but a transient remembrance-alas, too transient! surely no one can be the worse for it. Gethsemane, the scene of so much suffering for our sake, may with advantage occur to our minds, bent as they are too exclusively on our own pleasure even in things lawful. It is like coming upon a religious picture by Albert Durer or Mabuse, fresh from the glitter of our own Academy, though it is but justice to admit that the feeling of the present race of exhibitors is greatly in advance of what it was a few years since. Yet who could study Landseer's pictures of canine wisdom, Grant's portraits of gentlemanly men, Roberts' transcripts of Ancient Egypt, or still more glorious Rome, without pausing awe-struck at Hunt's "Light of the World," which even if it expressed no more than "Behold, I stand at the door, and

knock," could scarcely fail of striking some careless heart which had not till then responded to the invitation to open the door to the Heavenly Visitor.

"Soul, from thy casement look! and thou shalt see

How he persists to knock and wait for thee."

Thoughts such as these strike me frequently when visiting my greatest delight an exhibition of paintings, and how wide a sphere of usefulness have our painters before them if they only knew their proper mission!

CHAPTER VII.

THE REBECCA.

SALCOMBE, as has already been explained, is exclusively given up to maritime men and their affairs; indeed, I believe that the "Salcombes" quite agree with the writer of the seamen's song, "Oh! how I pity all poor folks

Who have the ill luck to live on shore!"

though being a landswoman, I take upon myself to assert that "tiles and chimney-pots" do not often fly about even in the most violent weather; and besides, if the open sea be such a remarkably safe place, why do mariners invariably run for harbour when there is any chance of getting one?

But this is nothing to the purpose, and I remark on it only to show how soon one can become interested in surrounding affairs, though at first sight they appear inexplicable. There was no wonder then that the arrival of the Russian barque was almost as anxiously expected by us as by the rest of the town, with whose interests we were at that time so completely identified.

Week after week was this vessel delayed; indeed we began to suspect that she had been metamorphosed into the Flying Dutchman, so contradictory were the statements we heard about her. She had been taken in the war on her return from St. Ubes, laden with salt, and not being able to get into a friendly port, fell a prize to our British tars. It is terrible to think of the consequences which might have arisen to the health of the Russian