to pound it to atoms with his foot, and then to bury it under a flag-stone, that it might never be seen or heard of any more. When he had done

this, he exclaimed in a tone of exultation, "And now mine is the only tulip!"

The bulb of the tulip is entirely exhausted by the act of flowering and perfecting its seed, and no part of it is left but the dry outer husk or coat. At its base, however, a new bulb is formed, which contains the germ for the succeeding year. If this bulb be carefully dissected in the winter, the flower that is intended to charm the eye in the spring, will be perfectly seen in miniature.

It is interesting to observe the care with which the part of the flower containing the seedvessel is protected from the night air, and the changes of the weather. At the approach of a storm, or when the sun goes down, the petals close over and form themselves into the shape of an egg. So closely are they shut, that neither rain nor damp can enter to hinder the formation of the pollen; and though the wind be high enough to snap the stem, it cannot separate the petals. Yet with the first gleam of sunshine they gradually unfold themselves, and admit the warm rays that are so necessary to perfect the seed.

The crown imperial,* unlike the tulip and most other flowers, cannot close its petals to protect the stamens from the damp and rain. Instead of this, it hangs down its corolla, like a bell-glass, so that the wet shoots off it, and does not reach the pollen. But no sooner has the pollen fallen on the pistil, than the flower turns itself upwards, and lets the sun have full power to ripen the seed.

At the base of each petal is a hollow place or cavity, called the nectary, and to each nectary, as long as the flower remains in vigour, a large drop of limpid juice hangs suspended. There are several opinions as to what the juice is for, but it seems placed there for the sake of nourishing the stamens, and causing the pollen to grow.

A lady once made an ingenious experiment upon the flowers of the crown imperial. She robbed the petals of their honey-like fluid, early every morning, and on going to look in the evening, invariably found it replaced by about a third of the natural quantity. The flowers from which the honey had been taken did not produce any seed, while those left to nature, brought their seeds, as usual, to perfection.

While I am speaking of flowers opening

*Fritillaria Imperialis.

and shutting, it is quite worthy of remark, that many of them do so with the regularity of clock-work. One of the lilies, "The Star of Bethlehem," is called the "Eleven o'clock lady," because it unfolds its petals at eleven o'clock in the morning. They close again at three o'clock in the afternoon, and this opening and closing is found to be as punctual as the shadows on the sun-dial itself. In fact, Linnæus formed a dial, the hours of which were marked by the opening and shutting of the flowers.

""Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours,

As they floated in light away,

By the opening and the folding flowers

That laugh to the summer's day.

"Thus had each moment its own rich hue,
And its graceful cup or bell,

In whose colour'd vase might sleep the dew,
Like a pearl in an ocean shell."

Chapter the Twenty-first.

LILIES (continued).

THE group of lilies, called asphodels,* is distinguished from the rest by the hard black covering of the seeds. It includes the blue-bell, which grows so plentifully in the woods in spring, and the garden hyacinth, that is almost as great a favourite with the Dutch as the tulip.

One species is called the lettered hyacinth,† because it is said to have upon its leaves two marks, a little like the Greek word signifying "alas!" or "woe." The story is, that Hyacinthus was the name of a beautiful youth beloved by Apollo. One day when he was playing with the god at quoits, he was accidentally killed by a quoit falling upon his head. Apollo, grieved for the loss of his friend, tried in vain to bring him back to life. He then caused the blood that flowed from the wound, and fell upon the grass, to * Order-Asphodeliaceæ.

+ Hyacinthus poeticus. The Turk's-cap lily is supposed to be the hyacinth of the ancients.

spring up into a flower. It was the hyacinth, and the words of wailing, a, a, were written on its leaves.

The onion, humble and unsightly as it is, may be considered one of the most useful plants of this tribe. The Scotch peasant looks upon it as his chief dainty; and on the continent, the garlic, which is too strong to suit our English tastes, is eaten by the poor as the sole addition to their black bread. The onion is not a native of Britain, but it has been cultivated here for so many years that no one knows where it came from. In Spain and Portugal, and in all warm countries, the onion grows to a very large size, and is extremely mild and pleasant to the taste; but if brought home, and planted in our kitchen gardens, it degenerates, and its seed will not come to perfection.

There are many varieties of this plant, but the most curious is the tree onion*, the stem of which is about two feet high, and on the top the flowers grow the same as in the common species. Instead, however, of going to seed, the buds swell, and become a crop of bulbs at the top of the stalk. These drop off and fall to the ground, where they speedily take root and grow.

* Allium proliferum.