osier stools, which furnish twigs to bind the
fruit-trees. The sooner we come to osier
ligatures ourselves the better, now that
Russia no longer gives us mats of bast. You
cannot see a weed, nor the semblance of one.
In such gardens they are things insufferable,
—in fact, unheard of; but in farming
hereabouts, the weeds drawn are the perquisite
of the weeders (almost always women), who
bring home at night a waggon-load on their
backs for the benefit of their cow, their goat,
or their pig.

The Lyzelard gardeners would have quite
the right to pass the winter, if they choose,
like dormice, in a torpid state, to make up by
a long three-months' night, for the want of
sleep they endure in summer. Often and
often, instead of going to bed after a hard
day's work, they sit up to shell peas.
Perhaps by some compensating adaptation, the
fingers acquire the faculty of keeping awake
and doing, while the rest of their bodily frame
is steeped in forgetfulness; exactly as the
inhabitants of Great Yarmouth are reputed to
sleep with one eye open. Often and often,
when other folks would be holding a family
concert by snoring in parts, they are up
before the dawn to gather vegetables
fruit.

It is worth while keeping our eyes open as
we pass, for the sake of the lesson in culinary
botany. I wish my present and all my future
cooks were here, to learn to know wholesome
plants when they see them. Amongst
devourers of salads and wholesale consumers of
fine herbs, it really is a matter of importance.
The Progrès du Pas-de-Calais, of the eighth
of July, announces a terrible event as taking
place at Belluno, in Italy. The cholera had
already destroyed several victims in that
town, when the boarders at the college (grammar
-school) suddenly all fell ill at once. The
doctors declared that it was an attack of that
scourge, and treated the lads accordingly,
Fifty of the number sunk under the malady,
At the post-mortem examination, it was
discovered that the cause of the disease arose
from the administration of the lesser
hemlock, which an ignorant cook had mistaken
for parsley. Gipsy-parties are equally
dangerous expedients for innocents who don't
know blackberries from bitter-sweet. Out in
the wilds, amidst pretty bright berries,
discretion is often the better part of valour. It
is true that an unknown fruit may be almost
always eaten with safety, if the stamens
(amounting to twenty at least) remain
adhering to the calyx, as is the case with the
strawberry. If they have grown on the
receptacle, beware. Our gallant allies are more
prudent than ourselves. With the exception
of wild strawberries and cherries, they are as
nice about a plant's being properly gardened
as the Jews are about a sheep's being
properly butchered. Full many a fruit of purest
juice serene the dark unfathom'd woods of
Gallia bear; full many a mushroom springs
to rot unseen, and wastes its ketchup on the
desert air. Unfortunately, some families of
plants which are marked by close relationship
and strong resemblance, contain both
nutritious and deadly species. Thus, the
umbellifers include, besides the carrot and
parsnip, the benumbing hemlock, the pungent
pig-nut, the aromatic dill, coriander, and
caraway, the deadly burning water-hemlock,
the treacherous fool's parsley, and the anise,
beloved of distillers and liquor-shops.

And when you are out on a gipsy pic-nic,
don't pick up every flower you see (any more
than you would pick up every decently-dressed
acquaintance), and stick it into your mouth
to make you look interesting. A lady of my
acquaintance stepped into her garden, to
listen for the church bell to ring for mass.
Like the ploughman who whistled o'er the
lea for want of thought, a wandering mood
of mind caused her to pluck and nibble
a bit of the nearest plant, whether flower of
leaf she cannot remember. At mass, my
lady was taken ill; and, after a horrible afternoon
and night, got well in the morning.
But she no longer permits chapeau de prêtre,
or monk's-hood, to form one of her list of
border flowers. Lately, hereabouts, a little
boy, four years old, the son of an overseer of
customs at Pont-à-Marcq, was playing in a
meadow with his sister, his elder by a twelve-
month. The child gathered some flowers, it
is not known what, and ate them. The father,
when told of it by the girl, treated the
circumstance as a matter of no consequence,
But, in the evening, the poor little fellow
complained of violent pains, made repeated but
useless efforts to vomit, and in spite of all the
doctor's care was dead within four and twenty
hours.

Our cruise was in search of the long-
celebrated floating islands of Clairinarais, the
oft-reprinted wonders of travelling guide-
books. They float, like corks, on the pages
of many that grace my shelves. But, here
we are on their aqueous locality, and there
are no other floating islands than ourselves
to be seen. The others have long since taken
their departure, following in the train of a
thousand and one humbugs and things of
nought. The lady at Haut-Pont might well
smile when we mentioned them. But the
boatman accepts a chope of beer to compensate
for the disappointment; and it is now
time to go home and sup. We receive our
summons not from a bell, but from
something floral approaching to it. Mark that
green elongated bud. At word of command,
(not from you or me, though we might hocus-
pocus and pretend to give it,) it bursts. An
evening primrose comes forth, bearing
inscribed on its banner the number four. The
stem quivers. One yellow petal boldly
protrudes; then another; and then two, starting
at once, elbow their way out of doors,
and split their calyx the whole way down.
The flower expands and takes its shape, as a