loses its genuine charms, and becomes a source of envy, jealousy and rivalship." This is still more true if it be cultivated as a mere source of emolument. But the man who loves botany for its own sake knows no such feelings, nor is he dependent for happiness on situations or scenes that favour their growth. He would find himself neither solitary nor desolate, had he no other companion than a "mountain daisy," that "modest crimson-tipped flower," so sweetly sung by one of Nature's own poets. The humblest weed or moss will ever afford him something to examine or to illustrate, and a great deal to admire. Introduce him to the magnificence of a tropical forest, the enamelled meadows of the Alps, or the wonders of New Holland, and his thoughts will not dwell much upon riches or literary honours, things that
