9. Spruce, Corsican, _Pinus laricio_. St. Leodocia, 304. 10. Cypress, Portugal, _Cupressus pendula_. St. Eulalia. 11. Pine, Aleppo, _Pinus halapensis_. St. Damascus, pope, 384. 12. Heath, crowded, _Erica abietina_. St. Eadburga, 751. 13. Arbor Vitæ, African, _Thuga cupressoides_. St. Lucy, martyr of Syracuse, 304. 14. Pine, swamp, _Pinus palustris_. St. Spiridion, archbishop, 348. 15. Pine, pitch, _Pinus resinosa_. St. Florence, abbot. 16. Arbor Vitas, Chinese, _Thuga orientalis_. St. Adelaide, empress, 999. 17. Cedar, white, _Cupressus thyoides_. St. Olympias, 410. 18. Cypress, New-Holland, _Cupressus australis_. St. Winebald, 760. 19. Heath, two-coloured, _Erica bicolor_. St. Samthana, abbess, 738. 20. Stone-pine, _Pinus pinea_. St. Philogonius, bishop of Antioch, 322. 21. Sparrow-wort, _Erica passerina_. St. Thomas, apostle. 22. Heath, pellucid, _Erica pellucida_. St. Cyril, 881. 23. Cedar of Lebanon, _Pinus cedrus_. St. Victoria, 250. 24. Pine, frankincense, _Pinus tæda_. Sts. Thrasilla and Emiliana. 25. Holly, _Ilex aculeata baccifera_. Nativity of our Saviour. 26. Heath, purple, _Erica purpurea_. St. Stephen, first martyr. 27. Heath, flame, _Erica flammea_. St. John, the Evangelist. 28. Heath, bloody-flowered, _Erica cruenta_. The Holy Innocents, who suffered from Herod’s cruelty. 29. Heath, _Erica genistopha_. St. Thomas, archbishop of Canterbury, 1170. 30. Ponthieva, glandular, _Ponthieva glandulosa_. St. Anysia, 304. 31. There is no flower appropriated to this day. The Dial of 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 and bell, In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew, Like a pearl in an ocean shell. To such sweet signs might the time have flowed, In a golden current on, Ere from the garden, man’s first abode, The glorious guests were gone. So might the days have been brightly told-- Those days of song and dreams-- When shepherds gathered their flocks of old By the blue Arcadian streams; So, in those isles of delight, that rest Far off in a breezeless main, Which many a bark with a weary guest Has sought, but still in vain. Yet is not life, in its real flight, Marked thus--even thus--on earth, By the closing of one hope’s delight, And another’s gentle birth? Oh! let us live so that, flower by flower, Shutting in turn, may leave A lingerer still for the sunset hour, A charm for the shaded eve! _Hemans._