A very old writer, speaking of the Jews strewing palm-branches before Christ, says:  “And thus we take palm and flowers in procession as they did ... in the worship and mind of Him that was done on the cross, worshipping and welcoming Him with song into the Church, as the people did our Lord into the city of Jerusalem.  It is called Palm Sunday for because the palm betokeneth victory; wherefore all Christian people should bear palm in procession, in token that He hath foughten with the fiend our enemy, and hath the victory of hym.”

A curious old Scotch custom is recorded in Lanark, as “kept by the boys of the Grammar-school, beyond all memory in regard to date, on the Saturday before Palm Sunday.  They then parade the streets with a palm, or its substitute, a large tree of the willow kind (Salix caprea), in blossom, ornamented with daffodils, mezereon, and box-tree.  This day is called Palm Saturday, and the custom is certainly a popish relic of very ancient standing.”

But to return to palms proper.  Before taking leave of them, there is one more word to be said in their praise which may endear this noble race to eyes which will never be permitted to see the wonders of tropical forests.

As pot-plants they are not less remarkable for the picturesqueness of their forms, than for the patience with which they endure those vicissitudes of stuffiness and chill, dryness, dust, and gas, which prove fatal to so many inmates of the flower-stand or the window-sill.  Pot-palms may be bought of any good nurseryman at prices varying from two or three shillings to two or three pounds. Latania borbonica and Phoenix reclinata are good and cheap.  Sandy-peaty soil, with a little leaf-mould, is what they like, and this should be renewed (with a larger pot) every second year.  Thus, with the most moderate care, and an occasional sponging, or a stand-out in a soft shower, the exiled Princes of Vegetation, whose shoots in their native forests would have been of giant luxuriance, will live for years, patiently adapting themselves by slow growth to the rooms which they adorn, easier of management than the next fern you dig up on your rambles, and, in the incomparable beauty of their forms, the perpetual delight of an artistic eye.

LITTLE WOODS.

By little woods are here meant—­not woods of small extent, but—­woods in which the trees never grow big, woods that are to grown-up woods as children to grown-up people, woods that seem made on purpose for children, and dwarfs, and dolls, and fairies.

These little woods have many names, varying with the trees of which they are composed, or the districts in which they are found.  One of the best-known names is that of copse or coppice, and it brings with it remembrances of the fresh beauty of spring days, on which—­sheltered by the light copse-wood from winds that are still keen—­we have revelled in sunshine warm enough to persuade us that summer was come “for good,” as we picked violets and primroses to the tolling of the cuckoo.