REPOET OF LOCAL SOCIETIES. 349 



the god, till at length, her body cleaving to the earth, she was trans- 

 formed to 



'* A flower resembling the pale violet, 



Which with the sun, though rooted fast doth move 



And being changed, changeth not her love." 



Here is a much loved little liower whose face is of tender blue, 

 looks pleadingly out from among the stronger plants. In the legen- 

 dery lore of Germany there is a romantic tragedy connected with its 

 christening. 



This is the story which the silver-haired peasants love to tell their 

 grand-children as they gather about them, their hands filled with the 

 flowers blooming so abundantly in the fatherland: — It was a summer's 

 evening long, long ago. A knight and his betrothed were walking on 

 the emerald banks of the swift flowing Danube. They paused to gaze 

 at the brilliant tinted western sky across the expanse of quiet, deep 

 water when a spray of small blue flowers floated by with the current. 

 From the lady there was an exclamation of delight, a half expressed de- 

 sire to possess it, and the mail clad warrior had plunged into the riv- 

 ers bosom and grasped the coveted blossoms. 



He turned smilingly to the shore, but the heavy armor so weighed 

 him down that he was unable to remount the slippery bank. Finding 

 that in spite of all his efforts he was fast sinking, he threw the sky 

 blue spray ashore to his agonizing lady love, crying, as he sank forever, 

 ^'Forget me not." And so the flower was named. The plant is espe- 

 cially dear to the Germans, who place it upon the grave of their de- 

 parted darlings. 



With so many floral beauties about us, rich, both in color and per- 

 fume we cannot help wondering why a little scentless floweret like the 

 daisy should receive so many plaudits. Perhaps Montgomery guesses 

 the real cause of their popularity when he sings 



" The rose has but a summer's reign 

 The daisy never dies.-' 



A grand old Gaelic poet tells us this "tiny bulb of golden hue" 

 was first sown over a baby's resting place by the dimpled hands of in- 

 fantine angels. With such a celestial origin ascribed to it the 



"Wee little rimless wheel of fate 

 With silver spokes and hub of yellow." 



€Ould not fail to be admired. 



