FORGET-ME-NOT. 251 



some beautiful lines of an anonymous poet, who 

 says,— 



I see thee yet, fair France, thou fuvour'd land 

 Of art and nature — tliou art still before me ; 

 Thy sons, to whom tlieir laboxir is a sj)ort, 

 So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; 

 Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes 

 And glossy raveii locks. But, favour'd France, 

 Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell, 

 In ancient times as now. 



The stream which we have just alluded to is called 

 the Cascade of the Enchanted Oak, from the circum- 

 stance of the spring's escaping with a murmuring 

 noise from the root of an oak of great antiquity. 



For some years past this little flower has been 

 cultivated in France with the greatest care, and 

 when sent to the Parisian markets it finds a more 

 ready sale than any exotic plant. The pots being 

 filled with young cuttings that readily take roo^ 

 and blossom, present such a mass of these delicate 

 Httle flowers, as must surprise those w^ho have not 

 seen them thus treated. 



The generic name of this plant is derived from 

 that given it by the ancients, who called it Mvo^ 

 uTiov, Mouse-ear, from the form of the leaves ; and 

 the French on the same account call it Oreille de 

 rat, Rat's-ear. It frequently flowers in May, and 

 continues to give out a succession of blossoms until 

 the end of August. It is increased by separating 

 the roots, and planting them in a moist but free 



