iard, whose mistress is renowned for 

 tiie midnight blackness of her eyes and 

 hair, appreciates the loveliness of this 

 darling of the gods, and extols its 

 merits and worthiness. 



Gonzaga wrote thus prettily about 

 it a century ago and more : — 



" Oh ! the Florence rose is fresh and faire, 

 And rich the young carnations blowe, 

 Wreathing in Beauty's ebonne haire, 

 Or sighing on her breast of snow. 

 But onlie Violette shal twine 

 Thine ebonne tresses, Ladye mine." 



Perfume is the soul of a flower, and 

 such blossoms as have it in abundance 

 are those most dearly loved, be their 

 hue bright or dull, their size large or 

 small, their shape graceful or other- 

 wise. There is a single flower which 

 escapes this ban, and is regarded with 

 affection even though scentless. This 

 is the pansy, in all its varieties, first 

 cousin to the violet, and named bo- 

 tanically Viola tricolor. " The sweet 



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