219 
THE ST. JOHN^S WORT 
This latter plant was the moonwort (Lunaria), often 
called honesty — ^a common garden flower, with cross- 
shaped lilac blossoms, and round, clear, silvery-looking 
seed-vessels. It was considered a cure for madness. 
Chaucer also calls it Lunarie. 
The common wild vervain was once called holy herb. 
It was much valued by the Druids, and used by them in 
casting lots and foretelling future events. The plant was 
ordered, by these ancient priests, “ to be gathered about 
the rising of the great dog-star, but so as neither sun nor 
moon be at that time above the earth to see it.’' With 
this charge also, “ that before they take up the hearbe, 
they bestow upon the ground where it groweth honey with 
the combs, in token of satisfaction and amends for the 
wrong and violence done in depriving her of so holy a 
hearbe.” It was called the sacred herb by the Greeks 
and Romans, who used it at their religious festivals, and 
sent it by their ambassadors on treaties of peace. This 
little plant is very common by road-sides in England. It 
has very small lilac flowers, which grow at some distance 
from each other up the higher part of a stem about a foot 
high. It has rough and notched leaves, and flowers in 
July. It is quite a small and insignificant-looking flower; 
but its old renown has not yet left it, for it is still tied 
around the neck, by cottage people, to charm away the 
ague. How little does the passenger by the road-side, if 
he sees this plant, think of the feelings of anxious venera- 
tion with which his countrymen once gathered it ! Ben 
Jonson says, 
“ Bring your garlands, and with reverence place 
The vervain on the altar.” 
This plant is one of those which are always contiguous 
to human dwellings. It is said of the vervain that it has 
never yet been found at a distance of half a mile from 
houses. 
The name of one of our common garden flowers has 
suggested a beautiful poetic legend to Campbell. It may 
be but a poet’s tale : yet few who have once read “ O’Con- 
nor’s Child ” will look on the long, drooping, velvety 
plumes of this amaranthus without recalling the woes 
