Campanula. 
i 24 
discovered how affairs stood, and, fearful of the trouble that 
might arise from such a silly error, broke the minor and trans¬ 
formed the fragments into this bright plant, which has ever 
since been called Venus’s Looking-glass. 
There is a very pretty campanula with delicate lilac-hued 
flowers, that hang like bells from the stalk. It is called by the 
French' “ Nun of the Fields,” probably in remembrance of some 
tender legend of the olden time ; to us it is known as Agrimony, 
and has been adopted by floral linguists as the type of thank¬ 
fulness, a feeling which every one must experience, not only 
when gazing upon this suggestive “ floral apostle, but when 
regal ding any “ Floral bough that swingeth, „ 
And tolls its perfume on the passing air; ” 
for, indeed, O ye flowers! although your lips are voiceless to 
the ear, yet to the heart ye 
“Are living preachers; 
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book ; 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook.” 
The delicate Harebell, the favourite of our poets and the 
rival of the heather in the strong love of old Scotia, belongs 
to this timorous group of flowers, and, on account of its tender 
blossoms and slender, fragile-looking stem, has been made the 
emblem of loves frailty. Its azure bell hangs lightly upon its 
shivering stalk and “ rings to the mosses underneath.” With 
a mien so frail, one dreads every moment to behold its beauties 
rent to pieces and destroyed by the rude wind , and yet, so 
marvellously is this little floral elf constructed, that it will often 
successfully brave the battle of the rough elements and outlast 
the ruffian breeze that lays the monster oak of a thousand 
years shattered upon the soil. . 
This is the dewy bluebell which Eliza Cook tells us is filled 
with “ chaliced fragrance,” and with which a thousand poets 
have linked their imperishable fame. 
These lines, by the last-named lady, to “Bluebells in the 
Shade,” require no introduction to our audience : 
“The choicest buds in Flora’s train let other fingers twine; 
Let others snatch the damask rose, or wreathe the eglantine ; 
I’d leave the sunshine and parterre, and seek the woodland glads. 
To stretch me on the fragrant bed of bluebells in the shade. 
