336 THE FLORIST. 
brated for Anemones, which are said to have been so named from an 
old opinion that ‘they never blossom except when the wind blew; in 
fact, they do flower in: the: blustering» seasons, and love ‘to grow’ in 
exposed: and) elevated: situations. »No cultivated’ specimens equal the 
Anemones which grow at Belloguardi'; «the flowers are ‘larger, the 
colours richer, the white more pure,:and ‘the abundance: more* profuse 
than can be obtained in our gardens. One dark»ruby-tinted Anemone, 
with stripes of clear white, and a margin’ also: of perfect white, is called 
the Cardinal’s, Niece; this was her favourite flower.)'The name of this 
lady is forgotten ;. the villa is nowiinhabited: by labouring people; the 
banqueting-hall is, used,as a(lumbersroom:;swallows® build their nests 
in the gilded cornice, and the paintediceiling is partly veiled by: spiders’ 
webs; the, balustrades are broken, the statues prostrate, the fountains 
cease to play, and all.is desolation ;» ‘still the favourite flower is 
cherished. 
Sir B. Burke, in his second series of‘ The Latitude of Families,” 
in endeavouring to obtain, the historical, particulars of: a:once powerful 
family in Derbyshire, says+—‘‘ The pedigree research caused me ‘to pay’a © 
visit to, the, village. '5/l;;sought; for, thes ancient halli« “Not “a ‘stone 
remained: to tell where it stood)! » Iventered: the «church—mnoti'a single 
record, ofa: Finderne was there! |1,accosted a villager, hoping to glean 
some stray traditions, of the )Findernes.’ ‘:Findernes,’ said he; ‘we 
have. no Findernes here,-but we have something belonging ‘to them, we 
have Findernes flowers.’ ‘Show me:them,’:! replied, andthe old man 
led me. to a field, which still retained faint traces of terraces and 
foundations. ‘There,’ said he, pointing to a bank of ‘ garden: flowers 
grown wild’—‘ There are the Findernes flowers, brought by: Sir Geoffrey 
from the Holy Land, :and do, what we will they will never die.’ 
Poetry mingles, more with our daily life than we are apt: to acknow- 
ledge; and even to an,antiquary like myself, the old.man’s prose and 
the subject of it were the very essence of poetry.’ For more:than three 
hundred years the - Findernes ‘had been. extinct, the» mansion they had 
dwelt in had crumbled to, dust, the brass.and marble intended ‘to per- 
-petuate their name had passed away, and the little tiny flower'had for 
ages. preserved the name, and.a/memory which the elaborate works of 
man’s hands had failed to rescue,from oblivion.:.\The moral of the 
incident is -as. beautiful as the. poetry... We often talk of ‘language of 
flowers,’ but of the eloquence of flowers, we never had yee a wae 
example as that presented,in these flowers, of Finderne =). | 
«¢« Time—Time—his withering hand hath laid 
On battlement and tower, 
And where rich banners were displayed,’ 
Now only, waves a, flower.’,” 
Lk, 19 
