them in it's perfection. The modern Latin name for it is Flos Jovis or Jove's Flower, an appellation rather too worshipful for it's little sparkling delicacy, and more suitable to the greatness of an hydrangia or to the diadems of a rhododendron.

Quæque per irriguas quærenda Sisymbria valles
Crescunt, nectendis cum myrto nata coronis;
Flosque Jovis varius, folii tricoloris, et ipsi
Par violæ, nulloque tamen spectatus odore.

Rapini Hortorum, lib. 1.

With all the beauties in the vallies bred,

Wild Mint, that's born with myrtle crowns to wed,
And Jove's own Flow'r, that shares the violet's pride,
It's want of scent with triple charm supplied.

The name given it by the Italians is Flammola, the Little Flame;—at least, this is an appellation with which I have met, and it is quite in the taste of that ardent people. The French are perfectly aimable with theirs :-they call it Pensee, a Thought, from which comes our word Pansy :

"There's rosemary," says poor Ophelia ;

"that's

for remembrance ;-pray you, love, remember

and there is pansies,-that's for thoughts." Dray

ton, in his world of luxuries, the Muse's Elysium, where he fairly stifles you with sweets, has given, under this name of it, a very brilliant image of it's effect in a wreath of flowers :-the nymph says

Here damask roses, white and red,

Out of my lap first take I,

Which still shall run along the thread;
My chiefest flow'r this make I.
Amongst these roses in a row,

Next place I pinks in plenty,
These double-daisies then for show;
And will not this be dainty?
The pretty Pansy then I'll tye,

Like stones some chain enchasing;
The next to them, their near ally,
The purple violet placing.

Nymphal 5th.

Milton, in his fine way, gives us a picture in a word,

the Pansy freak'd with jet.

Another of it's names is Love-in-idleness, under which it has been again celebrated by Shakspeare, to whom we must always return, for any thing and for every thing;-his fairiès make potent use of it in the Midsummer-Nights' Dream. The whole passage is full of such exquisite fancies, mixed with such noble

expressions and fine suggestions of sentiment, that I will indulge myself and lay it before the reader at once, that he may not interrupt himself in his chair :

OBERON. My gentle Puck, come hither:-thou rememberest, Since once I sat upon a promontory,

And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maids music?

PUCK.

I remember.

OBERON. That very time I saw (but thou could'st not,) Flying betwixt the cold earth and the moon,

Cupid all arm'd:-a certain aim he took

At a fair vestal, throned by the west,

And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon ;
And the imperial votaress pass'd on,

In maiden meditation, fancy free.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell :—

It fell upon a little western flower,

Before, milk-white,-now purple with love's wound,—

And maidens call it Love-in-idleness.

Fetch me that flow'r,-the herb I shew'd thee once:

The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid,

Will make or man or woman madly dote

Upon the next live creature that it sees,
Fetch me that herb; and be thou here again,
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

PUCK. I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes.

Act 2. So. 2.

Besides these names of Love-in-idleness, Pansy, Heart's-ease, and Jump-up-and-kiss-me, the tri-coloured violet is called also, in various country places, the herb Trinity, Three-faces-under-a-hood, Kiss-me-behind-the-garden-gate, and Cuddle-me-to-you, which seems to have been altered by some nice apprehension into the less vivacious request of Cull-me-to-you.

In short, the Persians themselves have not a greater number of fond appellations for the rose, than the people of Europe for the Heart's-ease. For my part, to whom gaiety and companionship are more than ordinarily welcome on many accounts, I cannot but speak with gratitude of this little flower, one of many with which fair and dear friends have adorned my prison-house, and the one which outlasted all the rest.

The wines were all nectar of different smack, To which Muskat was nothing, nor Virginis Lac, No, nor Lachryma Christi, though clearly divine, Nor Montepulciano, though King of all Wine.

I do not profess to have tasted these foreign luxuries, except in the poetry of their admirers. Virginis Lac and Lachryma Christi,-Virgin's Milk and Christ's Tears, are names given to two favourite wines by the pious Italians, whose familiarity with the objects of their devotion is as well known as it is natural. The former seems to be a white wine,-the latter is of a deep red. Muskat, or Moscadell, is so called from the odour of it's grape. The two latter are mentioned among other Tuscan and Neapolitan wines by Redi in his Bacco in Toscana; but his favourite is Montepulciano, which at the conclusion and climax of the poem, is pronounced by Bacchus himself, in his hour of transport, to be the sovereign liquor:

Onde ogniun, che di Lieo

Riverente il nome adora,

Ascolti questo altissimo decreto,
Che Bassareo pronunzia, e gli dia fè,
Montepulciano d' ogni Vino é il Re.