That very time I saw (but thou couldst not)
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all armed, a certain aim he took
At a fair Vestal, throned by the west;
And loosed 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 passed on
In maiden meditation fancy free,
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon _a little western flowers,
Before milk white, now purple with love's wound--
And maidens call it_ LOVE IN IDLENESS
Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed 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 this herb and be thou here again,
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

_Midsummer Night's Dream._

The hearts-ease has been cultivated with great care and success by some
of the most zealous flower-fanciers amongst our countrymen in India. But
it is a delicate plant in this clime, and requires most assiduous
attention, and a close study of its habits. It always withers here under
ordinary hands.

THE MIGNONETTE.

The MIGNONETTE, (_reseda odorato_,) the Frenchman's _little darling_,
was not introduced into England until the middle of the 17th century.
The Mignonette or Sweet Reseda was once supposed capable of assuaging
pain, and of ridding men of many of the ills that flesh is heir to. It
was applied with an incantation. This flower has found a place in the
armorial bearings of an illustrious family of Saxony. I must tell the
story: The Count of Walsthim loved the fair and sprightly Amelia de
Nordbourg. She was a spoilt child and a coquette. She had an humble
companion whose christian name was Charlotte. One evening at a party,
all the ladies were called upon to choose a flower each, and the
gentlemen were to make verses on the selections. Amelia fixed upon the
flaunting rose, Charlotte the modest mignonette. In the course of the
evening Amelia coquetted so desperately with a dashing Colonel that the
Count could not suppress his vexation. On this he wrote a verse for the
Rose:

Elle ne vit qu'un jour, et ne plait qu'un moment.
(She lives but for a day and pleases but for a moment)

He then presented the following line on the Mignonette to the gentle
Charlott