THE PANSY.

This flower is known by many names; before Cupid aimed the dart, which brought it low, it was called heart's-ease. When it lay purple with love's wounds,' its pure whiteness was changed to purple, and it became love-in-idleness.

Tri-colored violet, lady's delight, forget-me-not, and many other names are attached to this beautiful little flower.

But it appears that no name fell with sweeter sound on the poet's ear, than pansy; for to it they have bowed in homage. Pansy from the French, pensée, (thought,) hence the sentiment - think of me.

The author of the Garland of Flora, says: Perhaps no flower (not excepting the queenly rose) claims to be so universal a favorite as the viola tri-color; none certainly has been honored with so rich a variety of names, at once expressive of grace, delicacy, and tenderness."

BARTON.
-Appealing

To hearts that own our nature's common lot; Though styled by sportive fancy's better feeling, A thought,' the heart's-ease,' or 'forget-me-not!

An anonymous writer, in his sad reminiscences, sings thus of the heart's-ease:

I used to love thee, simple flower,
To love thee dearly when a boy;

For thou did 'st seem in childhood's hour

The smiling type of childhood's joy.
But now thou only work 'st my grief,
By waking thoughts of pleasures fled;
Give me give me the withered leaf
That falls on Autumn's bosom dead.

For that ne'er tells of what has been,
But warns me what I soon shall be;
It looks not back on pleasure's scenes,
But points untó futurity.

I love thee not, thou simple flower,
For thou art gay and I am lone;

Thy beauty died with childhood's hour-
The heart's-ease from my path has gone.

Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon; And the imperial vot'ress passed on,

In maiden meditation fancy-free.

Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell;

It fell upon a little western flower,

Before, milk-white; now purple with love's

wounds,

And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

Fetch me that flower!

SHAKSPEARE.

NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS.

MRS. HEMANS.

Children of night! unfolding meekly, slowly, To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours, When dark-blue heavens look softest and most

holy,

And glowworm light is in the forest bowers;
To solemn things and deep,

To spirit-haunted sleep,
To thoughts, all purified

From earth, ye seem allied;

O dedicated flowers!

Ye, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling,
Keep in dim vestral urns the sweetness shrined:
Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing,
Looks on you tenderly, and sadly kind.

- So doth love's dreaming heart
Dwell from the throng apart,

And but to shades disclose

The inmost thought which glows

With its pure life entwined.