Its seeds are each cased up in a sort of elastic covering, which, when fully ripe, suddenly bursts open, and ejects its contents to a great distance. Its leaves contain a most agreeable acid, resembling lemon, and in consequence are commonly eaten on the Continent in salads and fish-sauce. The salts of lemon, which is so often used to remove iron or ink stains from linen, was formerly made from a preparation of the juice extracted from its leaves.

There were many old names to the wood-sorrel; amongst others, it was formerly called cuckoo's meat, because it was thought the cuckoo loved to feed upon it; and Alleluya, from the veneration in which the plant was held. A peculiar reverence was ever felt for the number three; and therefore the fact of its being a trefoil was sufficient to proclaim it holy. Even as early as the time of the Druids, its triple leaf was looked upon as an emblem of the mysterious Three in One, which they ever endeavoured to illustrate in their worship; and their reverence was increased by the crescent mark on each fully matured leaflet, in which they beheld an emblem of the moon, another of their symbols. It is the true shamrock of Ireland, and the undoubted plant from which, as was said, St. Patrick, the first missionary sent to that country, plucked one of its pretty trefoil leaves, when illustrating the doctrine of the Trinity to his disciples.

The trefoil, which many erroneously suppose to be

the original shamrog, adopted by the Irish as their national emblem, and the blossom which is now worn by them on St. Patrick's day, their patron saint, is the white Dutch clover (Trifolium repens), which, as well as the sweet-scented, common purple clover (Trifolium pratense), is so valuable an herbage plant to the farmer: 'Sow in good time the trefoil, that in spring Will juicy herbage to the cattle bring; Cut it, and dry it for the winter rack;

Be provident, and thou shalt nothing lack.'

They are called trefoils on account of their triple leaflets. Observe how the bees swarm and hum over the clover field,

'Flying solicitous from flower to flower,'

and sucking the honey from each full blossom. There are seventeen species of wild trefoils,-purple, yellow, and white. One, very common (Trifolium filiforme), has small yellow flowers, which bloom on almost every country wayside. There are many old superstitions connected with the clover, which was supposed to possess a peculiar charm against witchcraft. Many a peasant, in past days, wore a spray to keep away the witches, and preserve him against all magic arts; and even yet there seems a lingering belief in its virtue, for we are all apt to exclaim at our luck when we chance to find a four-leaved clover!

There is not a more lovely flower to be gathered during this month than the beautiful blue-bell, or wild hyacinth (Hyacinthus non-scriptus), which blossoms so

abundantly in our woodlands, and continues, as Keats

has said,

'The shaded hyacinth, alway

Sapphire queen of the mid-May.'

HYACINTH-Hyacinthus non-scriptus.

How modestly does each spike of flowers droop from the thick, succulent stem, that seems to bend beneath its

weight of beauty, and seeks to hide amidst its abundant sword-like leaves

'The languid hyacinth,'

as one of our poets has called it. How pure is the deep blue colouring of its blossoms!

'Hyacinth, with sapphire bell
Curling backwards.'

How delicate its fragrance, caught up by the sweet spring air, scenting

'The lone copse or shadowy dell,

Where clustered knots of blue-bells blow!'

Sometimes it is found white; and our garden varieties vary in all the shades of pink, purple, and blue; but these roots are all brought from eastern countries, and are much more powerful in scent than our common wild hyacinth

The whole plant is full of a poisonous clammy juice, from which formerly starch and glue were made. Poets have loved to extol the beauty of the hyacinth, that blooms in the midst of delicate anemones, 'pale primroses,' and fragrant violets. Most beautifully Shakespeare speaks of it as one of the 'fairest flowers' with which to sweeten the sad grave of poor Fidele:

'Thou shalt not lack

The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor

The azured blue-bell, like thy veins; no, nor

The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Outsweeten'd not thy breath.'

A legend is told of how this flower was named after Hyacinthus, a youth whose education had been entrusted to Apollo, by whom he was greatly beloved. Whilst playing together a game of quoits, Zephyrus, one of the winds, who was jealous of the affection existing between them, blew the quoit of Apollo on to the head of Hyacinthus, who was instantly killed with the blow. Apollo, disconsolate at the death of his favourite, changed his blood into a flower, which has ever since. borne his name:

'Apollo with unweeting hand, Whilome did slay his dearly loved mate,

Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land;

And then transformed him to a purple flower.'

The ancient poets also inform us that the leaves of the plant were streaked with black, emblematic of sorrow; and Milton has spoken of it as

'That sanguine flower inscribed with woe.'

but we look in vain for such lines in our beautiful wild hyacinth, and consequently it has been named Hyacin thus non-scriptus, which signifies, not written.

One can scarcely wander near a corn-field without finding a spray of fumitory (Fumaria officinalis). Its name is derived from the Latin fumus (smoke); but why, I am unable to tell you. Its smell, though unpleasant, is in no way similar to smoke. Its small, deep, purple, rose-tinged flower, has a black spot on it, is tubular in form, and drooping, grows in a spike-like