and squire bore its fame over the sea to merry England, over Alps and Pyrenees also; in Spain it is still la Margarita; in Italy, la Margherettina. The Italians, by-the-by, have also a pretty rustic name of their own for it, la pratellina, the little fielding. And now, when the old towers of feudal castles are falling to the ground, when even the monumental statues of knight and dame are crumbling into dust where they lie in the churches, now at this very day, you may still find the name of la Marguerite upon the lips of the peasant girls of France; you may see them measuring the love of their swains by the petals of these flowers, pulling them, one after another, and repeating, as each falls, un peu, beaucoup, passionément, pas du tout; the last leaflet deciding the all-important question by the word that accompanies it; alas! that it must sometimes prove pas du tout! Oddly enough, in Germany, the land of sentiment and Vergiessmeinnicht, this flower of love and chivalry has been degraded into———shall we say it,—Gänseblume,—Goose-blossom! Such, at least, is one of its names; we hasten, however, to call it, with others, Masliebe, or love-measure: probably from the same fancy of pulling the petals to try lovers' hearts by. In England, the Saxon daisy has always been a great favorite with rural poets and country-folk, independently of its knightly honors, as la Marguerite. Chaucer, as we all know, delighted in it; he rose before the sun, he went a-field, he threw himself on the ground to watch the daisy—
| “ | To seen this flour so yong, so fresh of hew, |
| ——————— till it unclosed was | |
| Upon the smal, soft, swete gras.” |
Now can one believe that if the daisy, or the Marguerite, had
