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The Fern I have drawn, and hitherto alluded to, is a very common kind; but many of our native Ferns are very diminutive, rare, and flourish only in peculiar situations. The singular one called Maiden-hair, may often be found on ruins; and old stone walls are frequently very productive of other small kinds. The curiously coiled up ball in which the Fern first springs from the ground, and its gradual growth and expansion, are among some of Natures most interesting phenomena. I well remember the extreme delight with which I first examined one of the rough brown knobs, when told that it contained the graceful leaves of the plant I loved so much.
The "little darling" Mignionette is too familiar and dear a friend to need a formal introduction to any company in which we may chance to find her. Her homes are as various as ours who cherish her. From the royal garden, the stately terrace, or the boudoir-balcony, to the small flower-bed of the cottager,—and the narrow, dark, patched window of the poor town artisan, where an old broken jar, or rough box, holds the petted plant,—we find Mignionette an unfailing guest. And right worthy is her modest form and exquisite fragrance of such universal love.
Shelley alludes to it in these few sweet lines "To E. V."—
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet basil and mignionette;
Embleming Love and Health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.
Alas, and they are wet!
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
