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Pheasant's Eye

Adonis autumnalis.

WHAT shall we say of names now? The sneer at those "who allium call their onions and their leeks" must be concealed for the present. Here is a precious old garden friend, the colours of which remind us of the eye of the pheasant, the most beautiful of our poultry, which becomes game in the killing, and the scientific name of which takes us right away into the heart of legendary lore. It is the flower of Adonis, too, the Adonis autumnalis, and it is the "rose-a-rubie" and the "red maythes" of the herb women, "by which name," says Gerarde, "it is called of them that dwell where it groweth naturally, and generally red camomill." But what of all this? Why should we masticate the dry husks of history when we may drink the wine of legendary lore ever fresh from the eternal fountains? "Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat! Swart planet in the universe of deeds! Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds Along the pebbled shore of memory."