The flowers strewed over graves by the Greeks were the Amaranth, Myrtle, and Polyanthus. The practice was reprobated by the primitive Christians; but in Prudentius’s time they had adopted it, and it is expressly mentioned both by St. Ambrose and St. Jerome. The flowers so used were deemed typical of the dead: to the young were assigned the blossoms of Spring and Summer: to middle-age, aromatic herbs and branches of primeval trees. Amaranthus was employed by the Thessalians to decorate the grave of Achilles; and Electra is represented as uttering the complaint that the tomb of her father Agamemnon had not been adorned with Myrtle:-- “With no libations, nor with Myrtle boughs, Were my dear father’s manes gratified.” Virgil, when recounting the sorrow of Anchises at the loss of Marcellus, causes him to exclaim:-- “Full canisters of fragrant Lilies bring, Mix’d with the purple Roses of the Spring. Let me with fun’ral flowers his body strew.” In Germany, and in the German Cantons of Switzerland, the custom of decking graves is very common. The _Dianthus_ is a favourite flower for this purpose in Upper Germany. In the beautiful little churchyard at Schwytz, almost every grave is entirely covered with Pinks. The cemetery of Père la Chaise, near Paris, exhibits proofs of the extent to which the custom of decking graves is preserved even by a metropolitan population and among persons of some rank. Numerous shops in the neighbourhood of this cemetery are filled with garlands of _Immortelles_ or Everlasting Flowers, which are purchased on _fête_ days and anniversaries, and placed on the graves. The branches of Box, or _Bois béni_, which are used in the place of Palms and Palm-leaves, are frequently stuck over graves in France. “Fair flowers in sweet succession should arise Through the long, blooming year, above the grave; Spring breezes will breathe gentlier o’er the turf, And summer glance with mildest, meekest beam, To cherish piety’s dear offerings. There Rich sounds of Autumn ever shall be heard,-- Mysterious, solemn music, waked by winds To hymn the closing year! And when the touch Of sullen Winter blights the last, last gem, That bloomed around the tomb--O! there should be The polished and enduring Laurel--there The green and glittering Ivy, and all plants, All hues and forms, delicious, that adorn The brumal reign, and often waken hopes Refreshing. Let eternal verdure clothe The silent fields where rest the honoured dead, While mute affection comes, and lingers round With slow soft step, and pensive pause, and sigh, All holy.”--_Carrington._