This saint, daughter of Richard, king of the West Saxons, also a saint, became a nun at Winburn in Dorsetshire, from whence, twenty-seven years after she had taken the veil, she went to Germany, and became abbess of a nunnery at Heidenheim in Suabia, where her brother governed an abbey of monks, which at his death, in 760, she also governed, and died in 779. His relics were distributed in the principal cities of the Low Countries, and the cathedral of Canterbury. The catalogue of relics in the electoral palace of Hanover, published there in 1713, mentions some of them there in a rich shrine. Butler calls them “rich particles.” Part of her jawbone, at Antwerp, was visited and kissed by the archduke Albert and Isabella in 1615. An oily liquor flowed from her tomb, and was a sovereign remedy, till the chemists and apothecaries somehow or other got their simples and substances into superior reputation. Strange to say, these victors over relics have never been canonized, yet their names would not sound badly in the calendar: for instance, St. William Allen, of Plough-court; St. Anderson, of Fleet-street; St. Cribb, of High Holborn; St. Hardy, of Walworth; St. Fidler, of Peckham; St. Perfect, of Hammersmith; &c. THE SEASON. It is observed by Dr. Forster in the “Perennial Calendar,” that about this season the purple spring crocus, _crocus vernus_, now blows, and is the latest of our crocuses. “It continues through March like the rest of the genus, and it varies with purple, with whitish, and with light blue flowers. The flowers appear before the leaves are grown to their full length. The vernal and autumnal crocus have such an affinity, that the best botanists only make them varieties of the same genus. Yet the vernal crocus expands its flowers by the beginning of March at farthest, often in very rigorous weather, and cannot be retarded but by some violence offered; while the autumnal crocus, or saffron, alike defies the influence of the spring and summer, and will not blow till most plants begin to fade and run to seed. _On the Seasons of Flowering, by White._ Say, what impels, amid surrounding snow, Congealed, the Crocus’ flamy bud to glow? Say, what retards, amid the Summer’s blaze, The autumnal bulb, till pale, declining days? The God of Seasons, whose pervading power Controls the sun, or sheds the fleecy shower: He bids each flower his quickening word obey; Or to each lingering bloom enjoins delay. We may now begin to expect a succession of spring flowers; something new will be opening every day through the rest of the season.” FLOWERS