[150:1] Though country people generally have no common name for the Orchis morio, yet it is called in works on English Botany the Fool Orchis; and it has the local names of "Crake-feet" in Yorkshire; of "giddy-gander" in Dorset; and "Keatlegs and Neatlegs" in Kent. Dr. Prior also gives the names "Goose and goslings" and "Gander-gooses" for Orchis morio, and "Standerwort" for Orchis mascula. This last is the Anglo-Saxon name for the flower, but it is now, I believe, quite extinct. LOVE-IN-IDLENESS, _see_ PANSY. MACE. _Clown._ I must have Saffron to colour the warden-pies--Mace--Dates? none. _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (48). The Mace is the pretty inner rind that surrounds the Nutmeg, when ripe. It was no doubt imported with the Nutmeg in Shakespeare's time. (_See_ NUTMEG.) MALLOWS. _Antonio._ He'ld sow't with Nettle seed. _Sebastian._ Or Docks, or Mallows. _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (145). The Mallow is the common roadside weed (_Malva sylvestris_), which is not altogether useless in medicine, though the Marsh Mallow far surpasses it in this respect. Ben Jonson speaks of it as an article of food-- "The thresher . . . feeds on Mallows and such bitter herbs." _The Fox_, act i, sc. 1. It is not easy to believe that our common Wild Mallow was so used, and Jonson probably took the idea from Horace-- "Me pascant olivæ, Me chichorea, levesque malvæ." But the common Mallow is a dear favourite with children, who have ever loved to collect, and string, and even eat its "cheeses:" and these cheeses are a delight to others besides children. Dr. Lindley, certainly one of the most scientific of botanists, can scarcely find words to express his admiration of them. "Only compare a vegetable cheese," he says, "with all that is exquisite in marking and beautiful in arrangement in the works of man, and how poor and contemptible do the latter appear. . . . Nor is it alone externally that this inimitable beauty is to be discovered; cut the cheese across, and every slice brings to view cells and partitions, and seeds and embryos, arranged with an unvarying regularity, which would be past belief if we did not know from experience, how far beyond all that the mind can conceive, is the symmetry with which the works of Nature are constructed."