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Page 9
Then soon on a crusade of love and good-will
The Herons in council decided;
And they flew, every one that could boast a long bill,
To the beach where the Herrings resided.
So the tribe were soon converts from ocean to air,
Though liking not much the diversion,
And wishing at least they had time to prepare
For so novel a mode of conversion.
A sensible child will discover with ease
The point of the tale I've related--
A blockhead could not, let me say what I please--
Then why need my MORAL be stated?
EARLY SPRING FLOWERS.
Of all the amusements of my childhood, I can think of none which I loved so
much as rambling in the woods and meadows among the flowers. What a rich
treat it used to be, just after the earth had thrown aside its white
mantle, and begun to be clothed in its summer dress, to get permission to
spend a whole Saturday afternoon in the woods with my brother and sister.
Oh, how delighted we all were, when we found the first wild flowers of
spring! Let me see. What flowers show their pretty faces the earliest? Do
you remember, young friend? Perhaps you have always lived in the city, and
have never made their acquaintance. But if you have ever seen them,
blushing in their native haunts, I am sure you must remember how they look,
and what their names are. I cannot see how any body can forget them, they
are so beautiful and lovely.
One of the earliest flowers of spring, and one which grew in the woods only
a few rods from my father's door, near the stream that turned my miniature
water-wheels, is the _Trailing Arbutus_. Often you may find this plant
unfolding its delicate blossoms before the snow has left the ground. That,
in our northern latitudes, is usually among the first flowers in blossom.
Soon after she appears, you may see one and perhaps two different species
of the _Anemone_. One, especially--the _Anemone Thalictroides_,
as it used to be called in botany, though it is now the _Thalictrum
Anemonoides_, I believe--is among the fairest of all these flowers of
spring. She has a blossom as white as snow. The _Anemone Nemrosa_ is
almost as fair, too, though not quite, I think. You can sometimes see them
both smiling side by side, early in the month of May, nodding gracefully at
each other, and smiling as if they were very happy. It does not require
much imagination to fancy they are conversing together; and, indeed, I
would quite as soon believe that flowers could talk, as I would believe
those stories about the fairies that children hear sometimes.
There is another beautiful flower which makes her appearance very
early--the _Spring Beauty_, or _Claytonia Virginica_. She is
usually found in the same locations with the Anemone. Then there is the
_Liver Leaf_. Did you ever find that, little girl? Very possibly you
have not taken a ramble early enough in the spring to see her. She makes
her visit frequently in the latter part of April, and she does not stay
long. But after her flower has faded and fallen, there may be seen a few
deeply notched and curious leaves, to mark the spot where she bloomed so
sweetly.
The _Blood Root_, too, will make her visit, and go away again, if you
delay your ramble in the woods till the first of May. The blossom of the
Blood Root is a very delicate white. Hundreds of exotic flowers are
cultivated in our gardens, and very much admired, that are not half so
pretty as this. The leaves that appear before the plant is in blossom, are
oval, a little like those of the Adder's Tongue, which is in flower
somewhat later, and like those of one species of the Solomon's Seal--the
_Convallaria Bifolia_. But when the flower of the Blood Root appears,
you see quite a different kind of leaf, so that even close observers of
wild flowers are sometimes deceived, and think that their early leaves
belong to some other plant.
Every body who has been at all familiar with the forest and meadows in the
spring, knows the _Violet_. There are a good many sisters in this
charming family, but none, perhaps, in our latitude, that are more
beautiful than the _Viola Rotundifolia,_ or Yellow Violet, with
roundish leaves, lying close to the ground. The Blue Violet, too, appears
soon after, and is perhaps equally pretty. I recollect distinctly where it
used to grow near the little brook that ran through our meadow--a brook
that many a time has served to turn my water-wheel. Oh, those days of
miniature water-wheels, and kites, and wind-mills! how happy they were, and
how I love to think of them now! By the way, have you ever read Miss
Gould's poetical fable about the little child and the Blue Violet? I must
recite a stanza or two of this poem, I think. The child speaks to the
Violet, and says,
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