CHAPTER III

APRIL FLOWERS

Anemone and Ranunculus

AN April nosegay! It is much easier to gather one than a March nosegay; indeed there are so many flowers now, that I can only choose out a few to talk about, as it would take too long to dwell upon them all.

The Easter flower is commonly called the Pasque flower, from the word Paschal. It is very pretty, deep purple with yellow stamens; but it is not very common. I will go on to another flower of the same genus, the wood-anemone.

Anemone means windflower, and this I believe is the English name often given to this very pretty ornament of our woods. It is rather difficult to get at the root of the wood-anemone, as it is deep in the earth, and creeping, putting down clusters of fibres into the ground, and shooting up stems at short distances apart. Each stem has a sort of joint about half-way up, whence spring three leaf stalks; each stalk bears three leaves, and these leaves are again notched deeply into three divisions, and altogether they spread out most gracefully below the slender stem which bears the modest blossom, bending down its

head and folding its wings in wet weather or at night, and opening them again to rejoice in the delicious spring sunshine.

The five petals are usually of a delicate pearly white; but sometimes, especially later in the season, they have a tinge of lilac, and I have now and then seen one quite purple. Within are quite a crowd of stamens with yellow anthers, too many to count, and in the middle what you might suppose to be a single great pistil, without style or stigma, but in reality it is a multitude of very small ones joined together, which will all become separate seeds in the course of the summer. How delicate the flower is it is in vain to try to gather it for a nosegay, for it is sure to droop its pretty head and fade before it can be brought home, and we must be content to leave the flowers in their bed of fresh green moss, and brown, crackling, last year's leaves at the foot of the tree, studding over the coppice like so many white stars.

I think that the wood-anemone may put us in mind of some quiet, shy, modest girl, who makes all sunny and happy round her in her own safe, shaded home; while, perhaps, she has gayer and brighter sisters or cousins who can do their work as well in less sheltered scenes, and wear their company-robes as modestly as she her humble dress.

The anemone has such sisters-pretty Miss Hepatica Anemone, in her blue or pink robe, with her large, handsome, three-cleft, dark-green parasol, is one of them; but she is not less quiet and retiring than her woodland sister, for she, too, hangs down her head, and hides under her leaves at night; and, somehow, she always prospers more in a cottage garden than in grander places, perhaps remembering that her native home is on the Swiss mountains, where she peeps up almost through the snow.

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There is one of the family, however, who is quite at home in any garden, however grand-Mr. Poppy Anemone, her large handsome brother, with his multitude of black stamens, and great black lump of pistils, the styles of which grow so thick together that they seem like hair. He has an endless variety of beautiful dresses: sometimes he appears in rich scarlet, sometimes in crimson or purple, and sometimes in quite a ladylike robe of white, trimmed with purple or pink. He is a great friend of the gardeners, who think they can get him to do anything to please them, and persuade him to alter his shape, wear all manner of flounces and furbelows, and disguise himself in such strange fashion that his best friends would hardly know him again. Sometimes, indeed, he wastes all his substance in thus doubling the folds of his robes, but if not, after about a fortnight, he takes off all his beautiful red or purple garments, and rolls himself up in his plain working dress, very like a gray duffle cloak. By and by the gray coat seems to come unravelled, just as if you were to undo a knitted glove, and it will prove to be formed of a multitude of little yellow seeds, each with its own white wing of cotton, with which, if left to itself, it would fly away to seek a home; but the gardeners are on the watch for them and catch them, that they may take good care of their feeding and education, so that they may grow up as fine, or finer, gentlemen than their father.

I have read a description, in a book of travels in the Holy Land, of the country near the sea of Galilee. The ground, early in the spring, is covered with a thick, close carpet of crimson anemones, above which are a number of half-withered stems of grass. Sometimes, through a narrow opening in the mountains, there comes a sudden gust

of wind, waving aside for a moment all the grass in the line of its course, and showing the crimson flowers beneath, so that it seems like a mysterious river of blood, suddenly appearing for one instant, and as quickly passing away. There is, too, the handsome branched Japan anemone, white or purple, blossoming through the autumn.

Several other flowers are in blossom now, belonging to the same many-stamened race as the anemone. First there is the ranunculus tribe, and you will wonder to hear that these are no other than your old golden friends, the buttercups, kingcups, or crowfoot, whichever you may usually call them. There they are with their five glossy yellow petals, their numerous stamens, and their lump of little, round, horn-shaped pistils. They have also five small green leaves growing under the petals, and this part of the flower is called the calyx or cup. There are many different kinds-the creeping crowfoot, which is such an enemy to the farmer, in grass fields, for though it used to be a saying that buttercups made the butter yellow, this is quite a mistake, for you may see that cattle always leave the stems when they have eaten the grass all round; and the truth is, that all plants of the ranunculus tribe, that is, with many stamens growing out of the receptacle, are poisonous. Then there is the corncrowfoot, with its very curious-toothed and jagged seedvessels; and the white water-crowfoot, which has large, three-cleft leaves to float on the top of the water, and serve to bear it up there, and also thick clusters of fibrous, mossy leaves to keep under water and suck up moisture with. It varies remarkably in size, for in a deep, running stream or large pond it is a handsome flower, while in a little puddle or gutter it is so very small that the first time I met with it I could scarcely believe it to be

the same flower. We must not forget the earliest of all buttercups, sometimes called pilewort, and sometimes small celandine, the structure of which is different from the others, in order to suit its early blossoming. It has ten instead of five petals, and three divisions in the calyx, and the reason of this difference is believed to be that it may be better able to close over and protect its stamens and pistils in case of early frost. I have a great kindness for the pilewort-for its sunny, golden face, coming to greet us so early, and the pretty brown shading outside; nor are its shining, heart-shaped leaves without much beauty.

Garden ranunculuses are many; Bachelors' Buttons, also called Fair-Maids-of-France, are a double sort. The French call them Esperances, or hope, and when St. Louis was a captive among the Mahometans in Egypt, and could write no letter to console his wife, he sent her a root of this flower. Its name told her to hope on through her hard trial. The great scarlet globe ranunculus has its proper home in Syria. Another April flower of the same class, and very like a great crowfoot, is the marsh marigold; indeed, the only differences between it and the ranunculi are, that it has no calyx, and its sepals are more separated. It has its name from having been used to dress the churches on the feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, from whose old English title of Our Lady many other flowers take their

names.