72 Walks in New England 



ing, because of the sustaining force of its woody 

 stem. But the hepatica scarcely survives the 

 plucking ; it wilts and dies as it departs from the 

 earth. It is said that it has no fragrance, but this 

 saying about flowers means only that our sense is 

 not fine enough to apprehend the subtlety of their 

 evanescent breath. Doubtless the hepatica has 

 fragrance ; doubtless the common blue violet, and 

 the branching white violet, and surely the branch 

 ing yellow violet, as well as the dainty marsh 

 white violet, have their fragrances. Only the last 

 mentioned, the tiny blanda, with its violet streaks 

 in white, is credited with the faintest of perfume. 

 But there are those who, long loving flowers, find 

 in them the properties that others miss, and will 

 not allow that the deficiency in such as these is 

 more than relative. 



Be that as it may, the hepatica needs no charms 

 but those that are obvious to gain our love. And 

 yet not all obvious. There is something more 

 than meets the first glance in this modest, simple 

 flower, espied in the midst of the dry brown leaves 

 of the forest, where the fall ripening shook them 

 from the boughs upon the warm slopes open to 

 the south. Generally the old leaves of the year 

 that went, encompass the crown of the new bloom, 

 but sometimes the blossoms come in a pathetic 

 loneliness. Always they wear the look of celes- 



