A BUNCH OF HERBS 



They stretched in never-ending line 



Along the margin of a bay. 

 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance." 



No such sight could greet the poet's eye here. 

 He might see ten thousand marsh marigolds, or ten 

 times ten thousand houstonias, but they would not 

 toss in the breeze, and they would not be sweet- 

 scented like the daffodils. 



It is to be remembered, too, that in the moister 

 atmosphere of England the same amount of fra- 

 grance would be much more noticeable than with 

 us. Think how our sweet bay, or our pink azalea, 

 or our white alder, to which they have nothing that 

 corresponds, would perfume that heavy, vapor- 

 laden air! 



In the woods and groves in England, the wild 

 hyacinth grows very abundantly in spring, and in 

 places the air is loaded with its fragrance. In our 

 woods a species of dicentra, commonly called squir- 

 rel corn, has nearly the same perfume, and its 

 racemes of nodding whitish flowers, tinged with 

 pink, are quite as pleasing to the eye, but it is a 

 shyer, less abundant plant. When our children go 

 to the fields in April and May, they can bring home 

 no wild flowers as pleasing as the sweet English 

 violet, and cowslip, and yellow daffodil, and wall- 

 flower; and when British children go to the woods 

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