160 VIBGINIA 



preening his feathers, with sweet soliloquis- 

 tic chattering, "the very sound of happy 

 thoughts." I was with him in feeling, 

 though no match for him in the expression 

 of it. 



Again and again I took the brookside 

 path, and spent an hour of dreams in this 

 sunny clearing among the hills. Day by 

 day the sun's heat did its work, melting the 

 snow of the shadbushes and the bloodroot, 

 and bringing out the first scattered flushes 

 of yellowish-green on the lofty tulip-trees, 

 while splashes of lively purple soon made 

 me aware that the ground in some places 

 was as thick with fringed polygala as it was 

 in other places with hepatica and arbutus. 

 No doubt, the fair procession, beauty follow- 

 ing beauty, would last the season through. 

 A white violet, new to me ( Viola striata), 

 was sprinkled along the path, and on the 

 second day, as I went up the hill to my usual 

 seat, I dropped u])on my knees before a per- 

 fect vision of loveliness, — a dwarf iris, only 

 two or three inches above the ground, of 

 an exquisite, truly heavenly shade, bluish- 

 purple or violet-blue, standing alone in the 

 midst of the brown last year's grass. Un- 



