172 VIRGINIA 



afternoon, on my walk homeward. In a wet 

 place near the edge of the woods, at some 

 distance from the road, — so sticky after the 

 rain that I was thankful to keep away from 

 it, — I came suddenly upon a truly magnifi- 

 cent display of Virginia lungwort, a flower 

 that I half remembered to have seen at one 

 time and another in gardens, but here grow- 

 ing in a garden of its own, and after a man- 

 ner to put cultivation to the blush. The 

 homely place, nothing but the muddy border 

 of a pool, was glorified by it ; the flowers a 

 vivid blue or bluish-purple, and the buds 

 bright pink. The plants are of a weedy 

 sort, little to my fancy, and the blossoms, 

 taken by themselves, are not to be compared 

 for an instant with such modest woodland 

 beauties as were spoken of a few pages back, 

 trailing arbutus, fringed polygala, and the 

 vernal fleur-de-lis ; but the color, seen thus 

 in the mass, and come upon thus unexpect- 

 edly, was a memorable piece of splendor. 

 Such pictures, humble as they may seem, 

 and little as they may be regarded at the 

 time, are often among the best rewards of 

 travel. Memory has ways of her own, and 

 treasures what trifles she will. 



