42 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



Indian graves. The faithful still claim it as efficacious, 

 and he who doubts is sneered at if he expresses his opin- 

 ion. All that the rambler can ask is that the plant be 

 not exterminated, and that the fools may be. 



While lingering by the witch-hazel, or standing under 

 a cedar, through whose dense foliage no snow ever drift- 

 ed, the botanist has an humble plant to attract him, all 

 through the winter, in the pretty star-chickweed. Give 

 it but a few rays of genial sunsliine daily, and let the 

 south wind sweep the dead oak-leaves away, and this 

 little plant will blossom as freely as in early June. The 

 flower, of itself, can scarcely be called pretty, yet in mid- 

 winter, when so little is to be found, small favors, such 

 as thi?, are most thankfully received. Again, beneath 

 some near-by sheltering cluster of trees, where the mid- 

 day sun meets with no obstruction, and the north wind 

 cannot reach us, a goodly space may be whitened with 

 blooming whitlow -grass, and lead us, when a little dis- 

 tance from it, to think that snow has been slyly scat- 

 tered there by some passing cloud. 



While it is yet winter and bitterly cold, the hillside 

 sassafrasses are often in bloom, when taller trees afford 

 them shelter. Their yellow flowers are quite pretty, 

 and a winter nosegay can be gathered that is worth the 

 carrying by blending them with twigs of holly, brilliant 

 with red berries. It is only the smaller bushes that 

 bloom so early. Not far from the creek towers a tree, 

 sixty feet high, and with a sturdy trunk two feet in di- 

 ameter. This giant sassafras patiently waits until April, 

 or March, if the spring happens to be an early one. 



Another midwinter bloom, and also yellow, is the 



