214 MORE POT-POURRI 



down into. I hope they may be successful ; I do hate 

 being beaten. At least some must succeed, one would 

 think, planted in five different situations. They have 

 to be labelled with large white labels, as the great dan- 

 ger, if one's back is turned, is of their being dug up, 



Driving last year on this day, I find I noticed the 

 Nettles were well up in the hedges and just ready for 

 picking, and the catkins were hanging from the Hazel 

 boughs. A little Celandine, on a moist bank, opened its 

 yellow star in the sun. I have never seen it cultivated 

 in gardens, which — weed though it is — seems a pity, and 

 I think I shall try it in patches under some shrubs. No 

 doubt it is rather its early appearance than its shining 

 beauty that has made it so loved of the poets. Words- 

 worth describes it and its surroundings with grace and 

 truth in the following well-known poem: 



Pansies, Lilies, King-cups, Daisies, 



Let them live upon their praises ; 



There's a flower that shall be mine, 



'Tis the little Celandine! 



Ere a leaf is on a bush, 



In the time before the thrush 



Has a thought about its neat, 



Thou wilt come with half a call, 

 Spreading out thy glossy breast. 



Like a careless prodigal; 

 Telling tales about the sun, 

 When we've little warmth or none. 



Careless of thy neighbourhood, 

 Thou dost show thy pleasant face ; 



On the moor and in the wood. 

 In the lane — there's not a place. 



Howsoever mean it be, 



But 'tis good enough for thee. 



I picked to-day and ate with great relish my first 

 Dandelion salad. I can recommend it again and again 



