310 
Woman and the Home 
From Day to Day. 
THE BLOSSOM. 
Only a little shrivelled seed— 
It might be flower or grass or weed; 
Only a box of earth on the edge 
Of a narrow, dusty window ledge; 
Only a few scant Summer showers, 
Only a few clear, shining hours— 
That was all. Yet God could make 
Out of these, for a sick child’s sake, 
A blossom wonder as fair and sweet 
As ever broke at an angel’s feet. 
Only a life of barren pain, 
Wet with sorrowful tears of rain; 
Warmed sometimes by a wandering gleam 
Of joy that seemed but a happy dream; 
A life as common and brown and bare 
As the box of earth in the window there. 
Yet it bore at last the precious bloom 
Of a perfect soul in a narrow room— 
Pure as the snowy leaves that fold 
Over the flower’s heart of gold. 
—Dr. Henry Van Dyke. 
• 
This is a good time of year to de¬ 
cide that, before the season is over, we 
will really learn something of the wild 
flowers. Nothing adds more to the 
interest and pleasure of country life, 
and in addition to the many nature 
study leaflets and bulletins sent out by 
the State experiment stations and the 
National Department of Agriculture, 
there is an unending list of good books 
on such subjects. Nor should one be 
terrified by botanical names; they may 
look imposing, but they are no longer 
than many words we use in regular 
speech, and once mastered they are a 
key to a new field of knowledge. When 
we learn that there is a reason for call¬ 
ing a sunflower Helianthus, or a lady’s- 
slipper orchid Cypripedium, or learn the 
classical allusion in such names as 
Amaryllis, or Daphne, or Anemone, we 
shall find that there is real fitness in 
many of the lengthy titles. 
* 
And what a pleasure it is to get ac¬ 
quainted with some of the lovely wild 
flowers that we regard as weeds, while 
foreign gardeners pet and coddle them, 
and develop new forms to beautify trans¬ 
atlantic gardens! There is no reason why 
we should not give them a little of that 
petting right here in our own gardens, 
grow familiar enough to call them by 
their right names, and see how they will 
reward us, once they are given a chance 
to do their best. One of our correspon¬ 
dents up in Vermont has her wild gar¬ 
den right by the kitchen window, in a 
spot that would have been unkempt and 
unsightly if it were not for the wood¬ 
land growth that graces it. A tired 
woman who cannot tramp far afield will 
take pleasure in seeing the Hepatica un¬ 
fold its first furry stems in some shady 
corner of the dooryard, when the 
ground thaws out in the Spring; the 
delicate little bloodroot and frail Ane¬ 
mone may bear it company. Later the 
red and yellow columbines from the 
woods will make anyone long to see 
more of them, and perhaps induce an 
investment in some seed to provide deli¬ 
cate blossoms of pink, white, blue, 
purple, crimson and all the intermedi¬ 
ate shades of this graceful flower. 
* 
We have urged on several previous 
occasions that country children be taught 
to know at sight the common poisonous 
plants of their district. This is such 
a practical thing that we have expected 
to hear of it as forming part of the in¬ 
struction in rural schools. A very use¬ 
ful bulletin issued some years ago by 
the U. S. Department of Agriculture, 
“Principal Poisonous Plants of the 
United States,” by V. K. Chesnut (Bul¬ 
letin No. 20, Division of Botany) would 
serve as a textbook of such instruction. 
Almost every year just when frost first 
leaves the ground, we read of children 
fatally poisoned by eating some root 
found exposed on the crumbling banks 
of a watercourse, and realize that such 
fatalities would be averted by a strong 
THE RURAL* NEW-YORKER 
March 1, 
warning against cowbane and water 
hemlock. Or a party of children (some¬ 
times adults too) searching for “cow¬ 
slip greens,” include the robust leaves 
of the false hellebore, without realizing, 
when the dish of greens is cooked, that, 
like the wild gourds that were shredded 
into the Scriptural mess of pottage, 
there is death in the pot. A brief but 
efficient drilling in these dangerous 
plants, with antidotes or treatment 
(sometimes, alas, it is hopeless) would 
seem rather more useful to the average 
child than a critical study of Burke’s 
speech on “Conciliation,” or the respira¬ 
tion of the green moray, two of the 
subjects that were occupying some high 
school girls of our acquaintance. 
* 
Among useful bulletins which would 
be found very helpful by anyone who 
wished to know’ more about common 
plants is “Michigan Weeds,” Bulletin 
267 of the Michigan Agricultural Col¬ 
lege. This is copiously illustrated, 
rendering identification very easy; fa¬ 
miliarity with names and family charac¬ 
teristics would be acquired, which would 
make botanical descriptions more readily 
understood. Of course the proper way 
to know plants is to analyze them, but 
a person absolutely without botanical 
knowdedge does not find it easy, and 
illustrations of familiar plants unknown 
by name pave the way for careful 
analysis. Then there is “Unlawful Iowa 
Weeds and Their Extermination,” is¬ 
sued by the Iowa Experiment Station 
at Ames; “Weeds Used in Medicine” 
by Alice Henkel (Farmers’ Bulletin No. 
188, U. S. Department of Agriculture), 
and “American Medicinal Leaves and 
Herbs,” by the same author (Bulletin 
No. 219, Bureau of Plant Industry). 
Many other State and National bulletins 
will be helpful; we do not expect these 
to take the place of standard botanical 
works, but we think farmers and their 
families should avail themselves to the 
fullest extent, of all this information 
so freely put at their disposal. One 
of the best things about plant study is 
that it is a permanent interest. The late 
Sir Joseph Hooker studied new plants 
at 90 with as much zeal as in early life, 
and every flower lover finds in it a 
consolation as unfailing as seed-time 
and harvest._ 
Uncle Sam’s Flower Seeds. 
“Oh, do take a few of them. Take as 
many packages as you can use or give 
away,” urged our hostess, a city woman, 
and added, “my husband had to take a 
valise to the post office for them, there 
were so many it was too heavy a sack 
for the postman to be obliged to de¬ 
liver. You see he happened to meet one 
of our Congressmen on the street this 
Spring, and he asked him if he could 
not use some of the free seeds. But 
the idea of such a consignment when 
our garden measures 10 by 12!” and she 
laughed merrily and went to fetch more 
seed packets than we could add to our 
shopping parcels. 
I resolved to pass mine on to a cer¬ 
tain barren dooryard where unwashed 
children sported but perchance longed 
for some touch of grace and beauty all 
their own. But though nearly the first 
of June I would try a sowing of them 
on my own account. Among the vege¬ 
tables nasturtiums were never out of 
place, nor poppies amiss, while Zinnias 
were exactly suited to the companion¬ 
ship of beets and tomatoes. 
Well, the Zinnias came up promptly, 
the snapdragons slowly and the nastur¬ 
tiums, poppies and morning glories took 
their time about the matter. The Zin¬ 
nias proved the commonest of that 
common-looking flower, but they served 
as a link between my garden-loving 
heart and that of many another woman. 
Here and there during the Summer I 
saw just such another 10 fe*et of sturdy 
brick-red, yellow, crimson or white 
flowers and I felt like clasping the 
woman’s hand and saying, “Yes, you too 
love plants too faithfully to let even 
a free seed packet go to waste.” 
The snapdragons even gave me blos¬ 
soms before Fall, but I gratefully ac¬ 
cepted the direction’s hint and was 
mindful that when small the plants 
were tender, and needed careful hand¬ 
ling. A brick placed each side and a 
bit of board to keep off too hot sun¬ 
shine kept them safe till one day an 
evil-minded old biddy made her way 
into the garden. Later I found my 
petted Antirrhinums half laid low. 
They were even torn up by the roots 
and half buried upside down. But re¬ 
planting, watering and shade restored 
most of them, for they were no longer 
baby seedlings. The quaint flowers I 
had, as a child, liked to make snap their 
jaws were pleasant to see once more, 
and it was a real gain that a visitor’s 
pronunciation taught me to say Antir¬ 
rhinums properly with accent on the 
“rhi” and not on the second syllable, 
as I had always awkwardly done. How 
many things there are which children 
might just as well learn and learn cor¬ 
rectly, but which they get wrong be¬ 
cause not among people who have given 
the matter attention. 
The most interesting thing about 
Uncle Sam’s nasturiums, poppies and 
morning glories was that they came up 
at all. They took weeks about it, prov¬ 
ing, to my mind, that they were 
ancient, if not honorable members of 
those usually prompt families. After 
their row had been replanted to radishes 
three nasturtiums came up and in Sep¬ 
tember were ready to show me their 
colors, which were very ordinary reds 
and not worthy of honorable mention at 
all. The morning glories, being morn¬ 
ing glories, had to be delicate satin 
trumpets proclaiming another day, and 
worth pausing to greet. There was not 
enough of Summer left to give the late- 
appearing poppies time to blossom in 
the open. But they made a handsome 
show of leaves and buds and I coaxed 
some of the latter to open by bringing 
them into the house in October and 
picking up their green outer covering. 
They were crapy white with pink 
borders, very pretty, and not at all like 
some odd-colored, double ones seen 
among another woman’s- government 
seed gifts. 
As frost held off well it was surpris¬ 
ing how much pleasure my belated and 
commonplace plants gave me. They 
seemed determined to make the most of 
themselves, and during the fine, cold 
days of September and early October 
we had many a bouquet of nasturtiums 
held in airy grace by a little cloud of 
Gypsophila, while a pretty handful of 
Antirrhinum blossoms was picked after 
nasturtiums and Dahlias were frost bit¬ 
ten and lifeless. 
My conclusions are that though the 
free seeds our government distributes 
are of very ordinary sorts, and ancient 
in quality, quite unworthy to be offered 
by such a country as ours, still flowers 
of any kind are worth planting, and will 
yield surprising dividends of pleasure 
for the output of labor bestowed. 
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