sfaction, it proved only a
source of vexation and embarrassment to the reader, and of mortification
to the writer.

The blood-root, sanguinaria, or puccoon, as it is termed by some of the
native tribes, is worthy of attention from the root to the flower. As
soon as the sun of April has warmed the earth and loosened it from its
frozen bonds, you may distinguish a number of purely white buds,
elevated on a naked footstalk, and partially enfolded in a handsome
vine-shaped leaf, of a pale bluish green, curiously veined on the under
side with pale orange. The leaf springs singly from a thick juicy
fibrous root, which, on being broken, emits a quantity of liquor from
its pores of a bright orange scarlet colour: this juice is used by the
Indians as a dye, and also in the cure of rheumatic, and cutaneous
complaints. The flowers of the sanguinaria resemble the white crocus
very closely: when it first comes up the bud is supported by the leaf,
and is folded together with it; the flower, however, soon elevates
itself above its protector, while the leaf having performed its duty of
guardian to the tender bud, expands to its full size. A rich black
vegetable mould at the edges of the clearings seems the favourite soil
for this plant.

The scarlet columbine is another of my favourite flowers; it is bright
red, with yellow linings to the tubes. The nectaries are more elongated
than the garden columbines, and form a sort of mural crown, surmounted
with little balls at the tips. A tall graceful plant, with its brilliant
waving blossoms, is this columbine; it grows both in the sunshine and
the shade, not perhaps in deep shady woods, but where the under brush
has been removed by the running of the fire or the axe of the chopper;
it seems even to flourish in poor stony soils, and may be found near
every dwelling. The feathered columbine delights in moist open swamps,
and the banks of rivulets; it grows to the height of three, and even
four and five feet, and is very ornamental.

Of Violets, we have every variety of colour, size and shape, lacking
only the delightful _viola odorata_ of our home woodlands: yet I know
not why we should quarrel with these meek daughters of the spring,
because they want the fragrance of their more favoured sisters. Many of
your wood-violets, though very beautiful, are also devoid of scent; here
variety of colour ought to make some amends for want of perfume. We have
violets of every shade of blue, some veine