ho fed on
fresh, new milk, and stepped on daisies, and knew more about
butter-cups and clover blossoms, than parties and fashions,--little
guileless children, who danced and jumped and laughed for the same
reason the birds sing--_because they couldn't help it_,--who didn't
care any more than the birds, whether their plumage was red, green,
yellow or brown, so that they could dart and skim and hop where they
liked, warble when they had a mind, and fold their wings where they
pleased, when weary. But _these_ little city hot-house plants,
shivering, shrinking, drooping--I had almost said _dying_, every time
the wind blows--it quite makes my heart ache.

I think I must go hunt up their mammas, and beg them to give their
little sensitive plants more air and sunshine, to make them hardy. Dear
me! the mammas here are never at home. Some are in the great ladies'
saloon (bright with gilding and mirrors,) in Broadway, sipping red
"cordial," eating sugared wine drops and French cakes, and chattering
with the gentlemen; some are at Madam Modeste's, planning a new ball
dress, and talking about feathers and fashions; some are looking at a
set of diamonds at the jewellers; and some are still in bed, although
it is high noon, because they danced themselves so weary last night.
So, poor little things, I suppose you must stay in your heated
nurseries, bleaching like potato sprouts in a dark cellar, till Molly
or Betty think best to let you out. Well, Aunt Fanny would be _so_ glad
to tie a little sun-bonnet on your head, put on a dress loose enough to
run in, and take you off into the country a while. She'd show you
little cups and saucers, made of acorns, that would beat all they have
in the Broadway toy-shops, (and cost you nothing, either); and soft,
green seats of moss, embroidered with little golden flowers, much
handsomer than any the upholsterer could put in your mamma's drawing
room, (and which never fade in the sunlight); then she'd show you a
pretty picture of bright green fields, where a silver stream goes
dancing through, where little fish dart beneath, where the heated
cattle come to drink, and the little birds dip their wings, then are
off and away!

Oh, such merry times as we'd have! I know where the purple geranium
grows; where the bright scarlet columbine blushes, and where the pale
wax plant hides under its glossy green leaf. I know where the blue eyed
anemone blossoms; I know where the bright lobelia nods its royal
s