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Updated: June 19, 2025
I send you one dozen out of two dozen ranunculus roots, which good, kind, dying Lady Pakenham sent to me, with a note as fresh in feeling as youth could dictate. To MR. BANNATYNE. EDGEWORTHSTOWN, Nov. 12, 1832. The death of Sir Walter Scott has filled us all, as his private friends and admirers, with sorrow.
Gerarde further adds that, "The devil did bite it for envy, because it is an herb that hath so many great virtues, and is so beneficial to mankind." A species of ranunculus supplies his coach-wheels, and in some parts of the country ferns are said to supply his brushes.
If it be spring, the children would delight in gathering the sweet-scented meadow flowers the water ranunculus, with its golden cups, the modest daisy, the pink cuckoo-flower, and the yellow cowslips; while overhead the bees kept up a constant humming; they have found their way from the straw hives in the garden and are diving into the delicious blossoms of the apple and cherry trees, robbing many a one of its sweets.
When I read about the poppies Alphonse Karr sowed in the wild nooks of his native country, it made me think of John's French poppies, and paeony poppies, and ranunculus poppies, and carnation poppies, some very large, some quite small, some round and neat, some full and ragged like Japanese chrysanthemums, but all of such beautiful shades of red, rose, crimson, pink, pale blush, and white, that if they had but smelt like carnations instead of smelling like laudanum when you have the toothache, they would have been quite perfect.
As the material thus necessary to life seems to abound more in air than in water, the subaquatic leaves of this plant, and of sisymbrium, coenanthe, ranunculus aquatilis, water crowfoot, and some others, are cut into fine divisions to increase the surface; whilst those above water are undivided.
The little multeberry was in blossom; the ranunculus, the globe-flower, the purple geranium, the heath, and the blue forget-me-not spangled the ground, and on every hillock the young ferns unrolled their aromatic scrolls written with wonderful fables of the southern spring. For it was only spring here, or rather the very beginning of summer.
"Long after the last of your number Has ceased my front-court to encumber While, treading down rose and ranunculus, You Tommy-make-room-for-your-uncle-us! Troop, all of you man or homunculus, Quick march! for Xanthippe, my housemaid, If once on your pates she a souse made With what, pan or pot, bowl or skoramis, First comes to her hand things were more amiss!
The country, with its green hedgerows, its broad fields of young corn, its meadows enamelled with the golden ranunculus and the purple spring orchis both in full flower; the country with its birds' nests and bird music would have been attractive to most boys of my age, but far more fascination for me was there in that which lay beyond that calm, glassy surface of a sky-blue colour that shone over the fields, glistening under the rays of the sun like a transparent mirror.
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