And now on we go, Fanny rather tiresome, and George rather merciless; for when she will poke her head into the hedge, and stand stock-still to eat, or, worse still, suddenly push up against a stone-wall, to the imminent danger of crushing my foot to pieces, he thumps and pushes her till the echoes in Echo Lane reverberate with the unpoetical sound.  However, on we go by degrees, and find the banks everywhere rich with fresh springing grass and deep full beds of moss, with every here and there the pale lemon-tinted petals of the primrose just peeping through the partial openings in their shrouding mantles of green; and there, above us, hangs that which I had hoped to find—­the catkins of the hazel, which have been hailed by children for centuries under the names of ‘Pussy-cat’s tails,’ or ‘Baa-lamb’s tails;’ and a more interesting flower for examination as we pass onwards we can scarcely have, for its structure is very peculiar and beautiful.  We will gather a good bunch of these pretty pendent tassel-like clusters; and see! as we break off the stems, what a shower of gold-dust is scattered over us, and flies in all directions through the air!  So abundant is this yellow pollen beneath the scales of the catkins, that we shall find, if we place them in our moss-basket, that the table below them will be coated with it in the course of an hour or two.  The common hazel or nut-tree affords a fine illustration of the structure of that division of plants to which most of our common European trees belong, and which, from its including the oak, is called ‘the oak-tribe.’  I shall not, however, expatiate on the hazel, the pride of our old copse-banks, but look beneath its long slender branches, and there, lurking modestly, do I see that pretty little yellow flower, the lesser celandine (Ficaria verna.) Every one knows this little early blossom by sight, if not by name.  Its root is formed of numerous clustering tubercles, or oblong knobs, with fibres.  This root is sometimes washed by the rain until these tubercles appear above ground, when, as Loudon tells us, ’ignorant people have sometimes been led to fancy that it rained wheat.’  The celandine has slightly-branched stems, two or three inches in height, on which grow alternate stalked heart-shaped leaves, sheathed at the base, where they sometimes contain one or two knobs like those of the root.  The flowers, which are terminal and solitary, are much like a butter-cup—­of a golden yellow, and exceedingly shining within, and tinged with green on the outsides.  ‘After the flowre decays,’ says Gerarde, ’there springeth up a little fine knop or headful of seede.’  This head of seed alone is left by about May to mark where the plant grew; and even this soon dries up and disappears.  Wordsworth has thrown an interest about this plant, which it would not otherwise have possessed, by his elegant little poem called The Lesser Celandine.