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ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1*75.
USHiJ' HH&i&Mt.
MARY E. BRYAN,
Editress.
Atlanta in Spring Livery*
Is it because the Spring has so long delayed
her coming that she seems so much lovelier and
fresher than we remember to have seen her? Or
has she kept us waiting like a fashionable belle,
that she might perfect her toilet and burst upon
us in unwonted bloom and beauty, fresh from
the hands of her tire-woman, radiant Flora?
Certain it is, she has been unusually capricious.
She made April fools of every one of us, sending
the warmest messages of love and promise by
her heralds, the sun and the south wind—mess
ages that set us to clearing away coal-boxes, pack
ing up cloaks and donning chip hats—when sud
denly back came Boreas with a bluster that made
the apple-blossoms shiver and everybody look
blue except the owners of coal-yards. How we
sympathized with the farmers, and almost wept
to think of the poor helpless wheat and corn
fields that would be trampled all night by the
cruel north wind ! But Fate was kinder than
our fears. It remained so windy that there was
no frost to speak of, after all, and on looking out
next morning, we were delighted to see that the
delicate embryo plums were all right, and to
know that the wheat and corn must have stood
the test as well.
At present there is not a trace left of this frosty
visitation. The sky is deliciously blue; the air
is balmy; the trees golden-green in their young
foliage; and the south wind just stirs the apple-
boughs, and sends a shower of perfumed snow
to sprinkle tbe grass beneath. All the sweet
accessories of Spring are out enjoying the sun
shine to-day—bees, blossoms, birds, butterflies,
babies (queer how many bright things begin
with B!) and there, too, are beauty and bonnets,
which are also out in their spring freshness upon
the side-walks.
Who was it that lately called Atlanta “ugly
nnd rugged ” ? It was an envious libel. Not to
speak just now of its handsome and substantial
public buildings, the beautiful residences, with
their ample yards adorned with such profusion
of flowers and blossoming shrubbery, are alone
sufficient to establish the city’s claim to beauty.
The very irregularity gives occasion for pictur
esque terraces, green slopes and graceful undu
lations.
Of course, in a city so lately and so rapidly
risen from the ashes of destruction, there must
be some room for improvement, especially in
the matter of adornment. For instance, there
is needed a public park — tastefully laid off,
planted in flowers and shrubbery, with artificial
rock work ivy-clad, with arbcrs containing rustic
seats, and with a fountain playing in the center.
Such a green oasis of refreshment is needed in
some central part of the city, where business
men could resort for an hour’s relaxation after
the cares of the day—where ladies could meet
and enjoy a little pleasant gossip—where lovers
could promenade and children play, and babies
(that, by the way, are so pretty and plentiful in
Atlanta) could have the advantage of shade and
fresh air, instead of being trundled about the
dusty streets.
The Young Women of the South — A Serious
Question.
What can be more saddening than now—even
in these beautiful, jov-breathing days of spring—
to hear expressions of hopeless despondency
drop from the fresh lips of youth— to receive
constantly letters from women, from girls in the
first bloom of youth, breathing such sad, almost
despairing language—saying of life that it is a
burden, of the days that they bring only weari
ness—that the present does not satisfy and the
future holds no cup of promise for their craving
spirits ?
And this language is not sentimental cant. A
look into the eyes, sad and apathetic or restless
and seeking, proves that the poison of discon
tent has its root in the heart. More terrible
proof of this is furnished by newspaper reports
of the prevalence of suicide and melancholy
madness among young and respectable girls,
usually above the average in intellect and refine
ment. What is the cause of this wide-spread
discontent that casts its shadow over so many
households ?—that seems especially to haunt the
pleasant-seeming homes of country and village ?
Is it not because of the narrowness of their lives
which admits of no intellectual stimulus, no
discerning sympathy, no hopeful aspirations,
no unusual activity, no vent for repressed ener
gies that stir and fret within them like prisoned
things ?
Emotion, agitation, some stirring of the stag
nant pools of thought and feeling, is essential to
the healthy development of every nature that is
not a mere machine. E^pry human being craves
cA.-in-ment. Men find it in war, politics, busi-
l. competition of pursuits, clashing of opin
ions, attrition of minds. Women with more
restless aspirations, more nervous energy and
keener relish for activity—where shall they find
vent for their superabundant vitality? Shall
they find it in daily home avocations? Too
often, in these impoverished times, such avoca
tions consist of a monotonous round of drudg-
gardens. Let them patiently cultivate as best
they can any talent that they'may possess, not
only as a source of present interest, but in the
hope that they will be of practical use to them in
the near future, when the South shall need
skilled workers of every kind; when she shall
have her own artists and engravers, her own
publishers and authors: when she shall furnish
designs for the printing of her own manufac
tured fabrics and the ornamentation of fancy ar
ticles of her own handiwork.
Great help to mental culture as well as pleas
ant relaxation may be cheaply obtained in the
I choice pictures (engraved from fine paintings)
and the exquisite little chromos that may be
bought for so little and sent everywhere by mail,
and from the literary journals and magazines,
filled with illustrations and varied literature,
that are furnished the whole year round for such
a paltry sum,—the price of a tawdry ornament
soon spoiled—of a ribbon or piece of trimming
that does not really enhance the charms of the
wearer or perhaps harmonize with the rest of her
attire. .
Letter from Florida.
A letter from Indian River, Florida, repre
sents that country as an earthly paradise at pres-
j ent. Temperature perfect—neither too hot nor
i too cold; air balmy and of velvety softness, laden
| with the odor of ofange blossoms, yellow jessa
mines and oleanders; bill of fare—tender veni
son, wild turkey, mullet, and oysters taken fresh
; from the water at every meal, fresh beans, peas,
| tomatoes and potatoes, with an abundance of
strawberries and wild currants; amusements—
j sailing with a stiff' breeze on the river, pepper-
j ing away at the alligators and ducks, charming
walks by the beach, salt-water bathing, lazy flirt-
I ation, sleeping and eating. What more did the
happy pair have in Eden ?
“Then,” adds the letter, “what few snakes
j there are run away from one.” And there, you
see, Florida has the advantage of Paradise, for the
ery, uncheered even by appreciative sympathy, j snakes were not so innocent and well-behaved
The Dress Reform Movement.
The caricatures in the comic papers and the
would-be-funny flings of the press have given
the public an erroneous idea of the dress reform
movement, which was inaugurated last spring in
Boston. The object of this movement, as ex
plained by several eminent female physicians,
seems to be to point out the way in which the
present dress of women violates the plainest
physiological laws, and interferes with full phys
ical developement.
The lectures hnve been collected into a book,
edited by Abba Goold Woolson. It is really a
most common-sense exposition of physical laws
and the manner of their violation by the ordi
nary female dress”, especially that of children.
The book is full of practical illustrations of the
way in which this evil may be remedied by im
proved garments.
“The suggestions of ’improved garments’ will
repel some, perhaps, by recalling that monstros
ity called the Bloomer costume: but the ladies
constituting the committee who are urging this
present reform on the attention of their coun
trywomen are too intelligent not to realize the
impossibility, at this stage, of inducing the mass
of women to adopt any clothing which will make
them look “singular” or “odd,” without having
the sanction of fashion. They confine their re
form, therefore, ehiefiy to a new system of un
der-dress, which conforms in all particulars to
the laws of health, and yet which involves no
perceptible change in the external appearance
of those wearing it. Indeed, the lady who is
presented to us in one of the illustrations, as
clad in the “improved garments,” would fill a
creditable place in any of the ordinary fashion-
plates.”
Thanks to pretty little Orie Bell for a gener
ous slice of her beautiful birth-day cake. Orie’s
birth-day, like that of the lilies and pansies and
other lovely things, comes in the sweet month
of showers and sunshine — capricious April.
Does she know that the “Fate Book" declares
that a maiden born in April will surely be a
coquette ?
“ So let our little maid beware,
Lest she make of her brigjit blue eyes a snare.”
unbroken by any social or intellectual relaxation
that is of a satisfying or stimulating kind. They
dare not step outside the pale of custom to inau
gurate any such “out vent” themselves; they
would be frowned upon immediately, for custom,
especially the custom of provincial society, is
strict as the laws of Medes and Persians, and
does not permit a woman to do a thing outside
the ordinary tread-mill routine, though the
thing be innocent and even good—a movement
aesthetically or practically beneficent.
Is not such a life a slow, spiritual inanition ?—
a starving of the finer part of one’s nature ?
Dr. Coan takes a very feeling view of this
question—for a man. He says:
“I have seen no life sadder than that which is
led in many of our country houses. A girl of
talent discovers in her quiet home that she in
habits a garden that can give her no adequate
nourishment and breathes an atmosphere that
has no breath of the life she needs. There is no
society, no contact with superior persons, little
access even to superior books. Her brothers go
away freely, one by one, to seek a better fortune;
but she must remain in this inactive home and
wait she knows not for what. She sees that for
a life-time she is to be subjected to an experi
ment more cruel than that of the mouse placed
in the exhausted receiver of the air-pump. The
life of her body will continue, but only to watch
the slowly wasting life of her spirit. No posi
tion is more pathetic than this. What is the
dread of future punishment in comparison with
the present starvation of the soul? We need not
anticipate an inexpressible misery nor expect to
assign it to others. Purgatory is a present fact,
but it exists in the best and purest households
1 rather than in the worst. It exists in the cramped
homes of our country towns, where daughters
walk sadly in their father’s gardens, restless,
wan as the shades of Inferno.”
The unsatisfied cravings, the aspiration to
wards achievement, the hunger for activity, the
longing for sympathy, the need of work of a kind
to bring out their better faculties, the absence of
appreciative society—of that tone of thought,
feeling and fellowship so necessary to the devel
opment of character—the lack, in short, of very
many aids to healthy life and growth—these we
have set down as among the causes of that epi
demic of melancholy which seems to have in
fected many of our more * intelligent and sensi-
tive-souled young women.
What is the remedy ? It is easy to answer in a
general way,—a larger sphere of activity, a fuller
festhetic culture, more stimulating social inter
course. It is easy to lay down such a general
plan of amelioration, but how is it to be carried
out in a country where the want of money is felt
to be such a drawback to all schemes for making
life happier, fuller and nobler ? How can even
the “hunger for activity” be appeased when the
supply of workers so far exceeds the demand for
work—when our cities are tilled with pale wo
men seeking employment and finding none, be
cause the wheels of all industries are clogged by
this terrible bar to progress—want of money ?
But there are tokens of a change for the bet
ter—there is the glimmer of a dawning prosper
ity to be brought about by a more enlightened
public policy, by an improved system of agri- !
culture, by the influx of capital from other quar
ters and the inaugurating of new industries that
shall give employment to many who now seek it
in vain.
And when physical prosperity is in a measure
restored, it will serve as a basis upon which in
tellectual aspiration shall stand and reach up
ward to that higher development which it
craves.
Then we shall have schools of design, public
libraries, free lectures, and other agencies to
in that garden of delight, as we know to our sor
row.
The Governor of Florida with his staff has just
paid this portion of the country (near Indian
River) a visit, for the purpose of choosing a site
for the new Agricultural College.
New hotels and branch railroads are in pros
pect, and orange culture is becoming every year
more remunerative. The Florida orange is wide
ly known as the prince of the citrus family, and
has established a special name and rank in com
merce. It is anticipated that in a short time,
the greater portion of Florida—the lovely Italy
of America—will be one vast garden, orchard,
and orange grove, with its beaches and its river
and lake shores built up and adorned so as to
render them comfortable and beautiful places of
resort for the thousands of health and pleasure-
seekers who annually take flight from colder
latitudes- at the first approach of old Boreas.
The Lady Washington Reception.
The long-talked-of Martha Washington Recep
tion took place on the sixth ultimo at the Acad
emy of Music, N. Y. The spacious building was
densely packed—floors, boxes, galleries, orches
tra, balcony—every available inch of room was
occupied by spectators. At ten, the curtain rose
upon the grand tableau representing Hunting
ton’s famous picture of the “Republican Court
of Washington,” — sixty-four figures, finely
grouped and dressed in the elegant and impos
ing costume of that period. Nearly all the prom
inent characters of that memorable era of our
republic are portrayed in Huntington’s picture;
and in its living reproduction at the Academy,
there were fifteen descendants of the originals in
the painting. Several of the dresses were also
heir-looms that have been handed down from
those stately dames of the republican court to
their fair descendants, and wer<f over a century
old. We are relieved to find that Mr. Luther
YVyman personated George Washington. We
had a shuddering presentiment that General
Butler or Senator Morton would undertake that
character, and would unblushingly sport a badge
with a gilt hatchet embroidered upon it and the
motto, “I cannot tell a lie.” Wr. Wyman is
said to have borne a strong resemblance to the
I “father of his country,” and Mrs. Weir to have
looked like Martha Washington just stepped
I down from her picture. It is a pity the resem-
| blance could not have extended deeper than
! clothes and hair powder, and struck in to the
! hearts and characters of these representatives of
; our forefathers and mothers.
[For The Sunny South.]
SONG OP JIERMAIDEXS.
BY JEAXE.
Down thro’ the depths of calmest deeps,
Where water-wonders pass,—
Where cool, dim light forever sleeps
O’er wastes of tangled grass,—
Where burning earthly gems are strewn.
Untouched and showing fair.—
We need no light but smiles alone,
Xo gems to grace our hair;
Ve pass in gleaming flocks along,
In loveliness unseen—
With hints of wild, low, gurgling song,
Led by our Ocean Queen.
O, earthly bank and hollow!
O, earthly land asleep!
We follow, follow, follow,
Eulola through the deep!
Up where the first pulsations thrill,
Below the surface waves,
Where first clear light, entranced and still,
Our rippling tresses laves;
Where throbs of that wild, upper life
Beat faintly on the heart,
Yet quiet, all secure from strife,
Hath still her perfect part;
Where weedy tendrils shooting down
Move with the moving sea,
And fishes, silver, gold and brown,
Flash past unceasingly.
O, lonely hill and hollow!
O, lonely laud asleep!
We follow, follow, follow,
Eulola through the deep!
And when the world is hushed as now,
In midnight’s perfect moon,
We drift above—a gleaming vow—
And break with song its swoon.
O, lovely earth! we thought thee glad
Till, on a summer’s night,
We saw an earthly maiden sad,
Sit weeping in its light.
She heeded not the sky above,
The sparkling sea beneath;
But ever moaned, “My love! my love!
O, must I wait till death?”
Sleep, lonely hill and hollow!
Sleep, earthly land—sleep, sleep!
We follow, follow, follow,
Eulola through the deep!
And once, in passing of a storm,
We, flashing through the surge,
Went chanting mild, sweet songs of calm,
Along the dim sea verge.
O, what so beautiful and far,
Drifting on billows wild,
Borne on a lost ship’s floating spar ?
A mother and her child!
O, what so fearful, cold and white ?
Lips void of voice or breath—
Wild, lovely eyes that know no light,—
Is this what men call death ?
O, dreary hill and hollow!
O, earth, how canst thou sleep ?
We follow, follow, follow,
Eulola through the deep!
Sweet evening hours have come and gone,
Grand midnights drifted by;
But never in the starlight wan,
Or under moony sky,
We see again the earthly shore,
With longing for a part
In its wild life. Xo more, no more,
We yearn to read its heart!
Hark! hark!—our'Queen’s low, sudden call!
We plunge in glistening light!
The first pale rays of morning fall,—
We vanish with the night!
Sleep, earthly hill and hollow,—
You know no rest but sleep!
We follow, singing, follow,
Eulola through the deep!
friSEiitie iiiiiiMtt,
MRS. A. P. HILL,
Editress.
The attention of all housekeepers is invited to this Depart
ment, and the Editress urges them to send her copies of
tried receipts. Let us make this an interesting and prof
itable Department.
[For Tbe Sunny South.]
Prayer.
A Rose-BihI.
Only- a rose-bud! l'et it has a lesson folded
away in those spotless petals of creamy white
ness, nestling so sweetly within the fresh green
calyx. Fit type of a human soul as it comes
to us fresh from Jehovah's hand, before even an
impress of sin has marred its perfect purity!
Who can tell whether the charming bud will
expand into a matchless flower, delighting the
eye, or unfold its leaves only to show an un
sightly worm preying at its vitals? Who can
say whether the spotless soul shall develop into
a grand character or wither beneath the deadly
upas of sin?
Little wonder, then, that we lay our pretty
floweret away, even ere it loses its charm—wish
ing that we might shut out the world just as
securely from the precious darlings of our
hearts. Axxie H. Smith.
The cyclone passed over Richmond with a
fury unprecedented in the annals of storms—a
devastation utterly indescribable by tongue or
pen—laying forests, fields and settlements in one
common mass of ruin. When it reached the
plantation of Colonel W—-—, his little daugh
ter, a child of eight years, dropped to her knees
and in the extremity of her peril cried out:
“ Oh ! God, have mercy on us and spare mama
and papa!”
The storm swept on. Giant oaks that had
wrestled with the winds for nearly a hundred
years unscathed, dropped to the earth like a
living form pierced to the heart by a hunter’s
shot. The very grass lay crushed as if channeled
and swept by a mighty stream. All' of the out
buildings and houses in the negro quarter, some
twenty-six in number, were riddled into atoms—
not one timber left upon another. Y'et by some
miraculous intervention, the dwelling was
scarcely injured.
Who dares to say that the still, small voice of
that little one did not bend the ear of Omnipo
tence and shelter those she loved from that arch
demon revolving in phosphorescent light, but
scattering death and desolation throughout the
length and breadth of the land. H. C. W.
Believe in Yourself.
It is said that when John C. Calhoun was in
Yale College he was ridiculed by his fellow stu
dents for his intense application to study. “Whj’,
sirs,” said he, “I am forced to make the most of
my time that I may acquit myself creditably
when in Congress. Do you doubt it ? I assure
you if I were not convinced of mj’ ability to
reach the national capitol as a representative
within three years, I would leave college this
very day. ” Let every j’oung man thus have faith
in himself, and earnestly take hold of life, scorn
ing all props and buttresses, all crutches and life
preservers. Let him believe, with Pestalozzi,
that no man on God's earth is either willing or
able to help any other man. Let him strive to
Flowers.
‘ Blessed be God for flowers—
For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts that breathe
From out their beauty like a wreath
Of sunshine on life's hours.”
I was pleasantly accosted by a friend recently,
who asked:
“ Is it really true that you are a member of
Mr. Golding’s botany class a regularly entered
j pupil?”
I “It is really true," I replied, “according to Wor-
| cester’s definition of the word pupil—‘ one un
der the care of a tutor. ’ Why not ? Cato is said
| to have learned Greek at eighty.”
“ Well,” he replied, “I certainly admire your
i pluck in undertaking so intricate a study at your
time of life.”
The amused look upon my friend’s face put
i me upon making a defense. So I asked:
“Because one has passed the meridian of life
; and is approaching the twilight shades, is it a
j reason for closing all avenues to the understand-
\ ing, allowing the mind to decline into absolute
i sterility, and await, if not hurry on, that dire
calamity, the decay of the mental faculties? I
believe that under ordinary circumstances there
need be no decay, but that by culture the mind
may grow and expand to the utmost of life’s
limit, and the acquisition of a new idea be as
much a source of pleasure. ‘We should be
scholars,’ says Mrs. Sigourney, ‘as long as any-
thing remains to be learned. ’ So I cheerfully
take my place in the class both as a teacher and
a learner. I expect to be in some degree rejuve
nated by intimate contact with beautiful, fragrant
; flowers. The study of botany will so refresh and
! invigorate mj* mind that it will be a sort of
‘fountain of youth’ to my mental powers.”
Gracefully and kindly this friend took leave,
expressing the wish that my “expectations might
be fullj - realized.”
Scientific men maintain that botany has strong
1 claims as a science, upon purely mental grounds;
j that no studj* more thoroughly cultivates the
\ perceptive faculties ; and that botany is capable
of doing for the observing what mathematics
does for the reasoning powers. Not only this;
the earnest studj’ of it will invigorate the moral
nature, refine the taste, and fill the mind with
pure and happy thoughts.
In a brief article like this, I can only make
mention of a few of the advantages of a thor
ough acquaintance with this science; I have not
space to enlarge. Since the tendency of the
study of botany is so exalted, why is so little
attention paid to it in our schools? Indeed,
many regard the time devoted to its pursuit as
quite wasted.
As I grow older and my sources of enjoyment
narrow down, my love for flowers increases. I
love wild flowers best of all;
“ To me they fresher seem
From the Almighty hand that fashioned all,
Than those that flourish by a garden wall.”
I never get so trustingly and lovinglj- near to
my Heavenly Father as in the presence of these
beautiful expressions of His benevolence. While
I trust I have gone to Him through the blessed
atonement, yet when I think at times of the purity
and holiness of His character, I cannot look up
and see His face through the mist of doubt and
the sense *of utter unworthiness that fill my
soul. But flowers take me out of myself and
my own sinful nature. I only see written upon
everj’ leaf and stem, “God is love.”
“Not a beauty blows
And not an opening blossom breathes in vain.”
How strikingly they illustrate and symbolize
many of the doctrines of Christianity—the con
ditions and seasons of life ! They suggest many
delightful trains of thought and emotion, and
teach manj- sweet lessons of hope, faith and
charity.
I have a dear friend — pure and good, and
refined to a degree a little less than the angels.
She lives in her garden — a bright elysium,
crowded with rare and beautiful flowers.
“ Hyacinths, crimson and creamy white,
• Woo the wind with a soft delight;
Deepest purple and tenderest blue,
Wonders of fragrance, form and hue;
Blush-red, rosy, and pearl and pink,
Giving their sweets to the breeze to drink.”
May not much of the perfection of my friend’s
character be attributed to her constant and inti
mate communion with nature in her loveliest
aspects? As she supports and binds up some
trailing, prostrate vine, which but for her care
would be earth-soiled and crushed, maj' it not
suggest the thought, that to some human heart
she can give strength and support? Y’es, she
surely writes to me under the inspiration of this
thought. As she waters and fertilizes her plants,
furnishing the food which gives them vigor and
beauty, she remembers to care for the poor and
destitute. How delightfullj’ refreshing the odor
of flowers comes in the calm twilight of the even
ing, bringing full compensation for all the care
b® a creator rather than to borrow. Instead of bestowed upon them! So, my sweet sister friend,
A Miniature Flower-Garden.—A hanging
garden of sponge is one of the latest novelties in
gardening. Take a white sponge of large size
and sow it full of rice, oats or wheat. Then
carry on the work of culture so nobly* begun by ' place it for a week or ten days in a shallow dish,
The sweet pea makes a beautiful temporary
hedge trained upon a low trellis. The petunia
be trained, and is very pretty.
our public schools.
Until that time, let our young girls of the
South be patient and hopeful. Let them “take
the good when denied the best” and struggle
bravely against this spirit of discontent, not
slighting the small joys that blossom at their
feet through lifting eyes of vain longing to the
roses that hang upon the walls of inaccessible
and as the sponge will absorb the moisture, the
seeds will begin to sprout before many days.
When this has fairly taken place, the sponge
may be suspended by means of cords from a
hook in the top of the window, where the sun
will enter. It will thus become a mass of green,
and can be kept wet by immersing it in a bowl
of water. —Household.
wielding the rusted sword of valorous forefa
thers, let him forge his own weapons, and, con
scious of the God in him and the Providence
over him, let him fight his own battles with his
good lance. Instead of sighing for an education,
capital, for friends, and declaring that “if he only
had these he would be somebody,” let him re
member that, as Horace Greeley said, he is look
ing in the wrong end of the telescope, for if he
were somebody he would speedily have all the
boons whose absence he is bewailing. Instead
of being one of the foiled potentialities of which
the world is so full—one of the subjunctive he
roes, who alwaj’s might, could, would, or should
do great things, is what nobody can understand
—let him be in the imperative mood, and do
that of which his talents are indicative. This
lesson once learned and acted on, and every man
will discover within himself, under God, the el
ements and capacities of usefulness and honor,
“Getting on in the world.”
Why was Noah never hungry in the ark?
cause he alwavs had Ham with him.
Be-
may the twilight of your life be cheered by the
fragrance of your Christian deeds; and when
life’s toils and conflicts are over, you will have a
right to walk by “the pure water of life, clear
as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God,
and to inhale the odor of the flowers and eat of
the fruit which grow on either side of the river. ”
I repeat, “ Blessed be God for flowers." Scat
ter them everywhere, in beds and boxes. Make
gifts of pot plants to children; instill into their
minds a love for flowers,—it will awaken beau
tiful and refined thoughts; and, as a means of
grace, have them instructed in the laws which
govern the vegetable kingdom, “from the cedar
of Lebanon to the hyssop which springeth from
the wall.”
The sweet potato vine makes, when well culti
vated, a thick shade; train it as other vines.