A NEW ENGLAND MAY-DAY 9 



largest of the family, were drinking at 

 the spring, but to-day they have passed 

 northward. 



Look at the bank where the sun, 

 peeping through, has touched the 

 moss; there is saxifrage, and here are 

 violet and white hepaticas, pushing 

 through last year's leaves; lower down 

 the wool-wrapped fronds of some large 

 ferns are unfolding. The arbutus in the 

 distant woods is on the wane, a fra- 

 grant memory. At the shady side of the 

 spring are dog-tooth violets; and on 

 the sunny side the watercourse is traced 

 by clusters of marsh-marigolds, making 

 a veritable golden trail. On a flat rock, 

 almost hidden by layers of leaf mould, 

 the polypody spreads its ferny carpet, 

 and the little dicentra — or Dutch- 

 men's breeches, as the children call it 

 — huddles in clumps. The columbines 

 are well budded, but Jack-in-the-pulpit 



