FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 6 1 



But this was not the mayflower, and there 

 below me wound the river, and yonder was 

 the bridge which should bear me over the 

 first limb of the horseshoe (if horseshoes 

 have limbs. What is it that horseshoes 

 have, arms or limbs ?). I took my way 

 homeward, mourning, for I had not found 

 it, and the day was overcast, and the sun 

 was shrouded in gloomy clouds, and gener 

 ally speaking my cake was dough. 



Up in my own wood this morning I 

 gathered a little cluster of hepaticas, 

 squirrel cups, I like to call them, blue and 

 white, and as dainty as you could possibly 

 think. They made their appearance a 

 fortnight ago, while the snow still lingered 

 in shady places on the northern slopes, so 

 early that Phollis said they could not vent 

 ure out without their furs on, the dear little 

 things. The columbines are showing their 

 leaves, and the dogstooth violets and a few 

 others, but excepting the symplocarpus 

 (the euphemistic name of the skunk-cab 

 bage) and the chickweed, I have seen no 

 other wild herbs in blossom. Of trees and 

 shrubs there are a number, the maples, the 

 elms, etc., but most of the vegetable family 

 are biding their time well. They were not 

 beguiled by the lovely days of early March, 



