FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 135 



had been trying to cover the sky with a 

 coat of whitewash, with just a tint of blue 

 in it, and had allowed the colour from his 

 brush to spatter all over the carpet. After 

 this came the buttercups, and made a very 

 sea of gold, which* I fear as a circulating 

 medium would prove almost as worthless 

 as the silver which our western friends 

 desire us to accept, though certainly much 

 more beautiful. And now we have the ox- 

 eye daisy, known by those upon whom is 

 imposed the duty of trying to exterminate 

 it as the whiteweed, but christened by Lin- 

 meus with the imposing name of chrys 

 anthemum leucanthemum. Myriads and 

 myriads of the starry disks look up into the 

 sky to see their fellows of the firmament. 

 Phollis says that they are small and degen 

 erate and not worthy representatives of the 

 race, but I know better. And besides, I 

 am glad that they are small ; such are the 

 best kind. 



But as I look over the field I seem to 

 hear the grass saying in the popular slang: 

 &quot;Where do I come in?&quot; My neighbour 

 over the way has purchased my crop of 

 hay in advance, and I hope that he may 

 find it. I know one spot where it is lush 

 and high, and here among the long thick 



