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coarse marsh-grass, now and again a cat- 

 tail, with million upon million of yellow 

 marsh marigolds. 



In the water's edge you see the wax-green 

 leaves, the white flowers of hart's-tongue. 

 Big clumps of dull-pink everlasting carpet 

 acre upon acre in faint, dim lawn, that might 

 fitly drape a ghost of summer. Pluck of it 

 freely, dry the pendulous clusters in a wind- 

 less space, and all winter long your eyes 

 shall rejoice. All the more if you choose, 

 too, bents of the feathery barrens - grass, 

 standing taller than your head. It is the 

 feeble remnant of a great multitude once 

 covering as with a garment the face of this 

 earth. Old settlers know it well, and de- 

 light to tell you how, in pioneer times, a 

 man could ride through it and tie the heads 

 either hand across his horse's neck. 



Wild, woodsy things cling to the old field. 

 Hazel-bushes fight with the mallows and mar- 

 igolds ; sassafras runs riot, an army with 

 banners, now green, now gold. Lace-leafed 

 sumach covers its autumn face with flame ; 

 crab-apple and hawthorn make spring alive 

 with the murmur of many bees ; scrub-oak 

 advances yearly in ever-thickening ranks, 

 with straight, slim young tulip-trees and sil- 

 ver sycamores. 



