MAY 79 



door. There, a Nut tree of 6 inches, and a 

 Yew 3 inches high, are thrown into the 

 shade by two great Moon Daisies and a 

 giant Broom. These are my forest trees 1 

 The broom don't care for so much cold 

 shade, and every season makes rampant 

 efforts to reach above it and catch the sun 

 upon its golden plumes. It is all but at 

 the top now. If I look down very closely 

 a miniature landscape may be discerned 

 strips of flower garden inwoven with a wild 

 scene of mossy caves and deep ravines. 

 The edges of all these tiny fissures are at 

 this time faintly blue with eyebright of 

 microscopic littleness. One must almost 

 use a glass to see plainly the tiny perfect 

 flowers, no bigger than a pin's head, with 

 little leaves and stalks to match. Delicate 

 small grasses overhang the mouth of the 

 caverns, where small wild beasts of insect 

 race lie lost after their night of rapine. 

 Weird jungles of grey Cup-moss and lichen 

 skirt the garden side, and sheaves of mimic 

 bulrush wave gold-brown heads in a morass 

 of greenest moss; and then we come upon 

 a brilliant little daisy, every stalk a-flower 



