1 8 Walks in New England 



glowing with rainbow colours, but most deli 

 cately graceful. 



The winter has been notable in these later weeks 

 for the swelling of the flower and leaf buds on 

 shrubs and trees, so manifest that everyone must 

 have noted it. The elm buds, which are not the 

 earliest, are distinctly ready to come forth, and as 

 for the willow catkins, never was there a season in 

 which they have been more ambitious or more un 

 decided. They usually begin to show themselves 

 at the very outset of winter, just enough to indi 

 cate their intentions ; but this passing season the 

 bushes at the edges of ponds, in the swamps 

 or along the river banks, have thrust out their 

 silky &quot; pussies/ and then drawn them in closer to 

 their sheaths, even when the ice was close about 

 their roots, or in the midst of snowdrifts. But the 

 poet is right &quot; None is too late none is too 

 soon.&quot; 



Now around the borders of the swamps, where 

 the ghostly drooping panicles of the poison sumach 

 are seen beneath the cedars and the hackmatacks, 

 the flower buds of the cassandra are growing very 

 definite and determined, and the more delicate 

 pink andromeda follows its sturdier example. 

 For colour, there is nothing to surpass in its way 

 a swamp of the cassandra, whose leaves are now 

 rich bronze, or fairly copper hue, while around 



