A SHORT MONTH 3 



dred or two, of various tints, loosely and 

 naturally disposed ? I ask the question with- 

 out answering it, though I could answer it 

 easily enough, so far as my own taste is 

 concerned. 



Already there is much to admire in the 

 wild garden. Spice-bush blossoms have come 

 and gone, and now the misty shad-blow is 

 beginning to whiten all the hedges and the 

 borders of the wood, while sassafras trees 

 have put forth pretty clusters of yellowish 

 flowers for the few that will come out to 

 see them. Sun-bright, cold-footed cowslips 

 still hold their color along shaded brooks. 

 " Marsh marigolds," some critical people tell 

 us we must call them. That is a good name, 

 too ; but the flowers are no more marigolds 

 than cowslips, and with or without reason 

 (partly, it may be, because my unregener- 

 ate nature resents the " must " ), I like the 

 word I was brought up with. Anemones and 

 violets are becoming plentiful, and the first 

 columbines already swing from the clefts 

 of outcropping ledges. With them one is 

 almost certain to find the saxifrage. The 

 two are fast friends, though very unlike ; the 



