SPRING 89 



and another of adder's-tongue, dog-tooth 

 violet, so called. Of the latter there must 

 be hundreds of acres in Franconia. I have 

 seen the freckled leaves everywhere, and now 

 and then a few belated blossoms. Here I 

 have it at its best, the whole bed thick with 

 buds and freshly blown flowers. But the 

 round-leaved violet is what I am chiefly 

 taken with. The very type and pattern of 

 modesty, I am ready to say. The spring- 

 beauty masses itself ; and though every blos- 

 som, if you look at it, is a miracle of deli- 

 cacy, lustrous pink satin, with veinings 

 of a deeper shade, it may fairly be said 

 to make a show. But the violets, scattered, 

 and barely out of the ground, must be sought 

 after one by one. So meek, and yet so bold ! 

 - part of the beautiful vernal paradox, that 

 the lowly and the frail are the first to ven- 

 ture. 



As I come down to the lakeside, mak- 

 ing toward the lower end, whither I always 

 go, because there the railroad is least obtru- 

 sively in sight and the mountains are faced 

 to the best advantage, two or three soli- 

 tary sandpipers flit before me, tweeting and 



