144 YOUNG AMERICA IN FEATHERS. 



the first anemone to the last goldenrod standing 

 above the snow, there was a bewildering confu- 

 sion ; fragrant with roses in June, gorgeous with 

 meadow lilies in July, and rank upon rank of 

 budded goldenrod promising glory enough for 

 August, with all the floral hosts that accom- 

 pany them. Great patches of sweet bayberry, 

 yielding perfume if only one's garments swept 

 it, and rich " cushions of juniper " frosted over 

 with new tips, were everywhere, and acres were 

 carpeted with lovely, soft, gray-colored moss, 

 into which one's foot sank as into the richest 

 product of the loom. Here and there was a 

 close grove of young pines, whose cool, dim 

 depths were most alluring on hot days ; and in- 

 deed in every spot in Maine not fully occupied 

 nature is sure to set a pine-tree. 



Every morning, on entering this garden of 

 delights, I hastened across an open space by the 

 gate, and plunged into a thicket of alders sprin- 

 kled with young trees, birch, elm, and wild 

 cherry. Through this ran a path, and in a 

 sheltered nook under a low pine I found a seat, 

 where for many days I spent the forenoon, 

 making acquaintance with the pretty little yel- 

 low-throats. 



From the first the head of the family adopted 

 me as his particular charge, and I am positive 

 he never lost sight of me for one minute. His 



