194 THE IDYL OF AN EMPTY LOT. 



But last spring a change came to it. Its 

 nearly fenced condition for the first time allowed 

 Mother Nature a chance, and anxious, like other 

 mothers, to hide the evil deeds of her children, 

 she went busily to work, 



" With a hand of healing to cover the wounds 



And strew the artificial mounds 

 And cuttings with underwood and flowers." 



We may call them weeds, but forever blessed 

 be the hardy, rapid-growing, ever-ready plants 

 we name so scornfully ! What else could so 

 quickly answer the mother's purpose ? She had 

 not time to evolve a century-plant, or elaborate 

 an oak-tree, before man would be upon it again. 

 She did the best she could, and the result was 

 wonderful. 



When I. returned from the country I found, 

 to my delight, in place of the abomination of 

 desolation I have described, a beautiful green 

 oasis in the world of stone and brick. From 

 fence to fence flourished and waved in the breeze 

 an unbroken forest. The unsightly heaps had 

 become a range of hills, sloping gently down to 

 the level on one side, and ending on the other in 

 an abrupt declivity, with the highest peak bare 

 and rocky, overhanging a deep and narrow ra- 

 vine. The bordering fences were veiled by lux- 

 urious ailanthus shoots, chicory blossoms opened 

 their sweet blue eyes to every morning sun, and 

 it was beside 



