THE ORCHIDS OF NEW ENGLAND. 



There are those who maintain that it is impossible to deter- 

 mine the period when spring actually arrives in New England. 

 There are days early in May, in Northern Vermont, when Lam 

 almost persuaded that I feel her presence. The practical 

 farmer, recalling the precise date when the ice in the lake broke 

 up, or when he sowed his grain, rebukes this sentimental lack 

 of faith, and the birds assert their satisfaction in more poetical 

 language. If Spring did not summon the song-sparrows, who 

 did ? Why have the blackbirds been pirating about for weeks ? 

 The hepaticas are " passing by," in local speech ; the wreaths of 

 bloodroot around the boulders by the roadsides are losing their 

 freshness ; the rocky ledges are tufted with saxifrage and hous- 

 tonia; the swelling beech buds herald the downy yellow violet ; 

 but with snowdrifts still visible upon the mountains, I remain 

 incredulous until the middle of the month, when the season 

 makes haste to fulfil its promises. The south wind, puffing as 

 from a furnace mouth, sets the young leaves twinkling on their 

 branches, and wafts faint perfumes from unknown sources. The 

 ground is hot to the touch. You can trace the blossoming 

 maples along the hillsides until the smoky atmosphere quenches 

 their brightness. The ferns, as some one once described them, 

 are coming up " fist first," and trilliums and Canada violets 

 whiten the wooded hillsides. 



In my rambles at this time, in cool upland places, I expect to 



