MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



is to be found. Would we love the time 

 of " riotous blossoming " so well were it less 

 brief? 



Noiselessly but steadily the day has been ad- 

 vancing, but now it is almost with haste that 

 night's shadows disappear before the pale light in 

 the east. The mist that but a short time ago en- 

 veloped us, and in its passing touched with silvery 

 moisture each leaf, blossom, and blade of grass, 

 now lingers around the river only. And see, w r ith 

 the lifting of the shadows both flower and bird- 

 forms come to view. In the woodsy wildness just 

 behind us little spring beauties are sleeping, but 

 violets open-eyed and watchful look up from 

 sheltering tree-bases; and on beyond, under the 

 last of the pines that line the path to the flower- 

 garden, we see spreading sweet shrubs, with their 

 exquisitely fragrant little brown blossoms nestling 

 close to the mother twig. How delightfully sug- 

 gestive of sun-warmed pineapples and strawber- 

 ries and all sorts of enticing spicy and elusive 

 odors are these same inconspicuous little brown 

 blossoms. 



A few proud tulips gorgeous reds and yellows 

 still hold their court in yonder striped grass tan- 

 gle; and, over the way on the other side of the 



