III. 



THE SPRING WILD FLOWERS. 



i HE exhilarating sensation of the first 

 warm late April day ! A new life in 

 the sunshine, a sweeter breath in the 

 south wind : the breath of green fields and re- 

 animated woodlands ; the fresh, unctuous smell 

 of the soil ! To it every living thing responds 

 the awaiting birds, the dry chrysalis, the impris- 

 oned flowers. How merrily bluebird and mead- 

 ow-lark ring out their welcome ! With what a 

 rush Hepatica, bloodroot, spring beauty, and 

 dog-tooth violet burst through the mold ! How 

 all the wild, glad host of pulsating things seems 

 eager to roll away the resurrection-stone ! 



I never see and feel the start of vegetation 

 without recalling Remy Belleau's sixteenth-cent- 

 ury lyric on April, which still exhales the very 

 essence of spring a lyric unsurpassed by any 

 I am acquainted with on a similar theme. To 



