124 THROUGH GLADE AND MEAD. 
the mounds in the sheltered places that came so early, 
the pushing up of the young grass, the succulent dande- 
lion, the coltsfoot on the heavy thick clods, the trodden 
chickweed despised at the foot of the gate-post, so 
common and small, and yet so dear to me. Every blade 
of grass was mine, as though I had planted it separately. 
They were all my pets, as the roses the lover of his 
garden tends so faithfully.” So true is it that the fur- 
ther one goes inside the gate the wider the fields stretch 
away to the infinite spaces. 
In these early spring days when the buds of the 
elms that line the village streets are swelling nigh to 
bursting into purple fascicles, and the catkins of the 
willows not yet fully developed are sought for their 
promise of spring, in the swamp by the riverside where 
alders and red maples and poison dogwood grow thick, 
I expect to find the skunk-cabbage in bloom. The name 
and—the pity of it—the odor are enough to ruin the 
reputation of a far fairer flower. It is the herald of the 
long procession into which its glory fades as that of the 
morning star into the sun. The purple and green spathes 
scattered about tell me that I have not come too soon. 
On drawing aside the hoods of several of them IJ find 
the flowers are faded and the fruit is ripening. But 
there are a few just peering from the ground, and these 
are in their flowering prime and, therefore, they shall 
stand at the head of the list for this year. 
