PREHISTORIC 
BOTANISTS 
MONG my earliest memories associ- 
ated with nature, and one that will 
always vividly linger, is that thrilling 
spectacle of a winter butterfly hovering about 
the farm-yard of my New England home. It 
was the middle of January, one of those balmy 
days of respite from the north wind, when the 
careful alder catkins are beguiled, and the 
puss-willow’s paws first peep from beneath 
their snuggeries. The odors of wet twigs 
and sweet sap and soggy snow, tinctured with 
the wine of quickened loam, saturated the air. 
The patches of thawing drifts lay like mimic gla- 
ciers amid their melting areas on the barn and 
