92 In Touch with Nature. 



were turned, and the broken ridges in the sod are 

 not all hidden by the straggling weeds that have 

 succeeded the corn. As I trace the old headland, 

 where for a century the brier-embowered fence 

 had stood, I find the sturdy growths of poison- 

 ivy still lingering, but with no support but the 

 ground, except where, these many years, a bat- 

 tered apple-tree has withstood the assaults of 

 whole troops of boys. 



To find every trace of fruitfulness gone, and a 

 poisonous weed representing it, is a depressing ex- 

 perience, one that dims even a brilliant May-day ; 

 yet why should it? Is it not too commonplace 

 an occurrence to excite comment? Whether an 

 old farm or an old friend, it is too often a matter 

 of poison-ivy at last. 



The grass is still glistening with the morning 

 dew, but the bees are astir, humming — can it be 

 contentedly ? — over such poor pasture. Mean be- 

 yond compare are the flowers of this one-time 

 field, and but a single buttercup is within sight. 

 There are weeds, though, that thrive upon ill 

 treatment, and shrubs so hardy they withstand 

 neglect. The village cows cannot tramp all bloom 



