4 THE SPIRIT OF SPRING 



life. A broken Sassafras twig fills the air with one 

 of the most delightful of forest odours. It is hard to 

 resist the boyish impulse to cut a Maple and taste 

 the sap. But it is no more tempting than the perfume 

 of a growing twig of Black Birch, broken where the 

 winter buds are swelling. Nature has been dreaming 

 under the white mantle that has just been drawn 

 aside. Moss is melting holes for itself through the 

 ice. The Wintergreen is all about in profusion, 

 carpeting the ground with rich green leaves, dotted 

 here and there with bright red berries. It has 

 defied the frost, the snow and the ice of winter, and 

 now offers up its tempting berries, pleasant in flavour 

 and odour as they are beautiful in colour and contrast. 

 The Trailing Arbutus, too, has a vitality that 

 defies the winter, and its green leaves are showing 

 above the litter of last year's vegetation. Those who 

 are robbing the suburban woods of this flower have 

 a great sin to answer for, but the temptation also 

 is so great that one cannot but forgive them. The 

 flowers are already formed and the pinky white is 

 protruding from the little green buds. In a day they 

 will be opened, the sweet perfume leading to their 

 destruction by revealing their hiding places under 

 the dead leaves. The man or woman who can pass a 

 Trailing Arbutus in flower and not pluck it is as 

 near to perfection as it is possible for weak humanity 

 to approach. Down by the swampy margin the ice is 



