RAMBLING. 



" When we please to walk abroad 



"For our recreation, 

 In the fields of our abode, 



Full of delectation." 



Waltons Complete Angler, 



Books and cares are thrown aside this fine 

 April day, and with light hearts and thick 

 boots we are off for a morning ramble. Tree- 

 buds are swelling, grassy banks are brighten- 

 ing, and the birds are sounding the first notes 

 of the overture which ushers in the grand 

 spring jubilee. All traces of frost are gone, 

 and the hard turf by the roadside makes easy 

 walking, though the wagon-track itself is still 

 a red morass. How the spring rains bring- 

 out the color of our soil. Herr Frauenhofer 

 with his Spectroscope has overturned the 

 hobby of those astronomers who believed the 

 fiery hue of Mars to be caused by a red sand- 

 stone soil like this. A brisk walk of fifteen 

 minutes has brought us to that well known 

 spot, the Students Glen, a delightful little 

 retreat when we first knew it, but now well 

 nigh spoiled by the " advance of civilization." 

 A new cemetery on one side and a mill pond 

 on the other, have destroyed that air of seclu- 

 sion which in former days gave it its chief 

 charm. Yet it is still inviting, with its mini- 

 ature cascade, its rocky, moss-covered banks, 

 its fern clumps and its thickets. 



On yonder slope grows that universal 

 favorite, the Trailing Arbutus. These warm 

 sunbeams must certainly have enticed open 

 some of the early buds. A spasmodic scramble 

 over the stepping stones, at the cost of a pair 

 of wet feet, and then we slowly clamber up 

 the rocky bank. To be sure, here are the 

 little buds modestly opening their fragrant 

 pink petals beneath the carpet of dry leaves. 



