no 



RECREATION. 



whether that little member of the family 

 mustelidce, called skunk for short, is an 

 evolution of the arum, or the arum 'an evo- 

 lution of the animal, deterioration not be- 

 ing noticeable in the pungent proclivities of 

 either. "It is interesting," says Mrs. Dana, 

 "to remember that the skunk cabbage is 

 nearly akin to the spotless calla lily, the 

 purpose mottled spathe of the one answer- 

 ing to the snowy, peta-like leaf of the other. 

 Bears greatly relish this early green, which 

 Mahan remarks must be a hot morsel, as 

 the juice is acrid. It is said to possess 

 some narcotic powers, while the root, when 

 chewed, causes the eyesight to grow dim." 



We push forward over a half broken 

 calf path into a wild tangle of elder bushes 

 and willows, through which are interwoven 

 long, delicate tendrils of Clematis virgin- 

 iana, or traveler's joy, as it is often called, 

 which in a few weeks will be covered with 

 great sprays of filmy, white blossoms, and 

 later with a feathery fluff of seed plumes 

 which are very decorative. Occasionally 

 we find a wild cucumber vine trailing dain- 

 tily across the great willow branches, its 

 long green tendrils waving gently in the 

 soft air, as much at home in its foreign 

 foothold as though it were a rightful 

 householder. 



Across a froggy looking tributary of the 

 little creek, we spy a great green dragon 

 throwing up its stately single stalk in se- 

 rene supremacy. With explorative eager- 

 ness, I attempt to ford the waterway on a 

 deceitful old log, and down I go into 

 depths of swamp mud of an ugly green 

 color and a sickly odor. An arm and some 

 yards of organdie bear marks of the woe- 

 ful calamity. I take my mud-stained self 

 down to the stream and obliterate such 

 convicting evidence as I can. Romance, 

 with my shining example before her, suc- 

 ceeds in crossing the frog pond with better 

 result. But what matters it? y We have 

 accomplished our object. The green 

 dragon is at our hand. It is one of the 

 most tropical looking productions of the 

 valley, and is usually rather difficult of 

 discovery as well as of access. The single 

 umbrella leaf of our specimen measures 

 nearly 2 feet across, and is a veritable sun- 

 shade. Truly, the Arum family is well 

 represented in this little corner. Shooting 

 up from a decayed tree trunk are the 2 

 leaf stalks of a Jack-in-the-pulpit, or In- 

 dian turnip, which in the spring shielded a 

 stiff backed little preacher and his velvety 

 green pulpit. Later they disappear and in 

 their place comes a spike of scarlet berries 

 that add brilliance to one's winter bouquet. 

 It is said the Indians used to make a nutri- 

 tious dish by boiling these berries. 



But are we not in some tropical jungle? 

 High above our heads nod great lily stalks 

 that will be objects of delight in a few 



weeks. Here, too, sway the tall, sword- 

 like leaves of the fleur-de-lis, in all the ar- 

 rogant pride of the aristocratic lineage of 

 which this dainty flower is the emblem. 



" Born in the purple, born to joy and pleasure, 

 Thou dost not toil or spin, _ 

 Cut makest glad and radiant with thy presence, 

 The meadow and the lin." 



Here 'also grows luxuriantly the great 

 tender stalked jewel weed, also called In- 

 dian jewel and ladies' eardrop. Its orange 

 spotted, cuplike blossoms, hanging so 

 daintily on a slender thread, are tossed up 

 and down in the breeze like swinging jew- 

 els. A whirl of color comes flinging 

 through the trees, and a magnificent red- 

 headed woodpecker settles on the trunk of 

 a chestnut near at hand. Surely this bird, 

 wearing the national colors, should sit on 

 the right hand of our representative eagle, 

 so emblematic are his red head, white 

 shoulders and dark wings, which show a 

 rich blue in the sunlight ; and, too, he 

 seems imbued with the American spirit of 

 thrift in a strong degree, storing away 

 stray nuts and grains in secure niches of 

 tree and fence. A dear little chickadee is 

 making merry music from his black throat, 

 sitting unalarmed on an elder bush, friend- 

 ly little fellow that he is. Crossing to 

 higher ground, we come to a great patch 

 of belated oxeyed daisies. 



" That well by reason men it call may 

 The daisie, or else the eye of day." 



rhymed Chaucer; and Wordsworth calls 

 it 



" A silver shield with boss of gold 

 That spreads itself, some fairy bold 

 In fight to cover." 



In the great thorn bush is singing the 

 sweetest of wood warblers, a brown thresh- 

 er whose song Thoreau has interpreted into 

 "Drop-it, drop-it, cover-it-up, cover-it-up, 

 pull-it-up, pull-it-up, pull-it-up," leaving 

 off the "queer-queer-queer-queer-queer," 

 that invariably closes the sentence. This 

 merry singing mavis is one of the most 

 graceful birds of our climate. His eyes are 

 filled with intelligence, his tail with ex- 

 pression; and he is a sociable fellow when 

 domesticated. My own "Tibs," of child- 

 hood days, ruled me with a rod of iron. 

 Many a scream of censure has met my ears 

 when the food was not to his liking, or I 

 had put on an unfamiliar gown. 



The day is passing, and we turn rose- 

 ward again, but we are not to leave this 

 Edenic valley without witnessing the usual 

 tragedy.. On the grass under the oak tree 

 lies a tiny home, of June grasses interlined 

 cunningly with horsehair, and near it 2 

 greenish blue speckled eggs, broken ! 

 What was the cause of the accident? An 

 insecure fastening, a too frail twig? Alas! 

 we shall never know. Over our heads are 



