A SONG OF SUMMER 79 



spring tinted and scented flowers that 

 carpet the woods, thriving in its shad- 

 ows. Who can describe its perfume? 

 It is a combination of all the wild, 

 spicy wood-essences, refined and dis- 

 tilled by the various chemical changes 

 from the autumn-dyed leaves to their 

 mould, that rears the flower in its 

 bosom. From a heap of slowly crum- 

 bling brown leaves, the Indian pipe pro- 

 trudes its ice-white, scentless flowers, 

 that blacken at the gentlest touch, and 

 though of the pipsissewa's clan, they 

 are a parasitic growth. 



The old setter stretches and yawns, 

 but his companion is always fresh and 

 ecstatic, and bounds down the slope to 

 the river, trampling through the sweet- 

 fern bushes, snapping dead branches, 

 heedless of briers, and leaving a path 

 where we may follow. Coiled on a 

 stump, sunning himself, but not at all 



