In Lilac Tide 
l SS 
ing the young Dandelion plants to add to their 
meagre fare as a greatly-loved delicacy. They collect 
these “greens” in highly-colored kerchiefs, in bas- 
kets, in squares of sheeting; I have seen the women 
bearing off* a half-bushel of plants ; even their stumpy 
little children are impressed to increase the welcome 
harvest, and with a broken knife dig eagerly in the 
greensward. The thrifty park commissioners, in Dan- 
delion-time, relax their rigid rules, “ Keep Off the 
Grass,” and turn the salad-loving Italians loose to im- 
prove the public lawns by freeing them from weeds. 
The earliest sign of spring in the fields and 
woods in my childhood was the appearance of the 
Willow catkins, and was heralded by the cry of one 
child to another, — “ Pussy-willows are out.” How 
eagerly did those who loved the woods and fields 
turn, after the storm, whiteness, and chill of a New 
England winter, to Pussy-willows as a promise of 
summer and sunshine. Some of their charm ever 
lingers to us as we see them in the baskets of swarthy 
street venders in New York. 
Magnolia blossoms are sold in our city streets 
to remind city dwellers of spring. “ Every flower 
its own bow-kwet,” is the call of the vender. 
Bunches of Locust blossoms follow, awkwardly tied 
together. Though the Magnolia is earlier, I do 
not find it much more splendid as a flowering tree 
for the garden than our northern Dogwood ; and 
the Dogwood when in bloom seems just as tropi- 
cal. It is then the glory of the landscape; and its 
radiant starry blossoms turn into ideal beauty even 
our sombre cemeteries. 
