262 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
to my mind which they would not possess if 
they were more permanent. Everything is in 
rapid flux here, suggesting that nature is alive 
to her extremities and superficies. To-day we 
sail swiftly on dark rolling waves or paddle 
over a sea as smooth as a mirror, unable to 
touch the bottom, where mowers work and hide 
their jugs in August, coasting the edge of maple 
swamps where alder tassels and white-maple 
flowers are kissing the tide that has risen to 
meet them. But this particular phase of beauty 
is fleeting. Nature has so many shows for us, 
she cannot afford to give much time to this. In 
a few days, perchance, these lakes will all have 
run away to the sea. Such are the pictures 
which she paints. When we look at our mas¬ 
terpieces we see only dead paint and its vehicle, 
which suggests no liquid life rapidly flowing off 
from beneath. But in nature it is constant sur¬ 
prise and novelty. . . . . As we sweep past the 
north end of Poplar Hill, its now dryish, pale- 
brown, withered sward, clothing its rounded 
slope which was lately saturated with moisture, 
presents very agreeable hues. In this light, in 
fair weather, the patches of now dull greenish 
masses contrast just regularly enough with the 
pale brown grass. It is like some rich but mod¬ 
est* colored Kidderminster carpet, or rather the 
skin of a monster python tacked to the hillside 
