FACT FERSUS ' I ' HE old story of the waking world is 
LEGEND A just being enacted hereabouts. The 
infant—for this is the real birthday of the 
year—shows the approved points and markings which indicate 
that it will develop just as every other young year has done for 
ages and ages. The same remarks of youth and love, the same 
reversion to verse, the same sanguine prophecy of fashions—the 
very catalogue is wearisome—is repeated just as it has always 
been. Why are we not bored with Spring? Why doesn’t the 
nativity of the year lose interest through constant reiteration? 
Mrs. O’Flaherty's first few children were events; the eleventh 
was merely an occasion. But, though there has been a constant 
succession of young and weeping Aprils, their arrival is no 
whit less wonderful than the first. Familiarity may breed con¬ 
tempt of everything but Springs. 
But for all tbe great army of poets and painters, of philoso¬ 
phers grave and gay, of scientists, authors, cartoonists and preach¬ 
ers, are you familiar enough with Spring? 
The poor inhabitant of cities knows when it has come—the 
newspapers tell him, the shops advertise it, his children learn 
about it at school, for the Board of Education recommends a 
certain program to take fitting recognition of Nature's awaken¬ 
ing. Those who have not entirely lost their natural sensibilities, 
through the killing results of urban life, recognize Spring in the 
musty-pungent odor of the rain on dusty asphalt—sad evidence 
that elsewhere buds are bursting and the subtle perfume of lush 
meadows and early blossoms sets tbe heart thumping. 
In the country, April and May are seen and felt. The most 
phlegmatic sense their arrival. There are Spring operations in 
garden and grounds to make it apparent. Even the most cynical 
and pessimistic commuter hails it with relief, for it means the 
long slumber of that importunate arch-fiend, the furnace. 
City or country alike, however: 
‘‘The world is too much with us; late and soon 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
Little we see in Nature that is ours.” 
Beyond the superficial marks of May we do not dig deep into 
the romance of Spring life. And it is the earlv part of the year 
that gives us our golden chance to grow familiar with Nature. 
It is not that the phenomena of April or May are more wonderful 
or more interesting than those of the rest of the year, but they are 
more distinct. The slowly moving progress of birth affords 
moments of contemplation then; the intervals between the run¬ 
ning pictures of Nature’s panorama afford opportunity to pause 
and learn. Later the gathered momentum, the multitudinous 
growth, confuses the novice who is beginning to use his eyes. 
In every corner of your garden in the Spring you may find a 
miniature drama of love and life. You can watch it now. If 
you look close you may see beneath the ugly exterior of some 
hitherto despised creature a fascinating interest. The stories of 
old-fashioned times are not more charming for their fantastic 
distortion from actuality. Knowledge and education may trans¬ 
form the appeal; they do not destroy it. No, indeed, tile more 
one knows about the things in Nature the more there is to attract 
one. And the strange part about the study is that the legendary, 
the mythical reports of wonders, so often have a modern parallel 
just as wonderful. Instance the toad; Mr. Ditmars’ story is just 
as interesting as the old tale making the creature ugly and venom¬ 
ous, but with a precious jewel in his head. Mr. Ditmars finds the 
jewel, too, and probably it is of even greater price than the 
legendary gem; it is the ceaseless industry in waging war on a 
host of insect enemies of plants and men. 
What is more wonderful than the life history of the toad? 
Within the short span of its life it goes through an evolution that 
is the sum of the progress of eons. The toads and frogs are so 
common that they go unnoticed, yet here they are in to-day's de¬ 
velopment just as they were in the dim morning of the world. 
We look with amazement at the girafife; the frog is infinitely more 
remarkable. 
This is the time of the year when you may become familiar with 
the fascinating lives about you. Everything is just coming into 
being, and as life slowly wakes and stretches you can learn about 
it—a moment or so later it will move so rapidly that it requires the 
keenness of much experience to trace it. 
We should never be afraid to know more about the creature 
world ; Mother Nature conceals no skeletons in her closet. One’s 
knowledge does not rub the bloom of romance from mythical 
stories that hover about the wild things, plant or creature. It is 
strange to find out how nearlv the old legends come to the truth— 
and the new and exact version is more romantic than the old. 
At any rate, it is not the age to cling to old wives’ tales and super¬ 
stitions, especially if you are educating others. We, therefore, 
remind you that it is Spring, and let Mr. Wordsworth tell you in 
four lines what we have taken many to say: 
‘“One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can.” 
YOUR FRIEND, NE of the delights of living in the 
THE DOG country is that you can keep a dog. 
If one lives in the city he might just as well 
keep a domesticated elephant as a real dog. The results are as 
unpleasant for the animal as his keeper. But in the country a 
dog can lead at least the semblance of a natural, healthy existence. 
It is true that there are many country residents who claim that 
dogs are infernal nuisances; that the destructive ability of a band 
of painted Sioux on the warpath is as nothing compared with that 
of even a small dog. But the trouble is not with the animal; his 
master is equally at fault. The dog that roams through the house 
at will; that kills chickens, steals from the pantry, roots up the 
beds of choicest plants, paws over guests and barks and begs in 
the dining-room is a real pest. Spoiled children are almost as 
bad; both exist because of lack of training. / 
Mr. Lemmon, in an interesting little book called “Training the 
Dog,” points this out. Fie gives the correction also. A little 
conscientious attention, a little firmness and patience given 
early, and the dog is a creature many times worth having and 
loving. 
Those who are familiar with Maeterlinck's delightful little 
essay. “Our Friend the Dog,” will realize the unnatural circum¬ 
stances, the conflicting instincts of the house dog. Fie requires 
training; given it he becomes a loving, faithful, true com¬ 
panion. 
A dog is man’s true confidant and indefatigable ally. He has 
enthusiasm for every mood ; is ready to share all ill luck and good ; 
to endure all hardships; to watch and protect his master. All 
literature is full of the praise of dogs, but the live dog is a thou¬ 
sand times more desirable than the ideal animal in the best book 
ever written. If you can afford a place for him, have him by all 
means, but do not apply your own failings to your pet; do not 
spoil him and then condemn him for your own inconsistencies. 
His behavior is a reflection on you, his master. 
(392) 
