sight afforded the Pilgrims on their landing on an unknown coast by the presence of this familiar flower, as narrated by Whittier : "God be praised,' the Pilgrim said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves dry and dead, Several circumstances occurred to diminish the number of excursionists; two weddings, severe colds, trains not connecting, and one member said it was too cold; but on the intimation that her want of endurance might result in the loss of her ticket of membership, she said she would attend the next meeting if it were anywhere except the polar regions. She was informed that the next meeting would be at the north pole. We sought arbutus, one of the loveliest little flowers that Spring places in old Winter's lap; looking shyly up from its hiding-places among the brown leaves, and sending its woody fragrance on the breeze. We had telegraphed to know if there were any snow, and if the Mayflowers were in bloom. The answers were satisfactory, and the little party started except two, who, arriving late, stood, baskets in hand, just in time to see the train enter the tunnel. Baskets! One of the members had a wood-basket so large we christened it Abou Ben Adhem, for it led all the rest. The next largest we called Great Expectations. Later in the day some of the others were christened. One lady's, who said "she was perfectly satisfied now she had seen the arbutus actually grow ing," was named Satisfaction; another's who had a superabundance of provision, the Good Samaritan; and still another's, who grieved that she had so few flowers, the Disappointment. The day (that much-abused portion of the passing year), was fair, the sky cloudless, the air fresh and enlivening. We could find no fault with it. We felt like the shepherd of Salisbury Plain, perfectly satisfied with it. The baskets reminded me of those we used to carry berrying in childhood, capable of holding quarts, but on the return with a few blackberries, blueberries and thimbleberries in the bot tom. My basket had been filled beforehand with the pink and white blossoms. I had made in imagination bouquets, tastefully arranged-one for a patient, sick friend who long, long months has been confined to her room, her only outward glimpse of Nature the hanging garden of elm leaves and the flitting, chirping tenants of their nests. The pleasure of the excursion was enhanced by the thought of the sweetness and beauty they would bring to her. Other of the bouquets were to be carried to aged friends whose feet no more had the activity to gather them. But alas! it proved like the milkmaid in the fable. But I will not anticipate. On the road down, the fields looked brown, but the farmers were busy in the different places ploughing; their straight furrows showed skill and industry. We had been advised to select on our arrival, as guide, one of the boys who gather arbutus to sell to passengers. We did so, rather mistrustfully it is true, for we knew from experience that not much dependence was to be placed on the rising generation. He proceeded with us a few steps, then gave his place to another boy. We advanced a little farther on, when the two spied a fire in the grass between a house and fence and left us. We stopped to see the conflagration. One of our party flew into the house, brought out two pails of water, the boys buffeted the fire with their caps, and these united efforts extinguished it. When it was nearly out, the woman of the house made her appearance and coolly said she supposed her little boy must have set it. Judging from the license now given children, I rather think she was right. Once more we put ourselves enroute with our boy guide. He ran on at a doublequick step, and as the way lay between young trees and shrubbery, with a brook to be crossed, we found it difficult to follow. We found plenty of leaves and buds, but no flowers. We soon saw the aim of our guide, which was to gather what few flowers there were, to bunch up to sell, which he did afterwards. He was soon out of sight, and the party hunted arbutus for themselves. It was very backward; we were informed later that one year it would be very plentiful, another scarce. This year was the poor season. Those who thought it was too cold to go on the expedition should have seen us at this time. A healthy glow overspread every face. We then determined that our baskets should be filled with something, and they were. It was then voted to return to the depot and lunch, which we did. Some of the party had ascertained that a temperance meeting was held at the small Advent church. Going there they found quite a spirited meeting. At the collation which came after it they were invited to take mugs of hot coffee. Explaining that they came to gather arbutus, the good lady who presided said that was no matter, and insisted on their taking it. This good Samaritan act was appreciated. In the afternoon half of the party set out in another direction. We passed a noble grove of tall pines growing on a circular piece of ground as large as any church in extent. As we looked through its dim aisles, the trees standing about five or six feet apart, their tall columns seeming almost to reach the sky, from out their slender tops, swaying in the breeze, came the low rhythm of Nature's hymn which ceaseth not day nor night. One of the party gave utterance to the thought of us all, "A temple not made with hands." Farther on we came upon the finest picture it has been our lot to see for many a day, one well worth the journey. A broad, spreading brook that in some places would be called a river, with its brown, changing hues and fitful shadows; over it a rustic bridge of planks ; the borders lined with tall pines of the most vivid green; on one side of the brook, beneath the trees, cakes of ice covered with spotless snow, the white winter ermine contrasting with the foliage. A road cut through a high hill at the end of the bridge, stately pines on the summit, some bending with their roots half exposed overhead. It reminded me of the scenes in Switzerland. A little girl led the way-quite a contrast to our boy guide of the morning-who modestly said when rewarded for her trouble, she didn't expect anything, which made it more of a pleasure to give. When assembled together before leaving, the party expressed the greatest satisfaction in the excursion, especially those who had never seen the Mayflower growing before. We had a pleasant ride home, and reached Salem in good season. I think it was Sancho Panza who said, "Blessings light on him who first invented sleep." I think the members of the Thoreau Club, as they laid their heads on their pillows that night, could heartily say the same. SHADOWS. How beautiful are shadows! In their likeness and more in their unlikeness to the realities, they suggest to the eye the difference there is between sculpture and painting. In their want of color, and calm, death-like beauty they lack the lights and shades of statuary; but then again, they possess a life it is without, for they dance and play on old walls, fences, pavements, indeed everywhere, with the joyous, flickering motions of vitality. These unreal images are often more beautiful than the real; the silhouette of yonder tall branch of spiræa, with its seed vessels, resembles more a handsome plant in full bloom. These shadows lack light and shade, but then there is a denser hue where masses of leaves hang one over the other; they are indeed |