pon the same hillside, had succumbed to the frost.

Of my sixteen plants, exactly one half are species that have been
introduced from Europe; six are members of the composite family; and if
we omit the cone-flower, all but three of the entire number are simple
whites and yellows. Two red flowers, the clover and the pimpernel,
disappointed my search; but the blue hepatica would almost certainly
have been found, had it come in my way to look for it.

Prettier even than the flowers, however, was the December greenness,
especially of the humbler sorts: St. John's-wort, five-finger, the
creeping blackberries,--whose modest winter loveliness was never half
appreciated,--herb-robert, corydalis, partridge-berry, checkerberry,
wintergreen, rattlesnake-plantain, veronica, and linnaea, to say nothing
of the ferns and mosses. Most refreshing of all, perhaps, was an
occasional patch of bright green grass, like the one already spoken of,
at Marblehead, or like one even brighter and prettier, which I visited
more than once in Swampscott.

As I review what I have written, I am tempted to exclaim with
Tennyson:--

"And was the day of my delight
As pure and perfect as I say?"

But I answer, in all good conscience, yes. The motto with which I began
states the truth somewhat strongly, perhaps (it must be remembered where
I got it), but aside from that one bit of harmless borrowed hyperbole, I
have delivered a plain, unvarnished tale. For all that, however, I do
not expect my industrious fellow-citizens to fall in at once with my
opinion that winter is a pleasant season at the seashore (it would be
too bad they should, as far as my own enjoyment is concerned), and
December a month propitious for leisurely all-day rambles. How foreign
such notions are to people in general I have lately had several forcible
reminders. On one of my jaunts from Marblehead to Swampscott, for
example, I had finally taken to the railway, and was in the narrow,
tortuous cut through the ledges, when, looking back, I saw a young
gentleman coming along after me. He was in full skating rig, fur cap and
all, with a green bag in one hand and a big hockey stick in the other. I
stopped every few minutes to listen for any bird that might chance to be
in the woods on either hand, and he could not well avoid overtaking me,
though he seemed little desirous of doing so. The spot was lonesome,
and as he went by, and until he was some rods in advance, he kept his
h