This family of Mints was known to the ancients as _Calamint_ or _Calamintha_, and included in Dodoens’ day four or five species described by the Greeks, each of them having several names marked by different medicinal virtues. The first kind was called Mountain Calamint; the second was known as Wild Pennyroyal, and the third variety as Cat’s-Mint or Cat’s-Herbe,—just described as _Nepeta_. The Wild Pennyroyal of the ancients resembled the cultivated species at that time also, which was known in England, during 1500, as Podding-Grasse or Pudding-Grass. Pliny attributed twenty-five medicinal and mystical properties to Pennyroyal, in Christ’s day, while Dodoens and Lyte mention fourteen uses of the herb in 1578. Xenocrates prescribed “a branch of Penny-Royall wrapped in wool,” and placed beneath the bedclothes as a remedy against malignant fevers. The Mints in general were called in ancient apothecary shops _Mentha_. This group of plants was known to Theophrastus, and named _Mentha_, from a nymph fabled in classical literature as having been changed into this plant by the jealous Proserpine. Yale was delighted with the _Herbe de Chat_, and scented spring and the cat’s heal-all indeed in these tender sprays, rolling and purring over the leaves like a tiger, until at last, soothed, he fell a-napping. The next morning, May 2d, I started for the Berkshire Highlands, where I arrived in the afternoon. I remained on Aurora’s Hill in North Adams about a week. I was too early for orchid flowers, and the arbutus was still in bloom. These were the real arbutus days here, in spite of their breaking the record now and then by blooming in February. I soon left the slopes of North Adams for Pownal Hills. I found them bleak and cold, and that here, too, I was ahead of all species of the Orchid Family. I made several excursions to the heart of Rattlesnake Swamp and Rattlesnake Ledge, between May 7th and 15th, searching for Trailing Arbutus. I courted the Swamp of Oracles and the Glen of Comus, watching the buds unfold. The woods were bare and leafless, the paths and dry-brook beds were flooded with sunshine. There is a desolate expression to these deep swamps in early spring, before the tender green leaves of trees and budding flowers burst forth. The birds, however, are here, and their song tells us that it is spring instead of the Indian summer of late autumn. These awakening days of the sleeping woodlands reminded one of the death of the flowers in November. Equally sad is the birth and death of the flowers. The sod steams with the warm southern sunlight pouring upon it until, behold, a week later the green, luxuriant foliage hides all the rocky paths in dense shades, and sprinkles dainty stars and clinging vines over all the ruins of the autumn’s faded stalks and leaves. May holds greater charm and more silent mysteries than the overflowing joy of full-grown June.