In the sweet country, as the spring's Advance decks out the scenery, And limns with hues the colored things And gives the greens their greenery, I love to watch when I am there Each little step of Nature's care; The wiles with which she goes about To coax the shivering crocus out, And, day by day, succeeding troops Of blooms, to marshal in their groups. In town, it's different! All's wrought out With least of her complicity, By man-power, helped, as I misdoubt, By steam and electricity. The bed that yesterday was snow To-morrow's plants, set all arow; You press a button and they blow, Just watch them and you'll see it's so. I'm told, too, that in open sight The park men turn them off at night. You can't rely on city plants Whose habits have been tampered with. I always look at them askance. Such culture as they're pampered with Might well their little minds upset, Confuse their dates, make them forget The calendar, their proper times As set by use and nursery rhymes— All, all, except, come sun, come cold, They're bound to blossom when they're told. I trust them not, but when it's fair I note in garb delectable Sophronia driving out for air With parent most respectable. And when she leaves her furs at home I say the season's ripening some. Successive hats, new brought from France, Denote to me the sun's advance, And, when her parasols appear, I cry, "Now bless me! summer's here." THE TRAIL OF THE SANDHILL STAG BY ERNEST SETON THOMPSON ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR [Illustration] It was a burning hot day. Yan was wandering in pursuit of birds among the endless groves and glades of the Sandhill wilderness about Carberry. The water in the numerous marshy ponds was warm with the sunheat, so Yan cut across to the trail spring, the only place in the country where he might find a cooling drink. As he stooped beside it his eye fell on a small hoof-mark in the mud, a sharp and elegant track. He had never seen one like it before, but it gave him a thrill, for he knew at once it was the track of a _wild deer_.