Leaving the meadows and the clover bloom and entering some long undisturbed wood lot, or passing near the thick undergrowth beside some little brook, a rich, special fragrance greets us, more delicious than any spicy waft from Araby the blest. It is lavishly poured upon the air by the inconspicuous green blossoms of the wild grape; once we meet a breeze heavily laden with this exquisite odor it is never forgotten, and the sensitive nostril is likely to try all other perfumes by that one unattainable standard. The month of June marshals in the choicest of the fragrant bands--the rose. The lilies also are June flowers; the golden lily, the stately white lily, each one pouring from its chalice a wealth of sweetness, each one fair enough to be the long-sought Holy Grail. These, together with the honeysuckle tribe, well substantiate the claim of June as the especial month of fragrance. WITH THE EDITOR One of the best tendencies of the summer is to bring us into closer touch with nature. When the lawns and fields are grass-covered and the trees green overhead, we are drawn from our artificial winter life to earth and nature. We have been associated with the earth through too many centuries to deny its hold upon us now. This indoor life is a comparatively recent fad. As yet we have not forgotten that we are creatures of the dust. In the old Greek mythology there was a character, Antæus by name, of whom it was said that his strength increased tenfold every time he touched the soil. To be conquered he must be lifted from the earth. Perhaps this is applicable to us all. Are we not stronger for our contact with nature? Are we not better able to meet the modern Hercules when he comes to us in the guise of ill health? Certainly we would be but poor creatures were it not for the woods, fields, and mountains. Aside from the matter of health, it would be difficult to say in just what way nature helps us. Without effort on our part we can get nothing from her. To learn her secrets we must already be armed with knowledge, or, if not this, then with the keenest of vision and hearing. Perhaps, most of all, the benefit lies merely in our contact with the out-of-door world, just as there is in any uplifting companionship. Is there not something inspiring to us all in the mountain’s grandeur, the hemlock’s silent depths, or the green vista of rolling meadows? In any event, we are the better for being in touch with nature. Let us all, therefore, strive to be naturalists.