which distinguish their species, and which betray it often, but by their color are merged in the variety of colors of the season.
To Cliffs. 4 p. m. It is cool and cloudy weather in which the crickets still heard remind you of the fall, a clearer ring to their creak. Also the prunella, cool in the grass, and the Johnswort make you think it late in the year. Maruta cotula or Mayweed. Why so named? Just begins, with its strong-scented leaf. It has taken up its position by the roadside close to the ruts–in bad taste. . . .
The bobolink and golden robin are occasionally heard now-a-days.
The Convolvulus sepium, bind-weed. Morning glory is the best now. It always refreshes me to see it. . . . "In the morning and cloudy weather," says Gray. I associate it with holiest morning hours. It may preside over my morning walks and thoughts. There is a flower for every mood of the mind.
Methinks roses oftenest display their bright colors which invariably attract all eyes and betray them, against a dark ground, as the dark green or the shady recesses of other bushes and copses, where they show to best advantage. Their enemies do not spare the open flower for an hour. Hence, if for no other reason, their buds are most beautiful. Their promise of per-
