. The poets' New England. Every dooryard onBeacon Street is in bloom. Snowdrops, and crocusesand hyacinths! We look up and even the houses areputting forth flowers. Parlor windows, and many lit-tle glass nooks above the doorways, have become flowerbeds, from which cowslips and jonquUs and narcissusand hosts of other blossoms fling their beauty into thehearts of the passers-by. But the Garden! flamingwith reds and yellows and pinks; tulip-bed after tulip-bed ablaze in the sunshine. The very people seem tohave turned into tulips, and go walking about in pinkand yellow atmospheres. All sorts of p
. The poets' New England. Every dooryard onBeacon Street is in bloom. Snowdrops, and crocusesand hyacinths! We look up and even the houses areputting forth flowers. Parlor windows, and many lit-tle glass nooks above the doorways, have become flowerbeds, from which cowslips and jonquUs and narcissusand hosts of other blossoms fling their beauty into thehearts of the passers-by. But the Garden! flamingwith reds and yellows and pinks; tulip-bed after tulip-bed ablaze in the sunshine. The very people seem tohave turned into tulips, and go walking about in pinkand yellow atmospheres. All sorts of people are there,beaming like angels in an earthly paradise. Talkabout mere beauty having no moral influence! Oneneeds only to see the happy faces of the spring crowdin the Garden to be convinced there is not a soul whogazes upon the glory of the tulips in the sunshine butis the better for it. Some of the faces may not bevery beautiful, but all have taken on an illuminatingtenderness of expression. Everybody tries to fur-. Tumps in the Public Gakdeu, Boston THE POETS NEW ENGLAND 39 bish up his appearance when spring comes. Here isa woman who struts about as if she were a tree clothedin fresh green leaves, simply because she is able to gowithout the shabby coat she has been obliged to wearfor the last six months. To be sure, it is a negativesort of attempt to appear fresh and vie with the tulips;but there is a pathos about such attempts to deck her-self in harmony with spring which gives birth to abeauty deeper perhaps than one merely pleasing tothe eye. There, for example, is a little tot in a charm-ing spring rig made out of all the pieces which herfond mother had in her possession. The skirt is verylight brown of one kind of material, the sleeves arevery dark brown of another kind of material, and theyoke is of an indeterminate brown of still another ma-terial. Regarded from the point of view of fashion,it is no doubt a horrible botch of a little coat; but asthe child gambols
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