THE title of this book is significant. The reader is not led to expect cultural details or botanical technicalities. To use a vulgarism, “science is not in it.” What we have is a record of musings, such as would suggest themselves at each successive season, to one more concerned with the poetry and beauty of nature than with its philosophy. Notwithstanding this, the author shows herself a careful observer and a skilful delineator. Take, for instance this account of the winter aconite (Erarithis). The writer is descanting on the promise of early spring, and goes on to say:—