A STUDY IN WILD FLOWERS.

- pages 50 & 51 -

ORWOOD'S future seems superlatively bright. Five years ago the most enthusiastic dreamer in the borough could not foresee the glorious tableau of today. The trend toward progress is toward the hills and the rich valleys of Old Columbia. As the grand settlement of homes increases, the sylvan spots, so purely reminiscent of the country, will grow rarer. Some of them should be spared for our children's children.
    Among all of Norwood's auxiliaries there is no Park Board and no immediate mission for one. Some years ago the suggestion was made to preserve the strip of woodland between the Baltimore and Ohio Southwestern and Harris avenue, just east of Forest avenue. It was a grand idea then. It is a better one now.
    Perhaps in all of Norwood there is no wilder spot than that narrow tract. It is all hills and hollows, with here and there a level stretch. Giants of the forest and the most modest wild flowers thrive there together. The beech, the walnut, the hickory, the locust, the sycamore, the poplar, and the buckeye are among the living delegates in the congregation of trees. Before Jack Frost has fairly been driven off the earth, Queen Flora's reign commences in that favored spot. The spring beauties with their delicate blossoms, are among the first. Then comes the violet, here blue as the azure heavens above, and there, white as a bit of porcelain. Dog tooth lillies, with their gray striped petals, come early and go early. The heart-shaped blooms of the "Dutchman's breeches" and the pale, purple clusters of phlox, form a strange contrast. In the shadiest spots rock-moss abounds, its blossoms looking like a flowerly Pleiades in a bed of malachite. The snowy bloom of the blood root is one of the prettiest of the treasures of the woods. The dog wood and red bud proudly contribute their share to the welcome of Spring. Later on the umbrella-shaped May-apple takes its place in the procession with its waxy flowers whose lemon-tinted heart gives forth a sickening aroma. "Pepper and salt," the larkspur, the ground ivy with its tiny blue-eyed blossoms, not much larger than a pin head, the fragrant wild lilac—all these and more are the trophies that are to be gathered in a jaunt through this beautiful woodland spot. Ferns are plentiful, and when the autumn comes, the golden rod and purple aster abound there.
    Norwood is young. No Springer or no West has yet appeared to make his name a benediction that would ring through all the ages. Serpentine avenue is platted through this bit of forest; but it seems almost a sacrilege to despoil the place. It should be kept as a play-ground for the children of tomorrow and the day after. If philanthropy is enjoying too sound a nap, steps might be taken to acquire it by lease or purchase. The Norwood of the future would rise up and call the Norwood of the present blessed, if that beautiful spot were dedicated as "Norwood Park" to the people and their heirs forever.

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Note: This entire section was originally written as one paragraph. It has been broken into several paragraphs here for easier reading.