“Firstly came Churl, son of Janus, 
Rough for cold, in drugget clad, 
Came with rack and rheum to pain us! 
“Janus was he, oldest of potentates ; 
Forward he looked, and backward, and below 
He counts, as god of years and gates, 
The years that through his portals come and go.” 
ANUARY is the hard month of winter to get 
through, when Nature makes little appeal 
to the heart. But we have endured January and 
are now on the spring side of winter, looking out 
toward the rising sun and the day “when the 
sap creeps up and the blossoms swell.’ There 
will be other days of cold, of snow and high 
winds; but also dreamy days of sunshine, when 
we shall feel the soft touch of spring, when some 
sweet bird will drop its cheerful notes into our 
expectant hearts, and some fairy blossom raise 
its starry eyes to ours. Our winters are not 
quite as destitute of beauty as they seem when 
viewed from the windows of our homes. 
On the flat a little beyond Seven Pines, one 
morning in late December, by brushing away a 
snowy covering, I disclosed to a little nature- 
loving companion six wee starry blossoms, as 
fresh and bright as had the day been one in early 
spring. A week later this little friend picked 
from under the snow near her own door the 
same blossoms — the common chickweed — com- 
mon in no way save in the abundance of its 
ul 
