46 THE CHRONICLES OF A GARDEN. 



hearts. Even in the wild, wintry month of January, there 

 are the points of crocuses and snowdrops to be seen, buds 

 of hepatica beginning to form, and a nameless something 

 in the light that tells of coming spring. It is a true old 

 saying no doubt, that 



" All the months of the yes^v 

 Ban a fair Febraeer ; " 



but who that loves a garden does not rejoice in the few 

 mild days sometimes met with in this month — days when 

 the first snowdrop and crocus put out their blossoms, when 

 the first bee is seen, the first warble of the thrush is heard 

 — who can help wishing such weather to continue, or feel 

 otherwise than grieved to find the wholesome severity of 

 frost and snow return upon the newly-awakened earth ? 



Uncertain and coy as spring is in this country, mild 

 balmy air alternating with sleety showers or boisterous 

 breezes, or worst of all, an east wind of six weeks' duration, 

 still spring does deserve all that poets have written of it, 

 and all that our childhood has felt for it 1 



" Dost thou not rejoice 

 When the spring sends forth an awakening voice 

 Through -the young woods ? Thou dost ! And in that birth 

 Of early leaves and flowers, and songs of mirth, 

 Thousands, like thee, find gladness ! " 



It is curious to feel how the love of gardening awakens 

 from its winter sleep at the first sight of a golden mass of 

 crocuses, or bunch of trembling snowdrops, or the tiny 

 rent in the ground through which the winter aconite 

 thrusts up its bent stem and pretty yellow cu}). How 



