I 

 JANUARY 



' Life is a road, at either end a gate, 



The gate of Life behind of Death beyond. 

 Love guards the path and guides us all the way, 

 As through a garden where calm Hope doth rest.' 



G. F. Bodley. 



JANUARY 1894. At last the white snow 

 sheet is lifted, and we draw a breath 

 of relief as it were, after the tension of a 

 long long winter. It was not really long, 

 however, it only lasted about three weeks 

 or so. And there have been brilliant sun- 

 shines, and early morning splendours were 

 not rare, when the lawns became wide 

 diamond-fields, as pure and sparkling as 

 winter's frost could freeze them. Splen- 

 dours also there have been, of sunset skies 

 whose glory died not until the utmost 

 remotest glow of green had faded into 

 grey. Wondrous joys such as these are, 



