OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



A slip from the clinging Virginia creeper which 

 came from the house of one^of our oldest and dearest 

 friends now adorns our own rooftree. Among the 

 dwarf pines and cedars in the gravel pit flourishes a 

 blue columbine from Colorado, which we owe to a well- 

 known geologist; we thank him also for a plantation 

 of wild ginger down by the spring. I never see its 

 heart-shaped leaves but a memory of that hot summer 

 day comes to me with the picture of a stalwart form 

 carefully carrying a heavy basket along narrow foot 

 paths in a glen and through high grass in open meadows. 



Ragged Robin from England, and cyclamen from 

 the Alban Hills, remind us of a Boston lady whose ac 

 quaintance we made in Italy one never-to-be-forgotten 

 springtime. Gorse from the Friendly Architect 

 brings to mind Ireland and the English cliffs in June. 

 Foxgloves, too, are from the same generous hand. Of 

 what do our trumpet vines remind us, spreading in such 

 vigorous health over the end of the pergola? Can we 

 not see the luxuriant fertility of that Indiana farm from 

 which they came, so highly prized as a precious heritage 



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