OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



snipped and the superfluous seed-pods of the snapdrag 

 ons removed, a fragrance from the freshly opened nico 

 tine calls us to admire its starry flower until the phlox's 

 honey-sweet perfume distracts our lingering gaze. 

 We lift up the dahlia's modest, drooping head (who 

 ever in the olden time heard of a dahlia being modest? 

 It must be a modern evolution), or we stoop to hunt 

 for the long threads of the yellow dodder among the 

 petunias. Someway before the helplessness and re 

 sponse of much loved flowers and the self-will and de 

 termination of much despised weeds, our thoughts are 

 distracted. All at once we are conscious that the dark 

 cloud which hung over us has vanished; and in this 

 present rosy atmosphere our troubles have assumed 

 their proper proportions, and we can almost be amused 

 at them. Could a trip to Europe be more efficacious 

 than this? 



Have you ever tried to cut off every single seed-pod 

 from a flourishing circular bed in your garden? Some 

 times I have spent hours without success, for in the 

 very middle three or four would stand defiantly erect, 



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