BOOK OF THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 25 



the steward of the plan and eternal messenger of 

 God. 



"Hard is the heart that loveth naught in May!" 

 Yes, so hard that it is no longer flesh and blood, for 

 under the spell of renewal every grass blade has new 

 beauty, every trifle becomes of importance, and the 

 humble song sparrow a nightingale. 



The stars that blazed of winter nights have fallen and 

 turned to dandelions in the grass; the Forsythias are 

 decked in gold, a colour that is carried up and down 

 the garden borders in narcissus, dwarf tulips, and pan- 

 sies, peach blossoms giving a rosy tinge to the snow 

 fall of cherry bloom. 



To-day there are two catbirds, Elle et Lui, and the 

 first Johnny Wren is inspecting the particular row of 

 cottages that top the long screen of honeysuckles back 

 of the walk named by Richard Wren Street. Why is 

 the song sparrow calling "Dick, Dick!" so lustily 

 and scratching so testily in the leaves that have drifted 

 under an old rose shrub ? The birds' bath and drink- 

 ing basin is still empty ; I pour out the libation to the 

 day by filling it. 



The seed bed is reached at last. It has wintered fairly 

 well, and the lines of plants all show new growth. As 

 I started to point out and explain, Lavinia Cortright 



