In Lilac Tide 137 



In the garden's story, there are ever a few pic- 

 tures which stand out with startling distinctness. 

 When the year is gone you do not recall many days 

 nor many flowers with precision; often a single 

 flower seems of more importance than a whole 

 garden. In the day book of 1900 I have but few 

 pictures; the most vivid was the very first of the 

 season. It could have been no later than April, 

 for one or two Snowdrops still showed white 

 in the grass, when a splendid ribbon of Chiono- 

 doxa — Glory of the Snow — opened like blue fire 

 burning from plant to plant, the bluest thing 

 I ever saw in any garden. It was backed with 

 solid masses of equally vivid yellow Alyssum and 

 chalk-white Candy-tuft, both of which had had a 

 good start under glass in a temporary forcing bed. 

 These three solid masses of color surrounded by 

 bare earth and showing little green leafage made my 

 eyes ache, but a picture was burnt in which will 

 never leave my brain. I always have a sense of 

 importance, of actual ownership of a plant, when I 

 can recall its introduction — as I do of the Chiono- 

 doxa, about 1871. It is said to come up and 

 bloom in the snow, but I have never seen it in blos- 

 som earlier than March, and never then unless the 

 snow has vanished. It has much of the charm of 

 its relative, the Scilla. 



We all have flower favorites, and some of us have 

 flower antipathies, or at least we are indifferent to 

 certain flowers ; but I never knew any one but loved 

 the Daffodil. Not only have poets and dramatists 

 sung it, but it is a common favorite, as shown by its 



