236 GARDENING OVER A WINTER FIRE. 



The first hints of spring are subtle, delicate, 

 but wonderfully suggestive. As you step out 

 of your door some sunny morning the last o{ 

 February, no matter how bleak and wintry the 

 landscape may still appear, you feel in a vague, 

 pleasurable way the influences of the opening 

 season. There is a peculiar fragrance in the 

 air, coming not from blossoms, for there are 

 none, uncaused by budding vegetation, for as 

 yet sleep rests on the pallid face of Nature. 

 Not a bud has stirred, and the withered herb- 

 age is still buried deeply under the snow. And 

 yet, by some strange alchemy, from some un- 

 known source is this delicate perfume distilled. 

 Do not the old farmers account for it when, on 

 going out on such a morning, they snuff the 

 air, and say : 



" It smells like spring." 



It is then spring's own peculiar and appro- 

 priate odor; and when we recognize it, we 



