152 IN A GLOUCESTERSHIRE GARDEN 



by itself, . . . consisting of fine broad white leaves, like unto 

 a great white single rose, . . . with many pale yellow 

 thrummes in the middle, standing about a green head.' 



The plant is perfectly hardy, but capricious, groAving 

 and flowering without any difficulty in one garden, and 

 refusing to grow at all in another ; and there are many 

 species and hybrids, all handsome plants, but not equal 

 to the white one.^ With the Christmas rose I may 

 join the snowdrop, for they are often in flower together. 

 Of all spring garden flowers none is such a teacher of 

 hope. So it certainly was to Keble. To him it was 

 not only the 



but— 



' First-born of the year's delight, 

 Pride of the dewy glade,' 



' I love thee, dear,' he said, ' because 



Thy shy averted smiles 



To fancy bode a joyous year, 



One of life's fairy isles. ' 



' The snowdrop,' says Forbes Watson, * is a very star 

 of hope in a season of wreck and decay, the one bright 

 link between the perishing good of the past and the 

 better which has not yet begun to follow.' 



And almost, but not quite, as brave in fighting 

 against difficulties is the whole tribe of crocus, especi- 



1 See also p. 14. 



