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gate of my Winter Garden than my blood 

 bubbles, as it did when in boyhood I 

 climbed to the top of Yonah, and swung 

 my hunting-cap for joy, stimulated beyond 

 silent endurance by the upper streams of 

 air. The strong tipples freely wasted by 

 the bucaneers have made this Caribbean 

 breeze deliciously intoxicating. All na- 

 ture blinks, nods, drowses in its fitful cur- 

 rent. Yet nothing seems to sleep. The 

 long moss moves warily ; the oleanders 

 never quite close their eyes ; the palmettos 

 wag their bayonets at the shrinking and 

 swaying roses ; nor at any time do the 

 great pines and stately magnolias fall 

 silent 



While early midwinter is not the season 

 of flowers, even on the Creole coast, we 

 frequently have a swell of precocious 

 springtide in December and January, 

 which lifts the sap from root to tip in the 

 plants and trees, greening the twigs and 

 freshening the bark and leaves. A pear- 

 orchard will fling out tender vernal ban- 

 ners, with a dash of snowy petals among 

 the sprays, affording a certain fruity efflu- 

 5 



