A WINTER GARDEN OF TREES 51 



garden. Beauty is killed when leaves that should 

 be green and smiling are bruised and brown, when 

 boughs that should be perfect in grace and curve 

 are twisted and tortured. We may be very sure, 

 too, that such symptoms of discomfort in our 

 gardens will re-act in disquiet on ourselves, whereas 

 the mere sight of tree or bush standing firm in its 

 green bravery through storm and stress tends, it 

 may be unawares, to brace and uplift. Even the 

 familiar Laurel, good as it is when suitably placed, 

 and used not too freely, is constantly scathed and 

 disfigured in damp or low-lying localities. For the 

 same reason, it is doubtful whether Rhododendrons 

 should be planted within range of our windows. 

 Most of them, in severe weather, frightened before 

 they are hurt, put on a melancholy air and droop 

 of leaf which is apt to send a shiver through any 

 shrinking mortal whose vitality is already low 

 enough. 



The bare boughs of winter, on the contrary, are 

 never depressing. They sleep, but it is not the 

 sleep of death ; they rest, but while they are resting, 

 we feel that the mystery of life silently works out the 

 fulfilment of the promise of re-awakening. Mean- 

 while, before the veil of leafage hides so much else 

 that is beautiful from our eyes, we see the things 

 that are, tree trunks in all their majesty of girth and 

 column and fencing bark, the net-work of budding 

 spray, each after its kind distinct, yet each in its 

 own form perfect. Even in mid-winter, the brown 

 gummy buds of the Horse Chestnuts begin to swell 



