JANUARY 5 



animals, know that only thus far can they go 

 and that beyond the line which lies but a step 

 farther than the threshold of their desire, the 

 hush of death is waiting. 



A winter garden ought to begin with 

 rounded purple masses of woodlands, skirting 

 a low range of hills. In the sunshine of a mid- 

 winter day they will melt and lift, like faint 

 mists, giving promise of ever- widening horizons, 

 and will offer to us that elusive beckoning on- 

 ward which is the best of gardening, as it is the 

 best of life. Through wide planes of air, they 

 will darken as stormy weather approaches, and 

 by their white effacement they will announce 

 the coming of snow. The eyes should be led 

 thitherward by dark lines of field-defining 

 hedges or by stone walls not too well kept, 

 which guard the sacred earth in which the new 

 year's bread is asleep in the young wheat. 

 Chance trees, elms, red oaks, wild cherries, 

 or close-breasted cedars must group themselves 

 about in the unhusbanded corners of fields ; 

 above stone piles, and along the brooks that 

 sing under the ice. Orderly battalions of 

 cedars must march along the roads leading 

 towards the village, keeping sentry over the 



