FEBRUARY 37 



established between him and the infinite heart 

 of Nature will be eternal. I should not like to 

 think of children and fairies and gardens, and 

 leave unquoted these verses from one of the 

 Kate Greenaway books : 



" Beneath the lilies, tall, white garden lilies, 

 A princess slept her charmed life away, 

 For ever were the fairy bluebells ringing, 

 For ever through the night and through the day; 



" When lo ! a prince came riding through the sunshine 1 

 The wind just touched the lilies, to and fro, 

 And woke the princess, while the bluebell music 

 Kept ringing, ringing, sleepily and low." 



As childhood gives way before the mysterious 

 disturbances of larger growth, other flowers 

 become dear. Cowslips give place to pansies, 

 and daisies to violets. Flower-beds are too 

 small to hold all the sweetpeas and mignonette 

 one ought to have, and the longest hours are 

 too short for the converse one would like to 

 hold with the lily-of-the-valley. Then come 

 roses, only roses, and it is a part of the rainbow 

 gold that gilds all our morning thoughts, and 

 lures us on to hopes of high achievement, that 

 our roses must be large and splendid, heavy 

 with odour and rich with colour. We may 



