MARCH 55 



the still air, is reflected in the blue eyes which 

 the first hepatica opens under its furry hood at 

 the tree's foot, and which seems to be a part 

 of the wild, uncloying sweetness drawn from 

 the maple's very heart. 



" All the forest life is in it 

 All the mystery and magic." 



The name maple is almost the only Celtic 

 plant-name left us hawthorn and groundsel 

 being its only rivals, and the sugar camp is the 

 one link left our rather prosaic farmers, and 

 their remotest nomadic ancestors. Sugar- 

 making is not a labour : it is a rite. 



When there are hepaticas in the wood-gar- 

 den there are crocus in the home one. Their 

 stout spears, covered by a tough, white, pro- 

 tective tissue, have been feeling their way 

 since the snowdrops first hung out their wel- 

 come to the spring winds. Of these two, the 

 gardener is exceedingly greedy, nor would he 

 have too many if he walked through their 

 native fields in Greece and the Levant. Men 

 gather their golden hearts there, and make 

 commerce of them, hiding their veniality by 

 calling the product saffron. Of that colour 



