DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



of self-consciousness and launched in the realm of 

 Reality.' 



Think of the exquisite delight of gathering great 

 bunches of those chaste tiny gems, each pure white 

 twisted petal with 

 its base tipped with 

 brightest crimson, 

 some more, some 

 less, while in a few 

 the rich colour had 

 spread and suffused 

 the whole flower with 

 a dainty pink ; these, and an end- 

 less variety in the lovely marbled 

 markings of the foliage, made us 

 careful in the selection of plump 

 corms to fill our vasculum, never 

 large enough, but never yet so 

 full that it would not hold just another, more longed- 

 for than the last ; they could not be missed from among 

 those millions and when home they would not lack 

 love : if they would only live. Here they flourish right 

 under the trees, thriving in the almost black mould 



28 



CYCLAMEN AFKICANUM 



