RED LETTER DAYS 



that had accumulated between the loose flat stones, 

 growing* in many a quaint position beside the 

 mountain stream, where small avalanches had buried 

 some so deeply that they had thrown up a long 

 wiry stem, and then produced their leaves and 

 flowers. Here, too, were hosts of tiny seedlings, with 

 pale, almost transparent, little globes, shell pink, 

 with baby leaf and stalk. 



As we wandered on, a bend in the upward track 

 brought us suddenly in sight of a small company of 

 Monks ' the little white fathers.' They will always 

 be associated in our minds with Cyclamen africanum, 

 for as they came down the mountain path clad in 

 white serge, crimson fezes on their heads, they seemed 

 in wearing these colours to have adopted them from 

 the dainty little flower which, decked in almost 

 identical tones, surrounded their mountain home. 

 Alas ! this lovely African gem is too tender for our 

 gardens, but its cousin neapolitanwn is so hardy and 

 so easy to grow that none should miss it. Accommo- 

 dating itself to sunless positions, around the boles of 

 large deciduous trees, even under the dreaded 'drip,' 

 in a little leaf mould, old mortar and stones, it will 



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