DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



smelts her splendour, and her rapid changes are but 

 her method of renewing her moulds in which to recast 

 her perfect productions, reminding us once again that 

 as the thread of life runs out and meets the tangling 

 storm-winds of sorrow, so the unravelling skein re- 

 weaves again those new beauties which are forged 

 and wrought in the furnace of pain. 



Nothing lasting, nothing strong, nothing beautiful, is known 

 in God's Creation that has not come and is not conserved through 

 struggle. We dare not overlook this truth in the management 

 of men's affairs. G. A. B. DEWAB. 



BLACK 



NATURE exhibits her superb mastery in art when 

 she takes from her colour-box the tone we call ' black,' 

 but when she thus paints with lightless night she 

 uses it very sparingly and endows it with a property 

 that knows no dead dulness, in its freedom from all 

 gloom, very different from the lifeless and uninterest- 

 ing black attire which seldom becomes the wearer and 

 is inevitably associated with sorrow. 'Why should 

 I wear black for the guests of God?' asks Ruskin. 



96 



