Some one has said that the Primrose is "a 

 beautiful eye looking out from the great inner 

 sea of beauty." What does the soul that looks 

 through that eye say to you? I cannot tell. 

 It depends upon what it sees in you. 



Go with me into my garden. It is the call of 

 spring that we hear. Winds from the South- 

 land, melting snows, faint odor of swelling 

 buds, the note of the first bluebird, these are 

 the call of the spring. It means sunshine and 

 beauty. The shadow spots and sheltered nooks 

 are still white, but little sunny knolls in my 

 rock-garden are bare, and green things are 

 shooting up. True, the snow may fly again 

 tomorrow, but a thousand voices proclaim the 

 coming of our old garden friends. Through the 

 mellowing earth and the dead leaves some of 

 them are already thrusting their heads. It is 

 evident that they are expecting us. If you 

 understand and know how to translate, you 

 will hear the voices. 



The first to greet us are the Snowdrops, 

 " fair maids of February. " Brave little flowers ! 



[76] 



