210 THE GARDEN OF A 



bloom for five months instead of, as usual, shrivel- 

 ling and disappearing after a fortnight's tropic 

 glowing that necessitates sowing in succession. 



No, the gambling spirit is strong in all agricul- 

 turalists, and especially so in the commuter's wife, 

 when the vernal equinox approaches, and surely 

 Wall Street itself is not possessed of more wiles than 

 the Seed Catalogue. Even the offerings of the Plant 

 Catalogue are a government bond by comparison. 

 You buy your plant and at least it is tangible, but 

 the seeds are promissory notes which nature upon 

 occasion does not hesitate to repudiate. Still the 

 fascination remains, a charm born of optimistic 

 hope, of the same sort as is exercised by the 

 patent medicine, flesh-reducing, wrinkle-destroy- 

 ing, and household washing-machine-without-work 

 advertisements. 



February 15 (evening). St. Valentine's Day. No 

 birds mating as yet but English sparrows, which 

 never seem to be otherwise. It was my painful 

 duty to have three couples of them evicted from the 

 martins' house this morning. 



Evan has just brought me a box of roses and car- 

 nations from the city. The roses are all of the 

 fragrant and lovable kind, and the carnations are 

 great golden beauties with a rosy fringe. They made 



