WHEN SPRING AWAKES 33 



to thwart all naughty spirits of the air had waxed a bit of 

 string, stretched it in the crevice, and lo ! upon the listen- 

 ing ear came the musical trumpet of winds. Now the 

 song without words has faded in the distance to give place 

 to the long-drawn sweetness of the fairy waldhorn of 

 April and an orchestra of tremulous music. Innocent 

 delight has been wrested from the midst of besetting 

 annoyance, and pleasure caught as she flies. 



The April atmosphere throbs with promises the 

 strange odors of blossoming tree tops, of opening lilac 

 buds, hint of lily bells and the first shy hepatica above 

 ground. The scimitars of skunk cabbage and blades of 

 iris announce a transformation. April skies and April 

 rains make the background and fitting accompaniment to 

 the stir of awakening nature out of doors. 



"There's as much in the nature as in the culture of the 

 soil," sang Cowper of the intellectual gardens, which, 

 unfortunately, cannot be made over with wood ashes, 

 though in the mental garden fencing plays its part in 

 shutting out evils and in making it ready to bear the right 

 and agreeable blossom. 



As April really marks the beginning of gardening in the 

 North, when frost is out of the ground, it behooves us to 

 look into the nature of the soil, and perchance to scour 

 the neighborhood for "the man who knows" and can tell 

 what is actually needed. Then the garden can be spaded, 

 raked, and worked over, both the nature and the culture 



