i8o THE JOY OF GARDENS 



silver moonlight now illuminating the earth to the far 

 horizon. The village streets were deserted, here and there 

 a light glimmering among the trees; and the old gypsy 

 spirit of pilgrims abroad in the House of the Open Door 

 under the curtains of the star-gemmed sky possessed one 

 and all with a feeling of unreality. 



But the day had not ended. Behind the hedge of our 

 own garden a stout-hearted cricket was beating its drum, 

 the windows were ablaze, and one left behind cried the 

 news that the night-blooming cereus in the southwest 

 nook by the porch, sheltered and discouraged the summer 

 through, had at this late day opened its miracle of bloom. 



All fell upon their knees on the grass to look at the 

 tropic flower without peer, virginal and lovely, gleaming 

 in the light of many candles. Heaven had granted an- 

 other rare surprise of beauty when nature by many signs 

 had dropped her curtain on the pageant of blossoming 

 plants. Under the warmth of the aftermath of summer 

 it had come into its own, and lo ! as we looked, from the 

 silent reaches of the darkness a large white moth came 

 floating on wings of pale silver and green to touch the 

 heart of the flower. 



In all creation is there a diviner miracle? Who says 

 that we have fallen on evil times'? Who can have doubt 

 in gardens'? The spirit of peace, of beauty, and of 

 mystery is abroad in sunshine and in starlight, elevating 

 the thoughts to nobler ideals. 



