A WALK ROUND MY GARDEN O- 



of it as one tires of many things. -Nay, since each 

 spring adds a new memory to old memories, the new 

 spring comes ever with a richer fragrance. The eyes 

 become dim ; but we see with the eyes of younger days ; 

 the ears grow dull, but we hear with the ears of the 

 boy. 



5. And here we catch a glimpse of another secret 

 of the garden's charm. The birds sing from tree and 

 covert, so that we think of them as our birds — and as 

 a part of the garden. Even from the " bare, ruined, 

 choirs " of winter, we hear the birds rehearsing for the 

 spring burst of song ; and when the full chorus comes 

 on some fine September morning, the call to th& 

 garden is irresistible. James Eussell Lowell, in 

 speaking of the early days of Harvard University — 

 then a wattled fold on the edge of the wilderness, 

 tells us that among the students were some red 

 Indians who were to be trained as missionaries. They 

 worked hard for a time at Greek and Latin ; but the 

 forest whispered to them and the first blue bird of 

 spring whistled them back to the woods. " Oh, Sir," 

 Lowell hears them saying to their teacher, " you hear 

 we are called !" In the country, the magpie, in town, 

 the thrush, are our blue birds that call us out of doors. 

 For every man who has been brought up among trees 

 or flowers there is some bird-note that will not be 

 denied. " Oh, Sir, you hear we are called !" 



6. They interest me — these plants, because some 

 remind me of friends, and others take my thoughts 

 abroad to far-off lands. I remember the day, ten 

 years ago, when I brought home the little plant from 

 which this rose bush grew. I often think of my friend 

 when I look at its beautiful blooms. The dew on its 



