140 Hardy Plants for Cottage Gardens 
high, or other duties interfere, the chance is lost. Sometimes 
the conditions seem perfect, and the tripod is set in place, 
when a slight wind springs up, and the delicately poised 
flowers wag their heads in response, and you wait, bulb in 
hand—and wait—and wait—sometimes half an hour for a 
moment of calm. It comes usually after a sharp blow, and 
you must be alert to take advantage of it. If you lose patience, 
and let it go, you are likely to lose the subject altogether; for 
a plant is not the same on any two days, and its climax of 
beauty is short-lived. 
In the early spring we can easily follow the swift changes 
in the opening leaves and rapid growth; also in the autumn 
the daily variations of coloring and the dropping of leaves 
mark the progress Nature makes. We are apt to think that 
she rests, or gently matures during the interval. With camera 
in hand we grow sensitive to the infinite gradations of light— 
a passing cloud alters the whole aspect—of the magical 
changes wrought through the passing hours, where shadows 
shift momentarily; of the fluid character of the air, seldom in 
quiescence; of daily transition from leaf to bud, from bud to 
flower and flower to fruit. Contrary to actual experience, 
perfect beauty always impresses me with confidence in its 
permanence. An apple-tree in full flower, a maple-tree in au- 
tumn dress convince me that they are dependable stage prop- 
erties; that, as lovely accessories, they must endure, they are 
guaranteed for life: and I am ever perplexed to see the petals 
fall and the beauty fade. 
Once only in my life have I known perfect repose in Nature. 
It was a January day in a North Carolina pine barren, and I 
had wandered away from my companions, and sat on a fallen 
log to observe things. The stillness and hush were indescrib- 
able; not a leaf rustled, not a bird, cricket or insect could be 
seen or heard, no living creature stirred in the underbrush, 
