XII 



WINTER IN THE GARDEN 



Though winter is a dreary season, lacking spring's 

 unfolding blossoms, April clouds, and the pure 

 notes of countless bird-choristers ; lacking summer's 

 rippling corn-fields and wealth of foliage, and 

 autumn's mellow atmosphere and radiant colouring, 

 it has a charm of its own that no portion of the 

 year may rival. The hoar-frost and the snow 

 weave their argent magic over the garden, creating 

 a vision that never stales. Under the low sunshine 

 the trees are silver, and every leaf is edged with 

 diamonds and pearls. Winter is, indeed, a wonder- 

 worker, an enchanter, for there is not a grass-blade 

 or spray that is not transfigured out of knowledge. 

 Those lowly-growing things that have no beauty 

 in budding spring, prodigal summer, or glowing 

 autumn, awake to their first season of loveliness 

 besprent with jewels unnumbered. The summer- 



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