PAGES FROM A GARDEN 

 NOTE-BOOK 



TO the eye of the gardener snow is no winding- 

 sheet, none of the covering of death; it is 

 the warm wrapping mantle of beauty asleep. Be- 

 neath the whiteness lie endless radiances of color, 

 wonders untold in flower, plant, tree. How can 

 those who do not garden, who have no part nor 

 lot in the great fraternity of those who watch the 

 changing year as it affects earth and its growth, 

 how can they keep warm their hearts in winter.'* 

 They are as those who have no hope. A winter 

 day of the coldest may glow and shine with 

 thoughts of summer, but always provision must 

 have been made for that summer, by burying the 

 bulbs, by covering the rosettes of the Canterbury 

 bell or the cut stalks which mark the delphinium 

 root's portion of the garden. These things prop- 

 erly accomplished, the fancy may happily dwell 

 in winter upon the rosy tulip, the golden daffodil, 

 the campanula's full round bells. 

 And then the first signs of spring, those days 



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