THE ROAD TO SPRING n 
still, but the softly empurpled blossoms, as well as those 
that blush with a delicate pink through their petals of 
snow and ivory, are mighty pretty, and welcome beyond 
words at this season of flowerless parterres. It is pleasant 
to see the strong blunt buds pushing their way up through 
the dun earth and the snow to the light of day amid 
those dark sentinels, their leaves. It is yet another 
assurance of life’s persistency, of the robust and vigorous 
striving of the earth. I believe, for all the pains and 
penalties involved, that I should be something loth to 
miss winter from the year’s calendar. There is so much 
that is comely and reviving in the atmosphere, which is 
essentially that of hope, however long deferred; memories 
of spring and summer take on a greater glory viewed 
through this lengthening vista. You are not burdened 
with that spendthrift consciousness that will sometimes 
fall upon you in the very heyday of the prime, of being 
in the act of consuming your substance with vivid im¬ 
providence, forced, it is true, but improvidence all the 
same. 
Winter can show a kindlier face than one guesses, and 
when, like the unthrifty Lord of Linne, you may have 
fancied you were come to the end of your wealth, he is 
apt to offer you an undreamed-of hoard, the beaten gold 
and “ the white mony ” that are to console you for 
treasure spent. So long as one may have sight of the 
sun for a few hours on most days, and keep a bright 
hearth withindoors, I do not think we are so very hardly 
used; the pleasures of retrospect hang the long galleries 
sacred to their use with arras of unfading beauty, while 
who but Hope could make the corridors of the future 
