follow the shadows traced by the tree fingers on the ground the year
through, and know its moods as the expressions that pass over a familiar
face. For you must not transplant any of these annuals, that only live
to see their sun father for one brief season, into the shade of any tree
or overhanging roof, but at most in the travelling umbra of a distant
object, such as a tall spruce, the northeastern side of a hedge, or such
like.

In my garden one planting of mignonette in full sun goes in front of the
March-planted sweet peas; of the two transplantings from the seed, one
goes on the southwest side of the rose arbour and the other on the upper
or northeast side, where it blooms until it is literally turned into
green ice where it stands.

This manipulation of annuals belongs to the realm of the permanent
resident; the summer cottager must be content to either accept the
conditions of the garden as arranged by his landlord, or in a brief
visit or two made before taking possession, do his own sowing where the
plants are to stand. In this case let him choose his varieties carefully
and spare his hand in thickness of sowing, and he may have as many
flowers for his table and as happy an experience with the summer garden,
even though it is brief, as his wealthy neighbour who spends many
dollars for bedding plants and foliage effects that may be neither
smelled, gathered nor familiarized.

Among all the numerous birds that flit through the trees as visitors, or
else stay with us and nest in secluded places, how comparatively few do
we really depend upon for the aerial colour and the song that opens a
glimpse of Eden to our eager eyes and ears each year, for our eternal
solace and encouragement? There are some, like the wood thrush,