It is my good fortune to know the home of the trailing arbutus (Epigaa repens), one of the most exquisite of nature's fondlings. It grows in the greatest profusion and luxuriance, where we can pick again and again until we have satisfied our own grasping desires and those of our then numerous friends. What a treat is a day in the woods, wandering up and down - searching, plucking and arranging the dainty blossoms; some pure white, some white, suffused with pink, and some, where they have had clear sunshine, a clear deep rose color; and all so pure that they can lay their faces on the earth and remain unsullied.

The winter has been kind to these delicate, though hardy forms. Hardy they are in the sense that they will endure a severe winter, but at the expense of foliage and flowers; they live, but do not thrive luxuriantly. After a severe winter the foliage is' browned to a crisp, the flowers have a starved, withered look ; they scorn to resent the treatment of mother nature, and frown rather than smile at the vernal sunshine. I would like to describe this plant, but cannot do it justice, so borrow from Henry Ward Beecher, whose love and enthusiasm for this flower was unbounded.

" Who would suspect by the leaf what a rare delicacy was to be in the blossom ? Like some people of plain and hard exterior, but of sweet disposition, it is all the more pleasant by surprise of contrast. All winter long this little thing must have slumbered with dreams at least of spring. It has waited for no pioneer to guide, but started of its own self, and led the way for all the flowers on the hillside.

"The odor of the arbutus is exquisite, and as delicate as the plant is modest. Some flowers seem to make an impression on you. They stare at you ; they dazzle your eyes. If you smell them, they overfill your sense with fragrance. They leave nothing for your gentleness and generosity, but do everything themselves. But this sweet nestler of the hillside is so secluded, half-covered with russet leaves, that you would not suspect its graces did you not stop to uncover the vine, to lift it up, and then you espy its secluded beauty. If you smell it, at first it seems hardly to have an odor, but there steals out of it at length the finest, rarest scent, that rather excites than satisfies your sense. It is coy, without designing to be so, and its reserve plays on the imagination far more than could a more positive way".

The question is often asked, Can the arbutus be cultivated in the garden ? Certainly, if properly attempted. Take up a large clump in autumn, or when possible in winter; without much disturbance of roots, transfer to a partially shaded position ; protect with leaves, as nature does, or keep in a cold-frame, protected from sun and cold, and it will bloom profusely. The English gardeners propagate it as freely as they do the azalea, and with as great success. But don't! Let this beautiful sweet child of the wood nestle in the bed that nature has prepared for it. Like the thrush, it belongs to the wood by inheritance; let it enjoy its secluded home in its own unostentatious way. C. L. A.