Rhododendrons
should be planted within range of our windows. Most of them, in severe
weather, frightened before they are hurt, put on a melancholy air and
droop of leaf which is apt to send a shiver through any shrinking mortal
whose vitality is already low enough.

The bare boughs of winter, on the contrary, are never depressing. They
sleep, but it is not the sleep of death; they rest, but while they are
resting, we feel that the mystery of life silently works out the
fulfilment of the promise of re-awakening. Meanwhile, before the veil of
leafage hides so much else that is beautiful from our eyes, we see the
things that are, tree trunks in all their majesty of girth and column
and fencing bark, the net-work of budding spray, each after its kind
distinct, yet each in its own form perfect. Even in mid-winter, the
brown gummy buds of the Horse Chestnuts begin to swell at the ends of
the swaying boughs, and the Ash-buds, as they make ready to burst their
bonds, put on a deeper hue.

The Beeches keep their silken green tight shut within their scale-bound
points, and will not let it unfold an hour too soon; but look at the
lovely colouring, now silvern, now golden green, of the Lichen-stains on
the smooth grey bark. Contrast it with the deeply-chiselled ribs of the
Sweet Chestnut, the rugged armour-plates of the Oak, the thin white
tissue of the dainty Silver Birch. It is this diversity, these
contrasts, which make up the charm of winter, while the sombre green of
Fir and Yew intermingling with the leafless trees gives just the touch
of warmth and comfort which winter lacks. If any of these bless our
gardens with their gracious presence, let us hesitate long before any
trivial inconvenience tempts us into doing away with them. A single
group of Silver Birches, one spreading Beech, a clump of Scotch Fir,
with a stretch of grass beneath them, is more precious to look out upon
in the winter garden than all the borders and rockeries that can be
devised. Urge as we may, however, for their own sake, the fitness and
constant delight of our native trees and evergreen shrubs, we plead for
them, no less, because by their well-advised use our sheltered gardens
may become congenial abiding-places for the strangers we may invite
within our gates.

Do we profit as much as we might by the wealth of garden beauty, in the
way of trees and shrubs, which for every intent and purpose lies within
our reach?

Take Magnolias, for example. T