as its seasons, each suggestive and inspiring.
Bice with the promise of the blossom and the throb of new
life—summer, when every little twig in the garden is heavy with
i ings.

ae is fililment of autumn with its glorious riot of colour
and its sad anticipation of good-byes that are to be, and even the
sleep of winter is but a silent preparation for the coming again of
spring.

Nature is ever keeping tryst with the artist, offering her gifts gladly,
and the designer who would find himself, must first feel himself as
part of Nature—must merge himself in her unity—take the sap
from the tree—re-create—and express.

GRACE W. MELVIN.

POLITENESS
(With apologies to Mr. Milne)

If people ask me,
I always tell them,
“Yes, that’s my design, that one over there.”
If people ask me,
I always answer:
“Yes, I want to be an artist, that’s what I want.”
I always answer,
I always tell them,
If they ask me,
Politely . .
BUT SOMETIMES

I wish
That they wouldn't.

ROWENA GROSS.

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