A GARDEN IN WINTER.
Deacon Green took a ride early last month, my dears, and he tells me of a wonderful garden which he saw from a window as he went whirling by on a railroad.
Can you guess what was growing in a garden in December?
No, it was not in a Southern State; so your guess of oranges isn't right—though they tell me that oranges do grow in winter-time in Florida.
It was a garden of Christmas-trees, set out in even rows, and looking as spruce and gay and happy as if they knew that they were almost old enough to hold a candle in each of their thousand hands, and a bright gift or token of good-will on each of their thousand arms. I fancy that the gardener who has his mind filled with the care of a garden of Christmas-trees must be a very cheery, kind-hearted fellow indeed. Don't you?