And as each "spring comes slowly up the way," I say in the words of Solomon, "Awake, O north wind; and come though south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out" - that the balm and the mint, the thyme and southernwood, the sweetbrier and ambrosia, may spring afresh and spread their tender incense to the memory of my mother, who planted them and loved their pure fragrance, and at whose presence, as that of Eve, flowers ever sprung - "And touched by her fair tendance gladlier grew."