2 THE GARDEN OF EARTH 



the sights around, the changes which take place, the 

 things which happen. 



So here we are in a country garden, you and I together, 

 let us say, for the first time in our lives. 



On our left lies a wide lawn, closely mown, but dotted 

 with hundreds of yellow-eyed Daisies, all sprung up 

 since the last mowing. On our right, divided off by a 

 dry ditch, is a reach of longer and coarser grass, mingled 

 plentifully with weeds; and it slopes downward to a 

 meadow, from which it is parted by a belt of shrubs and 

 bushes. 



Trees grow in all directions ; some small and slender, 

 swaying in the breeze; some lofty and wide-spreading, 

 with heavy, rugged trunks. Many are full of leaf, 

 though not yet so full as in the height of summer ; for 

 this, though a warm and sunny day, is only spring- 

 tide. Others have still the first tender flush of green, 

 when the new little leaves have just begun to unfold. 

 Many again are quite bare, holding up against the 

 sky a lace- work of delicate twigs, branching off and off 

 one from another, each new departure more delicate 

 than the last. 



You and I know well enough that plants and flowers 

 grow and bloom and die; that leaves fall off the trees 

 in autumn ; that new leaves come in their place with 

 spring; that seeds are formed which develop into fresh 

 plants; and that those plants again produce seeds. 

 Everybody knows all this, because such facts are a 

 commonplace of our daily life. 



But suppose we did not know it ! Suppose we had 

 never seen, had never even heard of, such alternate 

 generations of plant and seed, seed and plant, each 



