260 MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 
Here are the trees in a regular line, located to defend the home from 
inclement weather, as plainly pictured as if a page had been devoted to the 
purpose. 
Who cannot love the woods more devotedly when he sees them, as did 
this exiled duke, a creation of the same poet? 
“Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, 
Hath not old custom made life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp? 
Are not these woods more free from peril than the envious court?” 
Regretting that I cannot complete this beautiful passage, I flit to Mil- 
ton, who reminds us how near akin we are, ladies and gentlemen, to our 
first parent: 
“Adam, well may we labor still to dress 
This garden, still to tend plant, herb and flower.” 
And Pope saw fruits thus: 
“Here Pomona’s gifts in grand prospect stand, 
And nodding tempt the joyful picker’s hand.” 
If all mortals could see and feel in a garden what this unknown poet 
saw and felt, how many more of them would be planted and loved: 
“There was a bower in my garden plot, 
A spiraea grew before it, 
Behind ere laburnum trees, 
And a wild hop clambered o’er it; 
Oftimes I sat within my bower, 
Like a king in all his glory; 
Oftimes I read and read for hours, 
Some pleasant, wondrous story, 
“Of stately gardens, kingly, 
Where people walked in gorgeous crowds, 
Or, for silent musing, singly. 
And all amongst my flowers I walked, 
Like a miser midst his treasure; 
For that pleasant plot of garden ground 
Was a world of endless pleasure.” 
In the bleak December will we not more patiently wait for spring, pre- 
pare for its coming and resolve to avail ourselves more fully of the oppor- 
tunities it affords after contemplating it through the senses of that lamented 
sweet songster of the west, Benjamin F. Taylor? 
“When orchards drift with blooms of white, like billows on the deep, 
And whispers from the lilac bush across our senses sweep; 
When looking up, with faces quaint, the pansies grace the sod, 
And looking down, the willows see their double in the flood; 
When blessing God, we breathe again the roses in the air, 
And lilies light the fields along with their immortal wear.” 
The following is a hint, by Miss Mitford, of the comfort and consola- 
tion to the life of the lowly that is within the reach of every one who has 
access to even a little patch of ground in which to delve: 
“The rich man through his garden goes, 
And ’neath his garden trees, 
Wrapped in a dream of other things, 
He seems to take his ease. 
