ARRANGEMENT. II7 



feet, there they should creep and cHmb. New tints, new 

 forms, new perfumes, should meet us at every turn. Here 

 we come upon a bed of seedlings so full of interest and of 

 hope. Here is the sunny spot where we gather, like Virgil's 

 shepherd, the first Rose of spring, or 



" Rosa quo locorum 

 Sera moretur," 



the last of autumn. Art is here as the meek admiring 

 handmaid of Nature, gently smoothing her beautiful hair, 

 checking only such growth as would weaken her flowing 

 ringlets, but never daring to disfigure with shams and 

 chignons — with pagodas, I mean, and suchlike tea-garden 

 trumpery. Art is here to obey, but not to dictate — to work 

 as one who counts such service its own reward and honour. 

 If before the Fall, before the earth brought forth brier or 

 thorn, man was put into a garden to dress It and to keep it, 

 with his will and with his might must he labour now in that 

 plot of ground where he fain would realise his fond Idea of 

 Eden. He must work hard, but only as one who copies 

 some great masterpiece — not as one who designs, but re- 

 stores. He must keep order, but only as replacing an 

 arrangement which he has himself disturbed. Thus and 

 thus only he may hope to make himself a garden 



