THE PARKS in 



If the great meadow of Washington Park is 

 the finest thing in the system, the rose garden of 

 Washington Park is the most exquisite. It is so 

 sequestered that even devotees of the park do 

 not know of its existence. I had the delight of 

 discovering it for myself; a thing which you, 

 dear reader, cannot now enjoy. Nevertheless, 

 enter the park some June day at the old cable 

 power house, and within a stone's throw you will 

 come upon a gateway in a hedge, and passing 

 through it, find yourself in a French garden of 

 roses and roses and nothing but roses, all aglow 

 with pink and crimson. No disfiguring gravel 

 paths are here; just grassy green spaces between 

 the rose beds; and all around is the greenest 

 terrace, where two great cottonwoods stand as 

 sentinels at the gateways. The garden is so retired 

 and elegant and daintily artificial that you imagine 

 yourself in the grounds of some French palace 

 of bygone days, in old brocade and paniers, 

 powdered wig and perfumed lace, carrying a staff 

 and followed by a group of courtiers. For all 

 your vision tells, you might be in any part of the 

 world. Beyond the hedge is nothing but tall 

 shrubbery and tree tops and sky. 



Sit through a summer morning in the rose 

 garden in blissful quiet, under the shade of the 



