ON THE THEORY OF A GARDEN. 15 



ception. It is no mere hint of beauty — no mere 

 tickling- of the fancy — that we get here, sucli as all 

 other arts (except music) are apt to give you. Here, 

 on the contrary, we are led straight into a world of 

 actual delights patent to all men, which our eyes 

 can sec. and our hands handle. More than this ; 

 whilst in other spheres of labour the greater part of 

 our life's toil and moil will, of a surety, end as the 

 wise man predicted, in vanity and vexation of spirit, 

 here is instant physical refreshment in the work the 

 garden entails, and, in the end, our labour will be 

 crowned with flowers. 



Nor have I yet exhausted the scene of a garden's 

 pleasures. A man gets undoubted satisfaction in the 

 very expression of his ideas — " the joy of the deed " 

 — in' the sense of Nature's happy response, the delight 

 of creation,* the romance of possibility. 



Some jo}- shall also come of the identity of the 

 gardener with his creation. f He is at home here. 

 He is intimate with the various growths. He carries 

 in his head an infinit)- of details touching the welfare 

 of the garden's contents. He participates in the life 



* Here is Emerson writing to Carlyle of his "new plaything"— a 

 piece of woodland of forty acres on the border of Walden Pond. " In 

 these May mornings, when maples, poplars, walnut, and pine are in 

 their spring glory, I go thither every afternoon and cut with my 

 hatchet an Indian path thro' the thicket, all along the bold shore, 

 and open the finest pictures." (John Morley's Essays, "Emerson," 

 p. 304.) But, as Mr Morley points out, he finds the work too fasci- 

 nating, eating up days and weeks ; "nay, a brave scholar should shun 

 it like gambling, and take refuge in cities and hotels from these per- 

 nicious enchantments." 



t " I like your Essays," said Henry the Third to Montaigne. 

 " Then, sire, you will like me. I am my Essays." 



