** A dear old-fashioned garden, 

 Roses, and sunflowers tall ; 

 The scent of the long box^borders, 

 And of ripening fruit on the wall**' 



CLIFFORD HARRISON. 



JUNE 



AN English garden ! 



" A place of wind and flowers, 

 Full of sweet trees and colour of glad grass." 



In the clear light of June, there is no place in all the world 

 more perfect, no home of peace more sweet, than that to be 

 found in an old English garden. One may read of and 

 almost envy other gardens to be found in the world : those 

 of Kashmir of whose glories Moore told us in " Lalla 

 Rookh" 



" With roses the brightest that earth ever gave " ; 



Gardens of Shiraz, with their nightingales, narcissi and roses, 

 and blooms diffusing the subtlest perfumes ! One may at 

 times sigh for the gardens of Italy, " with their high hedges of 

 rhododendron and jessamine, that have all Boccaccio between 

 their walls, all Petrarca in their leaves, all Raffaelle in their 

 skies." Gardens of wondrous beauty thai, hem the Bosphorus ; 

 Japanese gardens that are perfect idylls, designed expressly 

 for seclusion, ease and meditation, each in accord with the 

 temperament and sentiment of the owner, where every leaf, 

 every grace of bough and curve of stalk, every stone and 

 winding path has a meaning ! But an English garden has 

 a charm all its own. To-day tender doves, high in the 

 rose-twined dove-cot, are cooing softly. Voices blend har- 



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