THE USE OF GARDENS 



designer has to solve. Unless he has more than ordinary self-restraint 

 there is some danger that in seeking for something distinctive, he 

 may lapse into eccentricity and depart unwisely from the right 

 artistic direction. It must be remembered, too, that time has a 

 good deal to do with the charm of a garden, with the creation of 

 that atmosphere which is most appropriate in the " still, removed 

 place " where men come to rest. Newness is an inevitable defect 

 in even the most subtly-contrived piece of garden-making, and it is 

 a defect which cannot be overcome by the garden -maker. But he 

 can, if he understands what he is doing, prepare his effects in such 

 a way that they will develop as nearly as possible along the lines 

 he has laid down and in the manner he has anticipated. He will 

 foresee the additions that nature is likely to make to his plan, 

 the finishing touches that time will give ; and he will be able 

 to make certain that these additions will amplify rather than 

 contradict his intentions. 



All this, of course, implies the possession on his part of a frank 

 belief in nature's infallibility : he is content to leave to her the 

 completion of what he has begun, because he knows that no matter 

 how original or accomplished he may be, she will, in her infinity 

 of resource find numberless ways of improving his work. But none 

 the less will his personality make itself felt, for though nature will 

 soften and correct, harmonising his design and bringing its details 

 properly together, the main facts for which he is responsible must 

 persist, to do him credit, or put him to shame. This is why the 

 garden laid out mechanically, and by unintelligent rule, can never be 

 wholly satisfying. It will not have the saving grace of unexpected- 

 ness in which the designer's individuality is best revealed, and even 

 when it has acquired the glamour of antiquity, and its worst crudi- 

 ties have been quieted down during the lapse of years, there will 

 always remain something annoying in its unimaginative formality. 



It is the suggestion that the garden has come into existence by 

 some sort of natural process that the designer will find most difficult 

 of attainment ; but yet it is the one by which his originality can 

 best be measured. When all the intricacies of the laying out, all 

 the dainty little devices which combine to make the whole effect 

 delightful, all the ingenious touches which add charm to charm, 

 seem to be nature's own preparing, when, in fact, the entire arrange- 

 ment appears to have been born complete, not elaborately led up to 

 or deliberately prepared for, then the perfect garden can be said to 

 have been created. And it is absolutely a creation, a result or 

 earnest thought and prolonged labour, but it has the supreme merit 

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