A KITCHEN GARDEN 37 



Where are they all who wide have ranged ? 



Where are the flowers of other years ? 



What ear the wistful question hears ? 

 Ah ! some are dead and all are changed. 



And still the constant earth renews 

 Her treasured splendour ; still unfold 

 Petals of purple and of gold 



Beneath the sunshine and the dews. 



But for her human children dear 

 Whom she has folded to her breast, 

 No beauty wakes them from their rest, 



Nor change they with the changing year. 



CELIA THAXTEE. 



A KITCHEN GARDEN 



(Prom " The Spectator ") 



I HAVE always thought a kitchen garden a more 

 pleasant sight than the finest orangery, or an arti- 

 ficial greenhouse. I love to see everything in its 

 perfection, and am more pleased to survey my rows 

 of colworts and cabbages, with a thousand nameless 

 pot-herbs, springing up in their full fragrancy and 

 verdure, than to see the tender plants of foreign 

 countries kept alive by artificial heats, or withering 

 in an air and soil that are not adapted to them. I 

 must not omit that there is a fountain rising in the 

 upper part of my garden, which forms a little 

 wandering rill, and administers to the pleasure as 



