A Little Maryland Garden 113 
slope of the hill, and I overlooked it, liter- 
ally, for a long time after the street became 
my daily pilgrimage. I was attracted to it 
by seeing some people looking down over 
the fence one morning. As I came toward 
them they moved away, and under the 
influence of suggestion I took their place, and 
looked down too. There I found a delightful 
old-fashioned garden, and ever since it has 
been like a friend. From earliest spring 
to latest fall, it has its seasonable flowers. 
My hundred hyacinths were set out because 
I could no longer look on the hyacinths 
wreathing the beds of this garden without 
envy. Just now it has its high tide of lark- 
spurs, and the whole garden shows clouds of 
pink and blue, which seem to have settled 
softly on it. Maeterlinck, in his essay on 
old-fashioned flowers, speaks of ‘‘the rough 
larkspur in his peasant’s blouse, who thinks 
himself more beautiful than the sky,” 
but he must have had some hardier, more 
robust variety in mind than these feathery 
flowers with their porcelain hues. 
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