106 EVERSLEY GARDENS 



straight herbaceous border. And many are 

 the happy memories, the delightful spots, it 

 conjures up in Summer days. That Spiraea 

 palmatum came from the lovely Ross-shire 

 garden that stands 300 feet above the 

 Cromarty Firth, with the huge Gean tree 

 overhanging one corner, snowy in Spring, a 

 leafy fortress where blackbirds and thrushes 

 fight in August over the ripe wild Cherries, 

 then turning flame-colour in October against 

 the old grey stone house with its pepper-box 

 turrets that rise above it. Dear garden, with 

 your splashing fountain, your Flame-flower 

 creeping over the low Yew hedge, your 

 marvellous pillars of Crimson Rambler, and 

 your matchless Raspberry bed, in which human 

 blackbirds, be they American millionaires or 

 humble Britishers, spend more time in eating 

 than in gathering the fruit they have been 

 ordered to pick for dessert. 



The thriving tufts of St. Bruno's Lily were 

 brought twenty years ago from up above 

 Milrren, where the sheets of delicate white 

 flowers so charmed the late venerable and 



