CHAPTER II 



The Garden 



BEFORE touching the flowers I must speak of the garden 

 itself, as its conditions are answerable for many of the 

 limitations that govern the variety and conditions of its 

 occupants. 



The garden, then, is situated in the parish of Enfield 

 in the county of Middlesex, but so near to the Hertford- 

 shire boundary that our postal address is Waltham Cross, 

 Hertfordshire : and I envy but do not share the celebrated 

 rose-growing soil of that district. By comparing a bench- 

 mark in the wall with the Ordnance Survey maps, I learn 

 we are 111.4 f eet above the sea-level. Helleborus niger 

 tells me that this is not a sufficient altitude for its comfort, 

 and I must provide it with shade, and moisture beyond 

 that of the atmosphere, if I wish it to " grow for me," as 

 Irish gardeners say so pleasantly. I like the personal 

 reciprocal touch in these words. How different a vision 

 of mutual understanding they conjure up from that mild 

 reproach and suggestion of wilful suicide conveyed in the 

 other Hibernian garden phrase, " It died on me," which 

 so neatly lays the blame on the plant. 



The nearest milestone tells me it is but ten miles from 

 London, and smutty evergreens, blackened tree trunks, 

 and grimy fingers continually corroborate that milestone, 



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