PREFACE 



IT is a pleasure and a privilege to be asked to write about 

 a real garden. There are nowadays so many gardeners 

 that gardens are growing every year more rare. Every 

 one must have their " rock-work," and the very rich are 

 out to purchase the glories of the Alps at so much a 

 yard with all the more contentment if the price be heavy, 

 so that their munificence may be the more admired. 

 Passion for display appears the ruling note in English 

 horticulture of every kind and in every period : we want 

 a show. It is now not so very long since carpet-bedding 

 went out of fashion with a roar of contemptuous execra- 

 tion ; and for a short period we were all for a return to 

 what we spoke of as " Nature," but what was merely 

 wobbly anarchy reduced to a high art. But in those 

 days at least the rock garden was a place of plants, and 

 if such a thing existed in one's ground at all, it was not 

 a mere dog's grave to trail Nasturtiums over, but a fabric 

 framed because its owner really wanted to do his best for 

 Dianthus glacialis or Campanula pulla. But now the accursed 

 thing is once more rearing its head, and carpet-bedding is 

 bursting up to life again in the midst of the very rock 

 garden itself, of all places impermissible and improbable. 

 For the rich must have their money's worth in show ; 

 culture will not give it them, nor rarity, nor interest of 



