CHAPTER XX 



A MOONLIGHT GARDEN 



" How sweetly smells the Honeysuckle 

 In the hush'd night, as if the world were one 

 Of utter peace and love and gentleness." 



WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 



ARDENS fanciful of name, a 

 Saint's Garden, a Friendship 

 Garden, have been planted and 

 cherished. I plant a garden 

 like none other ; not an every- 

 day garden, nor indeed a garden 

 of any day, but a garden for 

 " brave moonshine," a garden 

 of twilight opening and midnight bloom, a garden 

 of nocturnal blossoms, a garden of white blossoms, 

 and the sweetest garden in the world. It is a garden 

 of my dreams, but I know where it lies, and it now 

 is smiling back at this very harvest moon. 



The old house of Hon. Ben. Perley Poore 

 Indian Hill at Newburyport, Massachusetts, has 

 been for many years one of the loveliest of New 

 England's homes. During his lifetime it had ex- 

 traordinary charms, for on the noble hillside, where 

 grew scattered in sunny fields and pastures every 

 variety of native tree that would winter New Eng- 

 land's snow and ice, there were vast herds of snow- 

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