GARDENERS 



accustomed to admire the florid health of his Begonias, 

 the contrasting glare of his Geraniums and Lobelias, 

 the precision of his carpet bedding, and the enormity 

 of his Chrysanthemums. The revolution takes place, 

 and instead of these proofs of his skill what has he 

 to show his friends? Daffodils in the grass which, 

 they know, will grow of themselves. Great lumber- 

 ing Larkspurs and Phloxes fit only for cottage gardens, 

 not for a gentleman's place; and, worst of all, diminu- 

 tive Alpines, which may be troublesome but are cer- 

 tainly not worth any trouble. 



His employer takes no pride in his flower-show tri- 

 umphs; but rather discourages them, grudging the 

 time that is necessary for their achievement. Indeed, 

 he takes no pride in anything that is worth doing; 

 and has no appreciation of real knowledge and skill. 

 He is all for experiment and for growing weeds where 

 there ought to be flowers, and flowers where there 

 ought to be weeds. In fact, he seems not to know 

 the difference between a weed and a flower. Very 

 likely he will waste good ground and manure upon 

 single roses, and will have no eye for the perfections 

 of Frau Karl Druschki. In taste he is a mere an- 

 archist. In knowledge he is altogether wanting; at 

 least, whatever he knows he has got from silly books 

 written by people like himself. Yet he presumes to 

 have opinions and, what is worse, to enforce them. 

 He ravages the garden and no one can stop him, be- 

 cause it is his own according to the law. Even the 

 gardener who has been a conservative all his life, in 



