circulation, it clogs and bursts their tiny veins ; the leaves turn yellow, 

 the plant dies, or only survives in a miserably crippled state. 



An experienced gardener, if he were blindfolded, and his eyes 

 uncovered in an unknown garden whose growths left no soil visible, could 

 tell its nature by merely seeing the plants and observing their relative 

 well-being, just as, passing by rail or road through an unfamiliar district, 

 he would know by the identity and growth of the wild plants and trees 

 what was the nature of the soil beneath them. 



The picture, then, showing autumn Phloxes grandly grown, tells of 

 good gardening and of a strong, rich loamy soil. This is also proved by 

 the height of the Daisies [Chrysanthemum maximum). But the lesson the 

 picture so pleasantly teaches is above all to know the merit of one simple 

 thing well done. Two charming little stone figures of amorini stand up 

 on their plinths among the flowers ; the boy figure holds a bird's nest, 

 his girl companion a shell. They are of a pattern not unfrequent in 

 English gardens, and delightfully in sympathy with our truest home 

 flowers. The quiet background of evergreen hedge admirably suits both 

 figures and flowers. 



It is all quite simple — just exactly right. Daisies — always the 

 children's flowers, and, with them, another of wide-eyed innocence, of 

 dainty scent, of tender colouring. Quite simple and just right ; but 

 then — it is in the artist's own garden. 



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