THE MEANING OF THE GARDEN HI 



leaves, and has not only the flowers but their reflections in the 

 poUshed wood, as if in water, for the pleasure of the eye. How 

 delicious would a pink parrot-tulip be for this use or for any 

 other! It set me writing to a half dozen men in England and 

 in Holland to enquire concerning the new beauty : How much was 

 it? Could I buy a bulb or two? And the letters in reply to my 

 questions brought back more, much more to me than the mere 

 reply as to the plant novelty : comments on our quarantine law, 

 mention of other novelties, bits of horticultural news most wel- 

 come and unlooked for. 



And now a word as to the garden in its relation to other arts. 

 For music in the garden let me refer at once to one of the 

 most romantic chapters ever written on this subject. It is a 

 part of IVIr. J. B. Trend's lately published book, A Picture of 

 Modern Spairi, and its enchanting title is "Music in the Garden 

 of Granada." Is not that title in itself a picture and a melody? 

 Has it not a delicious sound? Read this chapter; do not miss it. 

 "Here," says IVIr. Trend, "in the strange delight of the garden, 

 I realized how immensely the emotional and mystical resources 

 of guitar, lute, and bandore are enhanced by the open air. . . . 

 The hidden musicians, the tall thin cypresses, the masses of 

 foliage and the indistinct scents which came from these were 

 all carefully considered by our host. . . . Senor de Falla of 

 course has long realized what sort of music and what instru- 

 ments are most suited to the gardens of Spain, as some people 

 in England have learned that the music most expressive for an 

 English garden is to be found in unaccompanied madrigals." 

 The -wTiter adds this beautiful observation: "Moorish art is 

 only made intelligible by moonlight; Granada is only explained 

 by its guitars." 



The garden means memories. My own first gardening is 

 associated with the dear remembrance of Mrs. Henry W. King 



