xxvi PREFACE 



plants are ours. All forms, all colors, all perfumes, all flavors shall appeal to 

 the senses of mau; and we cannot tell what shall be. 



But the horticulturist's work is not alone biological. He touches the art- 

 impulse. Rob the race of the art- suggestions that it has had from plants, and 

 you rob it of its architecture and its decoration. Once, furniture was not a 

 part of the home — only mere rude benches and chairs. Decoration was not a 

 part of the home. Nor was music — the Greek ideal of music was music in 

 the fields or in the meeting places, rather than in the homes. Books were not 

 a part of the home. Every generation sees some great addition to the depth 

 and meaning of the home. Plants are a part of the developing centralized idea 

 of home. I do not mean plants in vases alone, nor cut-flowers alone, — but 

 plants in gardens outdoors and indoors in their proper places, as books are in 

 their proper places on tables and library shelves. Every perfect home has its 

 library; so in time it must have its garden, — a room, perhaps out of doors, in 

 which plants grow. 



Last summer I drove through a beautiful well -wooded road in south- 

 eastern England. At one place the rear of a house stood close against the 

 highway, presenting no unusual point of interest to the passer-by. I drove in 

 at the gate, and behold! a garden such as poets dream of ! And in truth it is 

 a poet's garden. An open space of velvet lawn, sides piled high with lusty 

 growth of tree and shrub and herbaceous plants, in the distance wide sweep 

 of farm lands, at its back the fine old English residence set with pleasant 

 vines — this was the picture. I thought I had never seen so choice a l)it, 

 and yet there was nothing over-wrought or high-strung in it. I saw many 

 beautiful plants, but the effect of the whole was supreme. It was as truly 

 a picture as if the image of it had been put on canvas. If you have read 

 "In Veronica's Garden," or "The Garden I Love," you will know what garden 

 I mean. 



This garden illustrates a fundamental difference, I think, between the 

 English and the American garden. The Englishman's garden is well-nigh as 

 essential as his house. It is like an extra room to the residence. It is for the 

 family rather than for the public. It therefore works itself into the develop- 

 ing consciousness of children, and garden-love becomes as much a part of the 

 person as books and furniture and music do. An English teacher recentlj' 

 inspected our nature-study work. 'What surprises me,' she said, 'is that you 

 need to do this work. The English child loves nature as if by instinct.' The 

 American garden is likely to be all in the front yai"d. It is usually of the look- 

 at-me kind. It is made for the public to see. This may contribute to public 



