88 A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. 



be to the delights, which fancy conjures up in the 

 enchanted gardens of Armida, or the bowered 

 pleasance of Boccaccio. Meanwhile we can only 

 do what best we can, and when all else fails 

 we can say, like Candide, " II faut cultiver noire 

 jardin." 



And so I bid a hearty farewell to those readers, 

 who for months past have followed the fortunes, 

 and shared with me the hopes, of a year in a 

 Lancashire garden. 



