32 THE THIRD YEARBOOK 



The many vacant and desolate-looking school-yards still to be 

 seen in both country and city ; the door-yards of thousands of 

 houses that almost cry out against the indignities of rubbish that 

 are thrust upon them by careless and ignorant people of vulgar 

 tastes, all testify how far away we still are from knowing how to 

 utilize effectively a most potent means in education. 



There are few problems in the plant world that are not presented 

 in the garden in a form fit for study. It is true, too, that animal 

 life is but little, if any, less well represented. It is a perfect 

 laboratory in which to study the subjects of temperature, light, 

 moisture, soil, and air that are the fundamental conditions of growth. 



The chief reason why the school garden often falls short of the 

 hopes of those who plan for it is that its projectors usually greatly 

 underestimate the attention and labor which it should receive. 

 Gardening is one of the highest arts, and there can be no more 

 serious mistake than to suppose it is only necessary to plant the 

 seeds and let them grow. Bacon said long ago that men com,e to 

 build stately sooner than to garden finely. 



It should be remembered in the outset that, in several senses, a 

 garden represents a war with nature, as the latter term is usually 

 understood. In the first place, it is commonly made up of plants that 

 have been drawn from remote parts of the earth, often from places 

 having diverse climatic conditions. These are all expected to 

 grow within a limited area, for which naturally, they are not 

 specially suited, and their "personal" objections are supposed to 

 be overcome chiefly by artificial means and by processes known as 

 cultivation and forcing. Cultivated plants can never be made to 

 forget the ancient haunts of their ancestors. The one, therefore, 

 that flourished best in primeval times in marshy soil will never 

 feel quite at home in a dry, loamy garden alongside of a plant that 

 has been enticed away from a sandy ridge. Nor will a plant which 

 has been kidnapped from a warmer climate take kindly to a yoke- 

 fellow that has spent covmtless ages in learning how to outwit the 

 north wind. 



In the second place, almost every cultivated plant may be 

 regarded as either a freak or a genius ; usually it exhibits all the 

 eccentricities of both types. Man, in looking selfishly after his own 

 ends, in many instances has seriously interfered with the ancient 

 and prosaic process of seed-production, which comprises the whole 



