28 A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



thincr to hold in the hand at the last. It should 



o 



stand for immortality in the language of the 

 flowers since in its vast life, man is but an 

 incident, and it is easy to believe that when 

 the last rays of the dying sun shall shine on 

 the masterless jewels which have been the 

 pride of a hundred forgotten kings, the box 

 will catch the last gift of its light upon its 

 rounded leaves, and then will pass into the 

 final darkness without fear. 



In my garden, therefore, will I have long 

 hedges of the precious box leading in every 

 direction from the dial, which is the garden's 

 heart, to the windbreak, which is even more 

 needful in February's uncertain thaws and 

 freezes than it was in the steady, solemn cold 

 of its forerunner. It is a hemlock shelter now 

 and feathers down toward the grass, in a wide 

 planting in of rhododendron and laurel, with 

 some mats of savin or juniper and here and there 

 a small cedar. In nature there are few abrupt 

 transitions from tree to grass. There is almost 

 always a blending of boughs and blades through 

 the friendly air of shrubby growths and tall 

 plants. Sometimes the effect of many tall 

 bare trunks is too precious to be lost, as one 



