JUNE 133 



Baltimore belles, seven sisters, crimson 

 ramblers, and a host of climbers and trailers 

 grew along a sunward lattice, and the stones 

 of the wall which enclosed this paradise 

 were covered by Wichurianas, and by the 

 hybrid sweetbriars which are "thrice crowned, 

 in fragrant leaf, tinted flower and glossy 

 fruit." Nothing else grew in the garden, 

 but nothing else seemed needed. The rose 

 sufficed. 



On the other garden I came by chance. In 

 the pearly dawn of a midsummer morning when 

 the trees of a rough bit of marshy country were 

 but half awake, and the ferny pastures were 

 grey with the dews that were as yet untroubled 

 by the sun, the single prairie roses were 

 blooming. Robins were singing of them ; 

 song sparrows were giving thanks for them. 

 In thickets, in clusters, in specimen plants, 

 covered with masses of blossoms which 

 ranged in colour from deepest pink to purest 

 white, with many tones of blue and lilac 

 shadow, the roses bathed themselves in the 

 freshness of the day which should have been 

 set apart as a state holiday that all men every- 

 where might have leisure and opportunity to 



