r OICE OF ity to that garden? Do not the associations 

 which they recall and the memories which they 

 enshrine make them richer in true values than 

 the rarest which money merely buys? And so 

 my garden is more and more a garden of 

 remembrance. 



While writing these pages I have had in 

 mind a truth as wide and deep as life. 



"The love of flowers, " Dean Hole says, "is 

 innate." It is true. The little child needs no 

 instruction from books or teachers to look with 

 delight upon the flowers. Hard-working men 

 and women, though shut up in garrets and 

 crowded streets and noisy factories, will grow 

 a little plant or two in the window and watch 

 with pathetic pleasure the opening blossoms. 

 Is it true, also, as the good Dean says, that this 

 innate love of flowers is "a remembrance of 

 Eden"? 



Has God put these beautiful flowers every- 

 where in man's path to remind him of a lost 

 Paradise, and to keep alive hope of a Paradise 

 to be regained? It would seem to be even so, 



[66] 



