38 



THE NATURE BOOK 



or more ennobling influence than that of 

 flowers and gardens. Innate in every baby 

 mind, a love for these needs only a fostering 

 care to bud and blow and bear fruit that 

 shall bring joy to the mind, and gladden 

 the heart, through hours and days of 

 worldly trouble. It is essential for the 

 happiness of the individual, for the good 

 of the race, that we should keep as close 

 in touch with Nature as circumstances 

 will allow ; never was it so important as 

 in these days of frenzied stress and storm, 

 when the struggle for supreme positions, 

 and alas ! even for the wherewithal to 

 live, is keener than ever before. It is 

 good to turn for occasional moments 

 from the bustle and hurry of life in towns 

 and cities and contemplate the wonders 

 of the world of Nature. It is good, even 

 though to the warj^cd and crooked mind 

 it brings no earnest, heartfelt joy, touches 

 no responsive chord, for it can hardly 

 fail to bring home to one the fallibility 

 of human agency, the unreality, the swift 

 passing of man's handiwork. While, also, 

 it must compel an apj)reciation of the 

 unfathomable mystery that enwraps the 

 sim])lest of Nature's ])roblems. Who, 

 for instance, can watch a seed come to 

 life, slowly yet unerringly gi-ow to flower- 

 hood, ripen and fade, and not marvel at 

 the secret of its progress, or cogitate upon 

 the power that guides its growth safely 

 to a predestined end ? 



Wordsworth, who sang so sweetly of 

 the beauties of Nature among which he 

 loved to dream, felt the subtle, the en- 

 thralling fascination that attaches to the 

 life-history of the tiniest plant or flower. 

 It is he who writes : 



"To me, the meanest flower that blows can give 

 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 



Shakespeare, whose wide knowledge 

 was only equalled by the skill and charm 

 with which he outlined his thoughts, 

 often wrote of the deep delights of time 

 spent among the flowers and woodland 

 trees, far, far from the madding, crowded 

 haunts of man : 



"An<l tliis our life, cxcnii)t from pul.lic haunt, 

 Finds tongues in trees, Ijoi.ks in the running 



brooks, 

 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 



And how ine.\-pressii)ly great is the 

 variety in the world of leaves and flowers. 



" To the attentive eye," says Emerson, 

 " each moment of the year has its own 

 beauty ; and in the same field it beholds 

 every hour a picture that was never seen 

 before, and shall never be seen again." 



A love for the flowers of the field, 

 which may be accounted among the rudi- 

 ments of Nature Study, is a certain path- 

 way to the possession of a garden. From 

 seeing and getting to know the plants of 

 field and furrow, of hill and dale, of ditch 

 and hollow, comes the desire to portray, 

 if upon ever so small a canvas, some 

 of the gorgeous pictures that Nature 

 paints with generous brush. Nature mixes 

 her colours with no niggardly hand — 

 did the landscape gardener's art ever 

 rival the fair beauty of a field in Poppy- 

 land or an autumn - tinted woodland 

 hill, majestic tapestry, fresh woven from 

 Nature's loom ? We can but follow 

 humbly in the steps of Nature's inimitable 

 ways, remembering, after all, that the 

 art we seek to pursue " itself is Nature." 



Gardening is an art of which there are 

 many phases. Everyone who practises 

 its teaching pictures his own ideal garden, 

 and in its capacity to please its creator 

 it vindicates its right to be considered. 

 It is in the varied ideals to which its 

 practice gives rise, that gardening justifies 

 Lord Bacon's dictum that " A garden 

 is the purest of human pleasures ; it is 

 the greatest refreshment to the spirits 

 of man." In his attempt to reach the 

 ideal set up, the gardener finds real delight, 

 and, paradoxical though it may seem, 

 in its impossibility of attainment lies 

 an equally potent source of pleasure. 



True gardening, gardening for the 

 real love of the thing, may be described 

 as an attempt to attain the unattainable. 

 There is no perfect garden, and so it is 

 but human and, being human, natural 

 that we should continually strive after 

 its fashioning. In our striving we may 

 find a charm equalled only by the delight 

 that throngs in upon us when, as we 

 imagine, we have achieved our purpose, 

 the making of an ideal garden — ideal, 

 that is, to our own individual and limited 

 horizon. 



During a talk on gardens and gardening 

 with one who, it is admitted, has come as 

 near to the making of a j)erfect garden as 

 anyone may hoj)e to do, the question was 



