122 



THE NATURE BOOK 



.I'KANL;. 1^; 



:\n-a/>lt hy F. Mason Coo,/. lIun/i/uAf. 



;uol, GARDEN. ESHER. 



Take a lesson from the roses that 

 throng the hedgerows of our countryside, 

 that chmb the forest trees of exotic lands, 

 and see how Nature tends them. First 

 and best of all she gives them fair de])th 

 of soil in which the roots may find a 

 happy home, shelter for the tender shoots 

 that thrust their reddening noses through 

 the ground as spring comes round, and 

 finally sunshine for the lissom growths 

 that twine and climb and bear their load 

 of glorious blossom. Can Merrie England 

 show a fairer sight in the leafy month of 

 June than Dog Roses clambering about 

 the wayside hedges, binding them with 

 wreaths of graceful bloom, the slender 

 shoots bending almost to breaking j)oint 



respond to the entrancing 

 beauty of a rose-cm • 

 bowered hedge, must 

 surely have lost all joy of 

 living. A day among the 

 wild roses is a tonic for 

 the mind and brings a 

 glow of gladness to the 

 soul. 



How bounteous, how 

 l)rodigal is the profusion 

 of Nature's own wild 

 flowers ! How she cares 

 for them and how they 

 respond ! And why? 

 Simpl}' because they are 

 the right flowers in the 

 right place. And why do 

 the masses of common 

 hedgerow Dog Rose 

 appeal to the hearts of 

 every one of us, for the 

 moment touching all that 

 is best in our warped and 

 crooked nature ? Because 

 of their naturalness, their 

 simplicity ; because in 

 their company we get, for 

 a time, nearer to that 

 ideal towards which, con- 

 sciously or unconsciously, 

 all of us incline — close to 

 the heart of Nature. 



And what of rose gar- 

 dens ? A rose garden 

 should be a home of roses, where, under 

 due restriction, each kind may go its 

 own wild way : only thus is it possible 

 to have a garden of roses. For strange 

 anomaly though it may seem, a rose 

 garden is not necessarily a garden of 

 roses. First of all there should be roses 

 that clamber and climb, that cling with 

 loving clasp, hiding bare walls and barren 

 fences, dead trees and rustic poles beneath 

 a fair canopy of blossom. These are 

 essential to the making of a garden of 

 roses. There must be roses new and 

 roses old, roses common and roses rare, 

 English roses and roses from unfamiliar 

 lands, all growing in friendly rivalry, each , 

 striving to surpass the other at blooming- 



as flower and fragrance-laden they sway time. But most and best of all there 



in the faintest breeze that blows ? Surely would be fragrant roses, whose scents, 



there is none. The man whose heart- commingling in the evening air, transform 



strings are so attuned that they cannot the garden into a place of real delight, 



