Annuals 



It is the most wretched time of the year. Roses 

 are out, summer has really come, but the annuals 

 deny enjoyment of it all. And yet they are indis- 

 pensable. No annuals, no August flowers, and the 

 garden soon begins to look brown and dry. But 

 the reward is all the sweeter for the worry and 

 effort. 



In my garden they are especially important, 

 since they are so placed as to give the first impres- 

 sion from the house — and the impression to be 

 aimed at is oiie of colour, brilliant, glowing, ablaze. 

 Without the annuals there would be no intimacy 

 in the double border. It would have to be more 

 distant from the house. 



As it is, to walk down the grass path is to feel 

 something of the charm of the best cottage gardens. 

 On either side at the back of the borders rises a 

 blue wall of delphiniums, blue lupins, and some 

 few phloxes, pink and white, and Michaelmas 

 daisies, and a good many purple cranesbills. 



A little low box-edging marks the border off 

 from the lawn, setting a trim formal boundary to 

 Nature's extravagance — Nature aided and abetted 

 by myself. . . . Left to herself, Nature does not 

 offend : but she has so little sympathy with or 

 respect for human aims ! She will even plant 

 yellow where yellow is taboo. She schemes for all 



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