A GARDEN is, amongst many delights, the clear 

 mirror of soul and character, for each owner is 

 here reflected in his true colours. In the house 

 he may dissemble, take us in, but in a garden all is 

 honesty, because no deceit gains admission. Even in 

 large gardens it is so, for if we find that all arrangements 

 are left to the head-gardener and that the choice of 

 flowers and trees is in his hands alone, then we know 

 the master to be no true lover of Nature. If he were, 

 he would be anxious as a mother is over the prosperity 

 and happiness of her children. In small gardens even 

 more can be learnt about the character of those to whom 

 they belong. 



In these days of motors, when we are quickly whirled 

 through the approaches to London and other towns, we 

 do not see as much of suburban gardens as when the 

 train slowly slackens speed upon a high railway-embank- 

 ment and we look down from it upon rows of small houses. 

 The buildings may all be alike, but how varied in taste, 

 order, arrangement is each plot of ground. Such a bird's- 

 eye view somewhat recalls to mind the jumble of mixed 

 garden designs seen at some of our big flower-shows at 

 Chelsea or Holland House. Here each nurseryman 

 naturally endeavours to outdo his neighbour in striking 



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