OF HERBACEOUS BORDERS 77 



Not even a rose leaf might rest ever so lightly 

 upon the greensward; yet the garden gave no 

 uncomfortable sense of stiffness, nor even of over- 

 strained tidiness. It was a masterpiece of garden 

 art of its kind as rare as it was lovely. Visit 

 it when one might, except perhaps in the depth 

 of its winter's sleep, the mosaic of bright colours 

 was never wanting; decay found there no abiding 

 place. It was a garden honoured by royalty, yet 

 where the poor and the convalescent were always 

 welcomed and none went empty away, for the trea- 

 sures it contained were freely shared with all who 

 knew how to value them. Alfred Parsons por- 

 trayed those borders in their midsummer beauty, 

 and in his work they will abide; but the master's 

 eye looks on them no more. When old age made 

 the weight of duty too heavy to be adequately 

 borne, he gave up the honoured position and the 

 much-loved home, and choosing another abode else- 

 where, let neither vain regrets nor failing health 

 hinder the making of a new garden, which became 

 beautiful in its turn, but could never claim the 

 tender associations nor the old-world charm of 

 the garden in the cathedral close. The river eddies 

 and swirls onwards swift as ever between its low 

 green banks ; the chimes, unaltered, ring out their 

 changes from the belfry beneath the tapering spire ; 

 but the revered head lies low under the sods of 

 the cloister, and other feet now tread the green 

 pathway between the flowers. 



The story of this life and its close amongst the 

 plants that were so well beloved has been told 

 because, while holding within it many of the 



