CHAPTER XIX 



MEMORY AND FRIENDSHIP GARDENS 



How small a thing will conjure up dreams the fragrance of 

 a rose, the purple mist of a group of Starworts, the shimmer of 

 Golden Rod in the autumn sunshine ! 



THERE is something very fascinating even about the 

 thoughts of a garden full of plants grown for the sake of 

 the associations their presence conjures up, whether they 

 be memories of days of youth, when hope ran high and 

 was undismayed ; of -home days fragrant with Lavender 

 and scented linen and redolent of the tender touch of 

 loving hands ; of holidays that stir the muse of pleasant 

 recollection ; or of friends, now widely scattered, that once 

 in common bond foregathered. Such a garden may come 

 even to possess a hallowed significance for its planter, 

 giving life to sacred thoughts, which, softened by the 

 lapse of time, fill the mind with " sweetest melancholy.'* 



I am not sure that memory gardens are calculated to 

 give pleasure to those who are fast growing old ; for 

 then, are memories always sweet ? May not they rise, 

 unwelcome spectres of a happy past, holding up the 

 bright lamp of youth to the flickering candle of old 

 age ? Was I right, I wonder when I wrote : 



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