2 THE GARDEN OF A 



We may admire, worship, love, but neither advise nor 

 argue with them nor add one cubit to their stature. 

 In a garden one's personality can come forth, stick a 

 finger into Nature's pie, and lend a hand in the mak- 

 ing of it, besides furnishing many of the ingredients. 



I have been planting crocuses in the grass borders 

 all the morning, stabbing the turf with a pointed 

 spade handle, yclept dibble, and pushing the sturdy 

 little bulbs deep into the wounds. In April there 

 will be a cluster of starry flowers to cover each scar. 

 Fortunately my backbone is largely composed of 

 New England granite, or it would ache. As it is, I 

 am very glad to sit on a great heap of dry leaves 

 under the south wall and write in my garden book 

 while the cart has gone over to the pit by the river 

 to bring back a load of sand for my tulips and 

 hyacinths. 



A " Boke of the Garden " is a necessity ; otherwise, 

 so kind is memory about disagreeables, one forgets 

 one's mistakes. I am sure that I should have for- 

 gotten a very bad one of mine and have planted my 

 bulbs in the long strip in front of the honeysuckle 

 trellis, but for the finding last night, in an old desk, 

 of one of my schoolgirl journals in which garden 

 items and the sentiments of eighteen were impartially 

 mixed. Under April 20, it said : " Never plant bulbs 



