FOREWORD 



THESE flowers of the calendar tell their own tale throughout 

 the weeks and months of the year, their " own incon- 

 scient happiness, each type a faultless essence of God's 

 will " ; and we are fortunate indeed to have so faithful and 

 lively a record from one who has lived and moved among them 

 for more than twenty years with a rare and persisting devotion 

 to their needs, inspired by the simple yet all-important rule 

 that to know about growing flowers one must grow them. 

 And Miss Stanford has shown us how many and varied these 

 can be, even within the restricted limits imposed upon her 

 at Bloem Erf, the garden she has made to yield treasures for 

 flower lovers in this and distant lands throughout the world. 

 There are delightful accounts of happy plant-hunting expe- 

 ditions, with glimpses of the flowers in their natural haunts 

 whence many were transplanted to join the company already 

 established on that sunny bird-land slope at Banhoek. Their 

 chief claim for admission has been, of course, that they should 

 have some horticultural value. Miss Stanford, however, makes 

 this claim elastic enough to embrace some of the humbler plants 

 whose charm and possibilities she has recognized and developed, 

 so that in skilful combination with their more handsome 

 companions the beauty of all is enhanced. 



But this is also a human document with its story of struggle 

 against the ravages of tempest and torrent, drought and baking 

 heat ; and of joy in fragrant nights, flitting fireflies, halcyon 

 days, sunset-glows, magic moonlight and healing dreams of the 

 toil-worn, perhaps of 



The island-valley of Avilion, 



Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 



Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 



Deep meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns 



And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea. 



L. BOLUS. 



