PREFATORY vii 



Into silence ! How deep, how unbroken is that 

 silence ! But because of tender memories of lov- 

 ing eyes that see them no more, my flowers are 

 yet more beloved and tenderly cherished. 



Year after year the island garden has grown 

 in beauty and charm, so that in response to the 

 many entreaties of strangers as well as friends 

 who have said to me, summer after summer, 

 " Tell us how you do it ! Write a book about it 

 and tell us how it is done, that we may go also 

 and do likewise," I have written this book at last. 

 Truly it contains the fruit of much sweet and 

 bitter experience. Of what I speak I know, and 

 of what I know I have freely given. I trust it 

 may help the patient gardener to a reasonable 

 measure of success, and to that end I have spared 

 no smallest detail that seemed to me necessary, no 

 suggestion that might prove helpful. 



DUST. 



Here is a problem, a wonder for all to see. 



Look at this marvelous thing I hold in my hand I 

 This is a magic surprising, a mystery 



Strange as a miracle, harder to understand. 



What is it ? Only a handful of earth : to your touch 

 A dry rough powder you trample beneath your feet, 



Dark and lifeless ; but think for a moment, how much 

 It hides and holds that is beautiful, bitter, or sweet. 



