24 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



crimson blush of dawn was reflected on the chamber wall, 

 there came to mind a book on tfhe Delights of Faith. 

 It was written by a Cambridge fellow whose life interests 

 were bounded by a tiny room and a single window look- 

 ing out upon an old garden on the banks of the peaceful 

 Cam. The scholar, enamored of bookish seclusion in his 

 youth, had given all his years to The Delights of Faith 

 and the care of his garden, and then had gone to rest con- 

 tent that he had finished his book. 



Those who came later and rested on the moss-grown 

 bench under the yew tree he had planted, listening to the 

 hum of bees from his hives near the clump of splendid 

 foxglove, and scenting the pungent odor from the box 

 hedge that he had trimmed, felt the garden of beauty 

 renewing its promises with returning springs was his true 

 legacy to posterity and the eloquent volume on the de- 

 lights of faith. 



The time-stained pages were turned one by one to 

 catch a vital spark of an ardent soul, and the mellow sun- 

 shine of the English afternoon grew golden in the full 

 tide of spring's glory. The linnets sang in the fragrant 

 bower of laburnum, and heaven seemed surely to have 

 come down to earth. It needed no argument of priest or 

 creed to write the delights of faith. 



Biding our time in wayward March in this western 

 world, which has yet to make its gardens for posterity, the 

 almanacs and fashion-mongers tell us that spring is here. 



