FOREWORD 



Ever a season ahead of us floats the vision of perfection and 

 herein lies its perennial charm. 



"A man's reach should exceed his grasp 

 Or what's Heaven for?" 



In offering this second book of My Garden to those who 

 held out so warm a hand of welcome to the first, my desire 

 is merely to be suggestive. It is my hope that in these 

 loitering peregrinations up and down my garden paths, 

 following the chancy flight of young Spring along the 

 langourous road of Summer to Autumn's shining house, each 

 may find something that to him is beauty, some happy 

 assortment of flashing hues, an old flower-friend newly 

 companioned, a pleasant use of vine or shrub that gives 

 impetus to his own contriving. 



A pen is a poor instrument to chronicle the beauties of a 

 garden, a brush is a better, and Miss Winegar has sym- 

 pathetically set down part of the pageant of the long season 

 spent within my garden walls. All the paintings were 

 made within the garden in the same year. The fleeing days 

 carried many a charming mood beyond our grasp before 

 it could be recorded, but surely there is enough to show 

 with what simple, friendly flowers a glad garden may be 

 maintained for many months of the year. 



Louise Beebe Wilder. 

 "Balderbrae" Pomona, N. Y. 



