CHAPTER V 

 FLOWERS 0' GRACE 



We cannot fathom the mystery of a single flower, nor is it intended that 

 we should; but that the pursuit of science should constantly be betrayed 

 by the love of beauty, and accuracy of knowledge by tenderness of 

 emotion. — Ruskin. 



THERE is a class of plants in the garden toward 

 which we feel a peculiar tenderness. Most of them 

 are too light in build and too fugitive to be of great 

 value in our colour arrangements; they are the butterflies 

 of the flower world, careless, gay, full of whimsical charm; 

 and without their fluttering life the garden would be 

 bereft indeed. There is room for many of these flowers of 

 grace in even small gardens, for they occupy little space 

 and they will, if allowed a bit of freedom in the matter of 

 their own bestowal, redeem the garden from the stiffness 

 which is apt to be the result of our heavier touch. It is 

 their special mission to add the touch of laughter to the 

 serene; to lift our thoughts from the gravity of gardening 

 to the witchery of gardens. 



The fairy Flax is one of these. It is an unstable, whimsical 

 thing; opening its wide eyes with the pleading sun, closing 

 them at its noon insistence, and the little plant cannot be 

 said to be reliably perennial in our climate and yet, once 



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