32



Mr. Reginald Phillipps ;



Our nearest public gardens of any size are those in Ravens-

court Park. On July 31, after caterpillar-picking in, and a look of

despair at, my own little plot, I took a tram to this place, and sat

for a while in that quiet little retreat wdiich is or used to be known

as the Shakespeare Garden. The masses of rambler-roses and other

flowers were charming—and not a sign of caterpillar or fly. As I

lolled and looked and envied, I noticed a little mouse-like shadow,

running from the copse at my back, enter and disappear amongst the

flowers. It came into sight again a few yards away at the base of

an arch of roses, which it proceeded to climb; and it carefully cleared

the tree of insect-life as it ascended. It was much smaller and

slimmer than an Accentor, and the movements were altogether

different: to me it seemed to be one of the rarer Warblers, but my

eyes are old, and I will not venture to give it a name, neither does

it matter for our present purpose. The staff of gardeners could

arrange for the production of the display of flowers, but not all the

gardeners in the world could have preserved them. That stupendous

work was performed, with marvellous efficiency, by the fragile birds,

of so many shapes and colours and modes of procedure, working

silently and without thanks, and ofttimes so secretly as in the case

cited, but all with one accord, guided by to them an Unknown Hand,

working for the comfort and well-being of man. The head gardener

gets the praise, but where would he have been without the Live

Birds !


Now let us take a peep at my back garden, with the house at

one end and a four-foot-high wall along the other three sides, and

overshadowed by my neighbours’ houses and trees. Some trees and

shrubs will not grow here, the place is so shut in : moreover, it is so

full, so overfull, of such trees and shrubs as will live, if but for a

time, that to attempt to grow flowers would seem to be a hopeless

task. Last year, however, I chanced to move some geraniums,

which had apparently been ruined by caterpillars, from the front to

the back garden, and found that they did very well. Taking the

hint, this spring, as early as I dared, I planted several dozen of the

best obtainable scarlet geraniums in this back garden; and all

through the summer-—and they are still (August) going on—I have

had a magnificent display of brilliant colour, set off and toned by a



