206 



Garden and Forest. 



[Number 219. 



a few acres of ground is the development of a love for 

 home, the suppression of that restless desire for change 

 which makes so many Americans "possible tramps" iii- 

 stead of established citizens. But a genuine love of nature 

 will serve a person pretty well in place of the actual own- 

 ership of a portion of the earth's surface. For in whatever 

 corner of the country he may chance to be he will see, un- 

 derstand and love every part and phase of its beauty, and 

 thus, in a sense, feel himself the owner of the whole re- 

 gion ; and the oftener he visits it the stronger and more 

 intimate will become his feeling of attachment to it. Of 

 course, he will not be without a natural desire to see as 

 much of the earth as possible, and to learn how many kinds 

 of beauty it can show. But this desire will not be the im- 

 perious need for "a change" which is felt by less fortu- 

 nately endowed persons, and often it will be so much 

 weaker than his desire to stay among the things which he 

 knows best, and therefore loves best, that year after year 

 will pass, and foreign lands, or even neighboring regions, 

 will tempt in vain Avhile he watches new clouds blow 

 over his familiar hills, the flowers spring up in his 

 familiar woods, and every long-familiar shrub and tree 

 assume a new aspect with each season's growth and 

 changes. 



This is the true secret of every kind of love ; if a thing 

 appeals to us at all, the better we know it the more we care 

 for it. The true lover of nature loves it as the true lover of 

 humanity loves men. He has his favorite corners of the 

 world as he has his friends, and does not constantly wish 

 to change them for others, or perpetually contrast their at- 

 tractions with the attractions of others. If every one ad- 

 mires them his joy in them is increased ; but if he is almost 

 alone in appreciating their charm, this fact is in itself the 

 source of a special kind of pleasure and pride. He seeks 

 "for novelty and freshness in the things which surroundhim 

 as he likes his friends not to be all day and every day the 

 same. He travels to new scenes in the same way that he 

 likes to make acquaintance with interesting strangers, but 

 comes back as gladly to the familiar spot as to the familiar 

 face. The tree which he has watched as it grew from a 

 sapling to a fine specimen delights him more than an even 

 finer specimen about which no memories or anticipations 

 cluster ; and even if he has not planted and watered it 

 himself, even if it grows in the neighboring forest instead 

 of his own field, he has for it, nevertheless, a genuine per- 

 sonal affection. If he drives through a beautiful new 

 country his eyes are perpetually charmed ; biit when he 

 drives through the roads around his home his heart is 

 touched and his imagmation stirred by the beauty of past 

 years as well as the beauty of to-day, and by the feeling 

 that everything he sees is linked in some way with his per- 

 sonal experience. Each tree is a friend, each shrub has a 

 special voice for his special ear, each flower is greeted as 

 the child of other flowers which he knew last summer in 

 the same corner of the road-side. In short, he not only ad- 

 mires what he sees ; he is interested by everything he sees 

 in a sense that is impossible where things are beheld for the 

 first time. And true love, if it means admiration, means 

 interest also, whether inanimate things or human beings 

 are in question. 



One who is truly interested in nature, therefore, does not 

 need fine views in the usual acceptation of the term — great 

 ranges of mountains, picturesque- stretches of rocky coast, 

 or outlooks over wide panoramas of hill and valley and 

 river. Every view not seriously marred by some incon- 

 gruous work of man has some charm for his eye. And he 

 recognizes, moreover, that a very fine view must often be 

 purchased at the expense of other attractions. If, for in- 

 stance, there are mountains around him, he cannot have 

 that far, low horizon-line which, stretching its mighty 

 curve at a seemingly immeasurable distance, gives an un- 

 equaled sense of space, freedom and infinity. "I have 

 never seen the sky before," a painter once exclaimed who 

 had passed his life in hilly regions, and now, for the first 

 time, stood in the low, quiet Cape Cod country ; "I did 



not know it was so big or so near or so arching, or that 

 there were so many stars, or that a sight of them all could 

 be so magnificent. I never before saw the moon come 

 up from below the earth instead of merely from behind the 

 hills, and I never saw the whole of a sunset until I came 

 here." And he seemed to think that the panorama of the 

 morning and evening and midnight skies was as admirable 

 as any terrestrial panorama which could be unrolled be- 

 fore him. 



Again, in our crude and often maltreated land, grandeur 

 in the distance often means raggedness and forlornness 

 in the foregrounds, and a sensitive eye thinks the fore- 

 ground of a picture as important as its background. 

 Where forests have ruthlessly been cut away, and where 

 there is not a rich soil to encourage neat and careful culti- 

 vation, primeval beauty has largely vanished and the 

 beauty of civilization has not replaced it. The true lover 

 of nature will feel this painfully, and all the magnificence 

 of the mountains beyond may not compensate him for the 

 lack of that harmony and repose in general effect which 

 come when all parts of a picture are in keeping. We do not 

 say that the true lover of nature cares nothing for grand 

 scenery, only that he does not actually need it. Great 

 things impress him, but small ones enchant him, and he 

 gathers pleasure from the road-side grass as well as from 

 the giant Oak or the sky-line of a rugged mountain range. 

 There is a beauty of the Lily and a beauty of the Pine, a 

 beauty of the mountain and a beauty of the plain, a beauty 

 of wide outlooks and a beauty of enclosed and sequestered 

 corners. One kind of necessity excludes another kind ; 

 but that does not matter to him, for all arrest his eye, in- 

 terest his mind, and make appeal to his imagination and 

 his heart. 



Notes of a Summer Journc}^ in Europe. — XIV. 



TDROBABLY no city in the world can equal Paris in the beauty 

 -*■ of its little parks and promenades, and more particularly 

 for the wealth of flowers which is displayed throughout the 

 summer in tlie flower-beds in these public places. But the 

 exhibition of gayly colored exotics is sometimes introduced 

 where a bit of pure nature would be a pleasant change. While 

 such a line show may seem appropriate enough in the Tuil- 

 leries gardens, its effect is not altogether pleasing in such a 

 place as the beautiful little Pare Monceau, where the formal 

 flower-beds of glaring colors seem out of place among natu- 

 rally grouped trees and shrubs. 



But in spite of these inharmonious features the Pare Mon- 

 ceau seemed to me a charming model of a little city park. 

 The situation is most favorable, and the trees and shrubs have 

 for the most part been grouped with such good judgment and 

 with such pleasant effect tliat, unlike most town parks of a few 

 acres, one thinks of this as a country place, and not a garden 

 in the heart of a city. 



On the other hand, the famous Jardin des Plantes is likely 

 to prove somewhat of a disappointment to most visitors. It 

 may be that too much is expected, but the fame of tlie illus- 

 trious names which have been connected with this institution 

 for nearly three centuries and the high order of scientific work 

 which has been accomplished very naturally kindles the ex- 

 pectation of finding a botanic garden of the very highest order 

 in every respect. Unlike some other botanical gardens, the 

 Jardin des Plantes does not claim to be a popular institution, 

 but prides itself on its scientific value. Therefore, in the 

 purely scienfific and systematic collections of living plants, no 

 attempt is made to produce anything ornate. The green- 

 houses are not often freely open to the public, and there are 

 some interesting collections not easy of access without special 

 permits. If we find the garden inferior in some respects to 

 what might be expected of it, from its age and fame and as the 

 representafive botanical institution of a great nation, it should 

 be remembered that its situation and soil are not of the best, 

 it has never been properly endowed by the Government, and, 

 from all accounts, it suffered severely from the shells of the 

 besiegers in the last great war. 



The collecfion of living plants is undoubtedly one of the 

 largest and most valuable in the world, but in many cases the 

 specimens are not in a very thrifty condition. This, however, 

 does not apply to the public floricultural display, which ap- 

 parently receives much attention. Within the principal enclo- 



