THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



full of weeds. That last man is just such an one as will 

 burnish up his place on the eve of a garden party, and 

 give everything a lick and a promise, and will stand by 

 his greenhouses with an expression on his face of an holy 

 cherub when the visitors are being shown his stove plants. 

 That man will be for ever complaining of overwork and 

 will wear a face as long as a fiddle if he is asked pertinent 

 questions of unweeded paths. " Such a work," he will 

 say, " should be done by an extra boy. As for me, am I 

 not by day and by night protecting the peas from the 

 birds, and the dahlias from earwigs, and the melons from 

 the ravages of slugs ? " And you may know from this 

 that he is the type of man who loses grape scissors, and 

 who leaves bast about, and mislays his trowel, and 

 neglects to give water to your favourite plants, so that 

 they wither and die. No. . Look well that you get a 

 man who is fond of keeping himself clean, and he will 

 keep his paths clean, as is the case in a man I know who 

 started a fruit garden in the country. He, it was, who 

 showed me his men working on a Saturday afternoon at 

 cleaning up the paths. And when I stood amazed at this 

 he took me into the shed where the tools were kept, and 

 there I saw spades shining like silver, and forks burnished 

 wonderfully, and everything very orderly. I clapped 

 my hands, and looked round still in wonder, for I mar- 

 velled to see such neatness and order in a place that is the 

 shrine of disorder — as tool sheds, potting sheds, and the 

 like, which are a medley of stick, earth, leafmould, old 

 pricking-out boxes, tools, wire, and other miscellaneous 

 objects. And I marvelled still more to see through the 

 open door men at work — on the afternoon devoted to 

 holiday — picking leaves from the paths, and setting the 

 place in order. 



I said, " This is well done indeed." 



And he answered, that this was the secret of all good 



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