THE JOYOUS ART OF GARDENING 



the heart of the most obdurate of persons, enough tenderness 

 to have sufficed for the mothering of a dozen little ones. A 

 garden is the world of the recluse, the passion of the lone man 

 or woman, the diversion of statesmen, the recreation of poets 

 and artists of all ages — except, perhaps, musicians, who may 

 be overcareful of their hands. It is the plaything of mon- 

 archs, the solace of the prisoner; it is also the dehght of little 

 children. 



No passion is more democratic than that of love for a 

 garden. The love of literature, of art, or of music can, it is 

 true, occupy mind and heart with equal completeness, but in 

 all of these the joy of creation is hmited inevitably to the 

 gifted few. The passion for a garden, however, and the joy 

 of making one may exist alike in milUonaire and washer- 

 woman; the day -laborer, returning from his work, betakes him- 

 self to tending his rose-bush, and so, perhaps, does the banker; 

 learned and illiterate may be alike in their devotion to their 

 gardens; to saint and sinner, otherwhere poles apart, it is com- 

 mon ground; ill-tempered and serene are one in their tender- 

 ness for their plants. "Oh, I forgot the violets!" exclaimed 

 Landor in a shocked tone after (according to tradition) hurling 

 his man servant through the window to the violet-bed below- 



Since so much enjoyment is to be had in the cultivation 

 of a bit of ground, it is a pity that it is ever missed and that 

 the care of garden and grounds should become for any one a 

 perfunctory thing. Yet in suburb after suburb one sees lawn 

 after lawn whose treatment is wholly perfunctory; they are as 

 ready-made and uniform as the contractor's houses, made by 

 the dozen, that they garnish. These little yards reflect no 

 more the thought and personality of the owner than a sample 

 drawing-room or dining-room or bedroom fitted up in a depart- 

 ment store radiates charm and personality. Evidently the 



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