‘“‘Perman- Yes, I altered it myself in the spring of ’69. I am not sure 
ence” whether I was wise. I sometimes think now that it was better 
in the old place.” 
Remarks like these, uttered in absolute unconsciousness, 
bring home to the heart and mind a sense of permanence, one 
which grows deeper and deeper with every moment that one re- 
mains within that garden sanctuary. For there—upon the nearest 
sun-facing wall—may be seen Roses which have bloomed in the 
self-same spot summer after summer since before the Crimean 
war! Yonder is a Magnolia still older, its trunk ridged and 
gnarled like some small century-old Japanese oak. Yonder 
again a Wisteria, curtaining an entire reach of wall, and 
spreading far beyond it towards the kitchen garden. Weigelias 
and Kerrias too are to be found here as old, or nearly as old, 
as the white-headed retainer who looks after them. Whatever 
else we nowadays grow successfully in our gardens, that fine 
old plant “Permanence” is not often, it must be owned, to be 
found flourishing in them. To see it in its perfection we have 
to travel to some such old-world haunt of peace as this, one 
into which fashion cometh never, and where the hand of the 
garden’s architect is not readily to be detected. 
But, before going further, let us begin by entering our 
garden properly. This is done by means of two doors opened 
in the wall by keys. One of these brings us to the shorter end 
of the flower-border, beyond which other borders and other 
garden spaces are to be seen, opening up one beyond the other, 
all brimming over with colour. ‘The second door takes us 
directly under a gigantic Yew, from the austere shade of which, 
as from beneath a porch, we may look out at all the bright- 
ness and variety which lies beyond it. 
6 
