The Moelwyn Garden 
its owner, and I have never visited it without coming 
away with some new impression, and some new realiza- 
tion of the meaning of ‘‘ gardening for beauty.’’ One 
or two little pictures—for the pictures are all in propor- 
tion to the area covered by the garden—are eloquent 
in their expression of the fact that no pains are spared 
to garden for all seasons, and*every day of the year. 
A brief description of those contained within one small 
area should prove instructive. 
The first is in early February. The pale light of the 
afternoon sun falls on the graceful, arching branches of 
one of the Chinese Barberries—Wilsonz. Still cling- 
ing to the branches are myriads of last year’s leaves, 
that in a duller, greyer light would be sombre brown, 
but.in this every tiny leaf takes on a rich and ever 
changing tint : bronze, gold, sienna, burnt and raw, a 
little orange, and a shimmer of warmth, as of the crim- 
son glow cast by a flickering fire. True, it may be 
only an impression, and upon close analysis it dis- 
appears, but the impression is very vivid. At its feet 
there spreads a broad mass of the winter flowering 
heath, Evica carnea, almost mossy in its fresh bright 
green, and delicately beautiful with its sheets of pink 
flowers and cream-tinted buds. It has been in flower 
now for six weeks, and is good for another six. Side 
by side with it is a mass of autumn-flowering heather, 
principally varieties of Erica vulgaris, on which last 
autumn’s flowers have assumed a ruddy brown tint, 
and the foliage is still a dull dark bronze green. From 
this rises another beautiful Berberis, Thunbergii minor, 
every bud just bursting into being with that soft yellow- 
green hue that gives a suggestion of awakening spring. 
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