46 TREES AND SHRUBS 



well said with regard to deeper matters that fore- 

 sight must spring from insight, and it may be taken 

 also as a foundation principle of good gardening. 

 For just in proportion as we use our faculties of 

 insight and foresight will our gardens grow, more 

 or less, into a perfect expression of our sense of the 

 ever-changeful, never-ending beauty of Nature. 



It must be no cursory glance given to get rid of 

 an unwelcome duty. We must look deep into the 

 meaning of things as they are — a meaning which 

 never lies wholly on the surface — before we can 

 forecast them as they are going to be, and such 

 insight rarely comes by intuition. The seeing eye 

 is given only to a few, though with some it is 

 but sleep-holden and needs no more than to be 

 awakened. 



The things that are and the things that are to 

 be. Let us take the thought as company and try 

 to glean some of Nature's own lessons of fitness. 

 How instinctively we seek, for a winter ramble, 

 the shelter of the woodland copse, which is not far 

 distant from any English country habitation. The 

 broad grass drive is hoar with frosty rime in the 

 shadow of the bushes and crisp under foot. Under 

 the trees the ground on either side is carpeted 

 with Ivy. The lithe, trailing stems, wreathed with 

 their shining, taper-fingered leaves, so exquisitely 

 pencilled, are cushioned on the soft, feathery moss, 

 or twine in and out amongst the Hazel stocks, or 

 creep at will up the nearest tree trunk. One can 

 scarcely look at Ivy on a winter's day without a 



