WITHIN MY GARDEN WALLS 
Seeqp|Y happy coincidence our two birthdays and the an- 
eo) v niversary of our wedding day come before the 
ys middle of April, for each occasion offers the op- 
portunity of presenting seeds and plants. The 
first time I tried this wholly disinterested act was when I made 
a birthday offering of rose bushes to Adam. I liked the 
thought of a living souvenir, which should yearly blossom in 
celebration of the day; but I now have the idea that his hopes 
may have been fixed elsewhere, for I not only had to explain 
the reason for my choice, but he never remembers they are his, 
and he takes no particular interest in their growth. Somehow 
his indifferent attitude reminds me of an illustration I once 
saw in which Algernon Sidney was bestowing a box of cigars 
upon his young wife Angelina, who in turn presented to him, 
as her gift, a pair of lace curtains. The artist caught Adam’s 
expression exactly when I introduced him to the roses. Per- 
haps it is because of Adam’s other-worldliness that he soars 
above things terrestrial. A gleam of genuine pleasure lights 
up his countenance when I give him a Greek book or new 
neckties—provided I do not make a fatal choice—but the 
smile and the gift are soon laid away, and it is like putting a 
child through the catechism to find out later from him what 
he actually received. In subsequent years I celebrated our 
anniversaries in a way pleasing to myself. One February I 
made myself a wedding gift of one hundred and fifty varieties 
of plants, shrubs and seeds. A few omissions were supplied 
in March on my own birthday. The next year my generous 
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