A GARDEN NOTE-BOOK 



den in Venice," 'to pick one's strawberries and cut 

 one's tea-roses from the same bed.' This dehght 

 is not reserved for Italy, but is our own experience 

 in Michigan. Eighteen fine bushes of rose Los 

 Angeles skirt our four rows of that luscious straw- 

 berry, John H. Cook, than which, incidentally, a 

 finer berry never grew to the proportions of a 

 youthful tomato, or reddened to the color of one. 

 The combination of the gathering and plucking of 

 flowers and fruit from the same spot is irresistible. 

 To look on lilies in the garden's green spaces, 

 and as one looks to hear the sound of falling 

 water, is an ecstacy in midsummer which is new, 

 for these are not ordinary lilies — these are not 

 the lovely candidum, or the gracefully hanging 

 Nankeen lily, though both are in bloom now in 

 my garden, in scattered groups. No, this is that 

 glory of a lily whose noble adjective is regale, 

 and I have it this year in profusion. I do not 

 envy even the charming writer of "A Garden in 

 Venice," as she describes her madonna lilies, often 

 with eight to twenty flowers on one stalk and the 

 stalk five feet high. Those virgin lilies have their 

 own pure, pale beauty, and that beauty none will 

 deny. The Nankeen lily has a quaint charm of 

 form, habit, and color, too; so has L. Henry i, a 



18 



