Cromwell Gardens a Place 

 of Beauty 



plCP^i^i^ the west bank of the Connecticut River, three miles above Mid- 

 f^^SlSl <^Jetown and twelve miles below Hartford, lies Cromwell. This old 

 f'^^^s^s^^NsMftM New England town is a veritable garden-spot, for the chief industry 

 I -'tv^^^' village, Cromwell Gardens, inspires its five hundred or more 



employees to make the home yards reflect the wealth of beauty 

 to be tound m the greenhouses and nursery grounds. In the valley, 

 above the greenhouses, is the Mecca of every visitor to this charming village — • 

 Cromwell Gardens Park — where there is a Rose-garden of 4,000 plants, comprising 

 over 100 varieties that we considered most suitable for our vigorous. New 

 England climate. Here the visitor may select the kinds that appeal to his fancy, 

 with the assurance that only a sturdy, reliable, garden Rose can be chosen. A 

 number of the old favorite kinds are included in this assortment, but the garden 

 is devoted principally to the ever-blooming Hybrid Tea kinds; hence the Rose- 

 garden is the place of interest from late June until frost. 



Adjoining the Rose-garden, a rockery, including many desirable alpine and 

 rock-garden plants, lends further interest to the visit. 



Mr. Noble Foster Hoggson, writing for the Philadelphia Ledger, gives us a 

 glimpse of the intimate relation existing between a man and his garden. What he 

 says is said so well that we quote it in full below: 



Spirit of the Garden 



It Voices the Human Sense of Accumulated Beauty 



When all is said, gardens are but expressions of sentiment, the outward manifestation of human 

 hearts which bloom with perennial love and flower with sympathy and kindly thought. Love of 

 gardens is an instinctive sense; lacking it, appreciation cannot be instilled, because, as Bovee wrote, 

 the beauty seen is partly in him who sees it. The beautiful meaning of flowers does not have to be 

 told to little children. They are gifted with divine intelligence in knowing that "flowers are God's 

 thoughts of beauty taking form to gladden the mortal gaze; bright gems of earth, in which perchance 

 we see what Eden was, what paradise may be." 



"Perhaps no word of six letters concentrates so much human satisfaction as the word 'garden'," 

 declares a great poet of our own day, Richard LcGallienne. "Not accidentally, indeed, did the in- 

 spired writer make paradise a garden, and still today, when a man has found all the rest of the world 

 vanity, he retires into his garden. When man needs just one word to express in rich and poignant 

 symbol his sense of accumulated beauty and blessedness, his first thought is of a garden. The saint 

 speaks of the 'garden of God.' The word 'heaven' is hardly more universally expressive of happiness 

 than the word 'garden.' " 



The garden is the voice of nature calling to her children who have strayed far afield. It is not a 

 loud, wailing, articulate voice; it is like the still, small \ oice of conscience. 



And, as Keats expressed it, "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter." And 

 there at once is the voice and spirit of the garden. 



Cromwell Gardens, Cromwell, Conn. 



3 



