MY GARDEN in the plant at your feet, it is in the grass you 

 OF DREAMS ... . . . 



tread upon, it is in the insect that hides in the 



flower, the caterpillar that crawls upon the 



leaf, the bee that sucks honey from the rose, 



the butterfly that flits from bush to bush. 



Let us stop for a while by this white rose 

 bush at the end of the walk. 



How did this white rose bush come to be 

 here? It was planted by one who is with us 

 now only as a memory. But how did she come 

 to have a rose so white and full? 



There was a time when there were no such 

 roses in all the world. There were only wild 

 roses. Yonder is one now. We call it Sweet 

 Brier, or Eglantine. It decks itself with little 

 simple roses. I think it one of the sweetest 

 flowers in my garden, but it has been made 

 to serve another purpose than to bear its own 

 flowers. The roots of this beautiful white rose 

 are really those of a Sweet Brier. One day the 

 Sweet Brier was cut down to the ground, the 

 skin of its stump was opened, and in this open- 

 ing, between the bark and the wood, a little 

 bud of a different rose-bush was placed. From 

 that day all the life of the Sweet Brier was 



[82] 



