THE STORY OF A GARDEN 



" Nature, as far as in her lies, 

 Imitates God," * * * — Tennyson. 



There is a garden that is not like 

 the other gardens round about. In 

 many of these gardens the flowers are 

 only prisoners, forced to weave car- 

 pets on the changeless turf, and when 

 the eye is sated and the impression 

 palls, they become to their owners, 

 who have no part in them, merely pur- 

 chased episodes. 



This garden that I know has a bit 

 of green, a space of flowers, and a 

 stretch of wildness, as Bacon says a 

 garden should always have. At its 

 birth the twelve months each gave to 



