338 Old Time Gardens 
transplanted, yet all flourish ; I suppose some plants 
must be pulled up, sometimes, else the garden would 
be a thicket. The varying grading of city streets 
has left this garden in a little valley sheltered from 
winds and open to the sun’s rays. Here bloom 
Crocuses, Snowdrops, Grape Hyacinths, and some- 
times Tulips, before any neighbor has a blossom 
and scarce a leaf. On a Sunday noon in April there 
are always flower lovers hanging over the low fences, 
and gazing at the welcome early blooms. Here if 
ever, 
“ Winter, slumbering in the open air. 
Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring.” 
A close cloud of Box-scent hangs over this garden, 
even in midwinter ; sometimes the Box edgings 
grow until no one can walk between ; then drastic 
measures have to be taken, and the rows look 
ragged for a time. 
I think much of my love of Box comes from 
happy associations with this garden. I used to like 
to go there with my mother when she went on 
what the Japanese would call “ garden-viewing ” 
visits, for at the lower end of the garden was a small 
orchard of the finest playhouse Apple trees I ever 
climbed (and I have had much experience), and 
some large trees bearing little globular early Pears; 
and there were rows of bushes of golden “ Honey- 
blob ” Gooseberries. The Apple trees are there 
still, but the Gooseberry bushes are gone. I 
looked for them this summer eagerly, but in vain ; 
I presume the berries would have been sour had I 
found them. 
