My Friends in their Garden^ 
green hedgerows and wide Turnip-fields of their native 
shores. 
There were some who would be constant visitors to that 
garden, creeping thither with daily slower steps, to depart 
thence with hands filled with flowers, and hearts cheered by 
cheerful words, till at last they came no more, and the 
flowers went to them instead, and finally, laid to rest in the 
hillside God’s-acre, the flowers marked their resting-place. 
Anne used to talk of our home in England in the grey 
cathedral town, in the shady close where the earliest Snow- 
drops grew under our window, and then she would say : “But 
I think we shall never forget Mon Repos, shall we, Pleasance?” 
And though I am now far away across the sea, and it is 
long since Anne has been called away to the land where “the 
gardens never wither, and the meadows green and dewy 
shine with Lilies wondrous fair,” the remembrance of Lotos- 
land is still fresh to me, and my beloved Lady, in her 
Garden of Rest, is very near my heart. 
3^5 
