THE YEAR’S HIGH NOON 
“ Carnation, lily ; lily, rose ”... all are with 
us now in the full and fragrant beauty of their prime; 
and, as you pass from one to another on your pleasant 
pilgrimage along the garden ways, you would be hard 
put to it to declare which were sweetest to sight or 
sense. 
Even now some of the roses are passing; and in a 
very little while hence we shall be rubbing our eyes as 
we pass the dull green bowers in wonder at memories 
of white and pink and golden glories, for which they 
stand as monuments. 
Shell-pink and ivory petals already bestrew the dun 
earth of the border, but there are still buds in plenty to 
reassure us; and, though the roses go, and lily goblets 
break and fall, the aromatic many-hued carnation will 
remain; while a whole brave host of later flowers has 
yet to follow. There is much to see and to enjoy before 
autumn, the angel with the flaming sword, shall come 
to warn us off our paradise. At the present moment 
I do not believe that earth has anything to show more 
fair than the plots and borders, aye, and the walls to 
boot, of my rose garden. The pergola is all bedraped 
and spangled with snowy blots of Aimee Vibert and 
soft pink Blairii, while Reve d’Or spreads its saffron 
clusters in between. 
I am fallen somewhat into disfavour with the gardener 
of my pleasaunce, and there are even moments when I 
doubt whether he may ever very greatly esteem me 
