8 4 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
with us in all its sculptured grace and plenitude of 
bloom; while, for us open-air gardeners at least, the 
best of the lily season is yet to be. 
One cannot but lament a little the effects of drouth 
and burning sun-rays together upon the earlier phloxes; 
they are blossoming as bravely as they may in purple and 
red, in white and mauve and lilac, yet, for all their 
fortitude, these are but wan and withered faces that they 
lift piteous to the broad skies of noon. Far otherwise 
is it with the hollyhocks that rise one above the other 
in triumphal array against solemn backgrounds of 
clipped yew and box. It is in the evening hours, I 
think, that they look their very best; for then the 
almost iridescent qualities of the open cups, the cool, 
clear green of bud and leaf and stalk, win added value 
from the lessening light. Once more the vision of 
ancient casements of stained glass swims into ken. Tall, 
slender spires of jade and chrysoprase, they sway this 
way and that in the slow evening breeze, set with their 
many chalices of clouded crystal. Some are coloured 
like amethysts, and some like roses; others show trans¬ 
lucent dyes of apricot and lemon, saffron and topaz and 
pearl, while not the least enchanting are those that 
shimmer vaguely, white as the high moon, shot through 
with dim, faint stains of green, or blush, or palest 
amber. 
If sunset enhances the glory of the holly-hock, then 
twilight holds indeed a magic wand for the CEnothera, 
that strange flower which masquerades as a beggar-maid 
all day, and shines forth a fairy princess at fall of dusk. 
Who could imagine, looking on the drooping foliage, 
