THE RIPENING AUTUMN 
”5 
Although I am no great lover of dwarf varieties in 
any form, there are certain Polyantha roses of dwarf 
habit that are positively irresistible. I have planted a 
small oblong bed near the hedge of white Rugosa with 
alternate trees of Perle d’Or and Ma Paquerette, and 
the broidery of pure dense white and nankeen yellow 
clusters, woven, as it were, upon their field of luxuriant 
tiny green leafage, is very comely and reviving. Of 
the Bourbon Roses, the Souvenir de la Malmaison is 
still the one I like best. Its vigorous growth, its faintly 
blushing colour, and the sweet fragrance that exhales, 
like the breath of faded romance, from the shell-like 
petals, all serve to endear to me this placid, fragile 
survival from a strange and stormy time. The Man of 
Destiny and the exotic lady of his love are but mere 
names now—portions and parcels of the dreadful past, 
while the roses that her garden grew grow in mine 
to-day. 
It is at this precise moment that the Japanese 
Anemones are at their very best. By reason of their 
encroaching disposition I have pitched their main camp 
in the wild garden, where they increase and flourish 
exceedingly; but, for all that, they still find place in 
the herbaceous borders, whose wide hospitalities seem 
almost too spacious for abuse. High above the pointed, 
sharp green foliage rise these delicate flowers, almost as 
simple of structure as the famous Tudor Rose of decora¬ 
tive fame; and, limited though their range of colour 
be, it is so refined in quality, so pearly-pure of tone, 
that you would scarce find it in your heart to wish for 
its extension. Ivory-white, ashes of roses, Persian pink, 
