nB THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
a few boxes of nameless undistinguished seedlings, of 
origin as dubious as that of those alluring basketfuls of 
blue-eyed beribboned kittens hawked about by dainty 
damsels at bazaars. And lo! the plot that failed and 
was thus fortuitously replenished has blossomed like 
the rose, or an old Coalport tea-service, with the 
prettiest imaginable confusion of pink and white and 
deeper pink and green. Some of the Liliputian trum¬ 
pets are striped and freaked, others are what my vice¬ 
regent calls “ seifs,” but all are delicate and tenderly 
bright of tint, and the effect of the whole is inspiriting 
in the extreme. 
A whole lawn’s length away from these, with an 
added severance of tall dark laurel hedge between, flare 
and fade my flaunting Escholzias and Marigolds, and 
farther on, near upon the borders of the shrubbery, 
grow high bushes of yet another demodee flower that I 
am glad to entertain for old sake’s sake and the 
memories of childish days. How well one remembers 
the fancies that once would invest these dark green 
bowers of Fuchsia, as gracefully drooping as any 
languishing belle of Keepsake or Forget-me-not por¬ 
trayal ; and still the ancient kindness stays, and still I 
look with mild unreasoned pleasure upon the slim little 
pendant blossoms with their short purple petticoats and 
bright slashed crimson slips. 
Over against the long semicircular marble seat that 
faces the fountain on the sunken lawn I have planned 
and helped towards fulfilment a plot of white flowers, 
solely white, to linger beside at twilight, when every 
luminous tone, and especially this, takes on a natural 
