THE EARLY IDEALS 
239 
things of this sort that we shall be caught napping; 
just in these little turns, where our modern attitude 
hesitates, reluctant that we shall lose the trail. It is 
in this sort of particular that we cannot deceive; here 
the garden will betray our insincerity, if we are insin¬ 
cere. 
You will recall that earlier I warned of the bondage 
into which one was in danger of delivering oneself 
unaware—a very exacting, unyielding bondage which 
might prove irksome and finally even hateful. This 
is a phase of it, this necessity for being carefully and 
scrupulously honest all the way along, in the least as 
well as in the greatest. It is something of a price to 
pay, demanding some sacrifice—though not too much. 
Each must decide for himself, however, whether or no 
he is willing to sacrifice at all, to yield old opinions and 
prejudices and notions—and new ones too, perhaps. 
For those who are, there is the assured reward of a 
replica, both in the matter and the spirit, of the fine 
old garden of the olden time,—a garden which still is 
for us, I believe, in every way the model without a 
peer; for those who are not—well, for those who are 
not, there is less than nothing, I take it, in the old- 
fashioned garden ideal, anyway. 
