CHILDHOOD IN THE GARDEN 
childhood may have faded into the indistinguishable 
background of the past, old people have no trouble in 
finding the old paths, in hearing again the murmur 
of the fountain and the voices of vanished playmates, 
or in remembering what flowers had first bloomed for 
them. And those among us thus fortunate in their 
youth who come back into a garden, find their memo¬ 
ries stocked with all sorts of useful odds and ends of 
information regarding the best way to make this or the 
other thing grow, how deep seeds are to be planted, 
when to separate perennials or transplant annuals, with 
heaven only knows what beside ; and this though years 
have intervened since we closed the gate of our child¬ 
hood garden behind us, with never the time since to 
open another. 
Gardens resemble reading in this, that where you 
have not acquired a taste for either in youth, you will 
never completely acquire it. And yet the atmosphere 
of flowers, as that of books, should be incorporated into 
the personality of every one, insuring as it does in 
a turbulent and hazardous world no small degree of 
happiness. Humanity has long joined in the ac¬ 
knowledgment that the love of reading is one of the 
great blessings of life, a rampart against ennui, an 
asylum from sorrow. Just as certain is the relief 
afforded by a garden. When you plant in a child’s 
heart the love of its tended beauty, you are giving him 
an open sesame to the palace of peace, a refuge from 
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