The Washington herald., 1907-06-16

/ forced TO stay his steps for one ecstatiC
moment 10 look and 10 breath. to forget
and 70 remember The shadow Of the
| owners house lay on this garden a,
/ The morning hour and a tall brick build
ing intercepted its share Of the afternoon
sunshine; but the love and care Of the
/ wrinked old woman who tended 1t took
I the place of real sunshine and ever
| thing planted here grew with q luxurianca
not seen In su=nier and more favored
/ spots The mistress Of the garden. when
] questioned as 10 this, would say il was
/ because she gave her flowers 70 all who
/ asked. and the God Of gardens loved the
I cheerful glver and blessed her with an
/ abundance Of bud and blossom. The high
1 est philosophy of human life she used in
/ her management Of this little plant world;
/ sor, burying the weeds az the roots of the
! flowers, the evil was made 10 minister
70 the good: and the neJtle. the pantaIn
( end all their kind were transmitted 10y
natures fine chemistry into p!nks, lilies,
/ and roses.
! The purple splendor OF the wistaria
recalls the garden that I always entered
| with a fearful JOY, for here French
! gardener reigned absolute. ana the
/ flowers might be looked at, bur not pulled.
How different from those wild gardens
/ OF the neighboring woods where we
/ children rOamed at Will, shouting rap
/ tu:ously over the finding Of a bed OF
scentless blue violets or delicate anemones
/ that V.ithered and were thrown away
/ before we reached home-an allegory
alas, Of our later lives
There was one garden that I coveted
/ in those days as Naboth coveted his
naighboI' vineyard After many years.
| so many that my childish longing was
almost forgotten. I had il, I and my
/ children. Together We PLAYED under the
bee-haunted lindens, and looked at the
sunset through the scarlet and yellow
/ leaves OF the sugar naples. and I learned
that every desire is the prophecy Of Us
own fuhllment,' and If the fulfllment IS
| long delayed. il Is only that il may be
richer and deeper when It does come.
All these were gardens Of the South,
but before childhood was over I watched
the quick. luXurant growth Of flowers
through the brief summer Of a northern
cline. The Canterbury-bell so Ike q
prim. pretty maiden. the dahlia, that
stately dame always in court costume Of
gorgeous velvet, remind me Of those we'll
kept beds where not "a leaf or flower was
allowed 20 gIow awry, and IN one ancient
garden the imagination of child found
wings for many an airy fight. The town
Itself bore the name Of the English noble
man we'll known in Revolutionary DAYS.
Not far away his mansion sturdily defed
the touch Of time and decay and ad-
monished the men Of a degenerate present
TO remember their glorious past The
forrza EbafFnvsT rrrref77ar
was known in colonial days as the Black
Horse Tavern. It's walls had echoed 20
the tread Of patriot and Tory. who gath
cred here 10 drink a health to Gen. Wash
ington or 10 King George. and pa
triot and Tory. toe. had trod the paths
Of the garden and plucked its flow
ers and its fruit in the times that
tried mems souls. BY the back gate grew
a strawberry apple tree. and every morn
ing the deWy grass held nights wind
fan Of the tiny red apples that were
the reward Of the child who rose earliest
A wonderful grated tree that bore two
kinds Of fruit gave the place a touch
Of faiTyland's magic, and no explanation
OF the process Of grating ever diminished
the awe I felt when I stood under this
tree and saw ripe spice apples growing
on all the others. The pound sweetng,
the spitzenberg. and many sister apples
were there. and I STAYED long enough 20
see them Tipen into perfection. While
they ripened I gathered the fewel-like
clusters of red and white cUrrants and a
certain rare English gooseberry which
English hands had brought from beyond
the seas and planted here when the sign
-f he Ef9.fr
door The ordinary E0oseberry is pie
beian fruit, but this one was more patri-
clan than its name, and its name was
the King George" Twice as large as
the common kind. translucent and yellow
ish white when fully ripe, and Of an in
comparable sweetness and flavor. &C could
have graced a Kings table and held its
own with the delicate strawberry or the
regal grape. And then. best Of ALL Il
was n forbidden fruit whereof we children
ate by stealth, and solemnly declared that
we had not eaten. Could the Garden Of
the Hesperides have held more charms?
At the end Of the long Dutch "sto0p" I
found the wands Of the snowberry, whose
tiny flowers have the odor and color OF
the trailing a"butus. and whose waxen
berries reminded me Of the crimson
lIit NULL , VI Cttilt'lI TT llf-tft-- T ltl--i1E
and dsrk-red Glove pinks grew in A pecul-
iarly rich and sunny spot by the back
fence. and over a pot Of the muskplart
I used to hang IS Isabella hung over
her pot OF basil. / had never seen it
before and have never seen it since.
but by the witCherv Of perfume one Of is
yellow flowers. one Of its soft pale green
leaves could place me again in that
s,< 81 H.
among the ghosts and memories Of 4 past
century.
In all these howery closes here are
rich aftermaths. but when Memory goes
a-gleaming, she dwells longest on the
evenings and mornings once spent in
Aunt James garden.
Il don't reckon Solomon was thinkin'
about flower gyardens when he said there
was a time for all things, Aunt Jane
was wont 10 say. but anyhow it's so.
You know the Bible says that the Lord
God walked in the gyarden Of Eden in
the cool Of the day. and that's the
best time for seem flowers,-the cool Of
the mornin' and the cool Of the evenin'
There's jest as much difference between
q flower with the dew on IL at sun-up
and a flower in the middle o the day as
there IS Do Weeu a WOEldU WneD Sne
fresh from a good nights sleep and when
she's cookin' a y o'clock dinner in
a hot kitchen. You think them poppies
are mighty pretty with the sun shinin'
on EN-. but the poppy amt a sun flower;
it's a sunrise flower"
And so I found them when I saw them
In the faint light Of a summer dawn,
delicate and tremulous. like lovely appa-
ritons of the night that an hour Of sun
will dispel With other flowers the miracle
Of blossoming is performed so slowly
that We have no time to watch its every
stage There Is no precise moment when
the rose leaves become a bud, or when
the bud turns to a full-blown flower.
But at dawn by a bed of poppies YOU may
watch the birth Of a flower as it slips
from the calyx, casting It TO the ground
as q soul casts aside its outgrOwn body.
and smoothing the wrinkles from It's
silken petals. il faces the day I'm serene
beauty, though the night Of death be but