A world without flowers! What would it be? Among those who know, such a question needs no answer—and we are not seeking a reply from the uninitiated who, for lack of understanding and sympathy, can but gaze at us with wondering pity, when our gardens cause us to overlook so much that to them means life. But is there any life more real than the life in the garden for those who actually take part in its creation and nurture it carefully week by week and year by year? If, owing to this absorbing occupation, we fail to give a full share of ourselves to some of the social avocations of the busy world are we to be pitied for getting "back to the soil" to which we belong? Man was put by the Creator "in the Garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it," and even after his forced departure therefrom he was bidden to "till the ground," and the reward seems great to us who know the meaning of the signs and wonders continually being revealed in the garden world.

In seeking the simpler life which many are now craving, if luxuries are blessings that we could do without, must we count the flower garden a luxury? Not while its beauty is a joy in which others may share, nor when it helps to keep at home our interests which make the real home. There is a luxury that often induces the roaming spirit, and doubtless were there fewer motors there would be still more gardens and incidentally more home life. Yet notwithstanding this temptation to roam, gardens are now on the increase in almost every section of the United States. We have made a brave beginning of which to be justly proud.

If only we could live in the world more as we live in the garden, what joy and contentment would be brought into the daily life! In the garden hurry and noise are needless, for perfect system can prevail where each plant, each labor has its own especial time, and where haste is a stranger, quiet reigns. It is in the stillness of the green world that we hear the sounds that make for peace and growth. In the garden, too, we labor faithfully, as best we know how, in following rules that promise good results. Then at a certain time we must stand aside, consciously trusting to the source of life to do the rest. With hopeful eyes we watch and wait, while the mysterious unseen spirit brings life into plant and tree. When something goes wrong, how sublime is our cheerful garden philosophy, as smiling we say: "Just wait until we try next year!" And patiently we try again, and ever patiently, sometimes again and yet again. Our unwritten motto is: "If others can, then why not we?" Even the man who "contends that God is not" shows all this wondrous reliance in the unseen force within his garden.

With hands plunged into the cool earth we seem to bury in the magic soil all thoughts that jar till we almost feel ourselves a part of the garden plan; as much in harmony with it as the note of the bird, the soft splash of the fountain, the tints of the flowers and their perfumes. This idea is better expressed in four lines found inscribed on an old garden seat:

"The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth."

It is not a selfish life—the object in view is not a narrow one. How few would be content to create a beautiful garden if none could see! And our pleasure is not complete until others have shared its sweetness with us. The gardener is developing nature in the simplest and truest way, following the thought of the first great Architect and gladdening the hearts of men with the vision beautiful of the possibilities within plant life. In the flower garden the efforts are for upbuilding, for giving back some of the beauty intended in the Perfect Plan, too often defaced by man's heedlessness.

Dating back their beginning some two hundred years in certain Southern States, numerous gardens, beautiful with age, tell the story of the ardent garden lovers of earlier days, who had to send abroad for their green treasures which they planted and carefully tended, hopefully planning for the future. Many such gardens with their choice shrubs and trees still stand as green memorials to those long-ago people who had time and money for this luxury. Since then the hardships following war have brought sad neglect to the beautiful places—the number we can never guess—many of which, however, are now being aroused to fresh life by new owners who appreciate the charm and dignity of an ancient home.

Hidden away in some of the old plantations of the South, and scattered over the Eastern States, near Philadelphia, along the Hudson River, and in parts of Massachusetts, the best of the older gardens are found. Beautiful, too, while often beyond reach of the camera, are many of the more modern creations so skilfully and lovingly fashioned by men and women of later generations. It is impossible to do justice in photography to some of them when certain conditions prevent the camera from being placed at a range favorable to getting a view of the larger portions in one photograph. Sometimes they are composed of three or four connecting sections, each bringing a surprised delight to the visitor passing from one to the other, but such an arrangement cannot be satisfactorily portrayed in a picture.

One strange reason why some American gardens are not photographed for the public is that occasionally people are found who will not share their blessings with others less fortunate; who jealously keep in seclusion all the wealth of nature's sweetness contained in their garden plot.

After all, is not the delight which belongs to a garden but a bit of borrowed glory from the Creator of sunlight, and of the kingdom of flowers? If a garden is worthy of showing to our intimates, can we close it to the stranger who may need even more to breathe inspiration from its peace and loveliness? The foreign custom of opening the fine places to the public on stated days is one that we should freely emulate. And to those who may not come to the gardens, what a boon is photography, especially in color, placing in our very hands the beauty that we crave!

The views contained within this book show gardens that were planned, with but few exceptions, by their owners, earnestly laboring to express their sense of the beautiful in these their outdoor homes. And so great is the individuality evinced in most of them that there are hardly two gardens that resemble one another; for the differences in gardens are as many as the endless number of varying characters written in the faces of men. Both are stamped with the spirit behind them. In visiting gardens it is not difficult to distinguish between the ones fashioned by "love's labor" and those made by the practical gardener.

More and more we are getting away from the cold, stiff planting of Canna, Coleus, and Salvia. Few of us can tolerate the impression of newness and rigidity in the garden, and as Father Time cannot help us fast enough we try to emulate him by stamping his mark of mellowness in innumerable ways upon the youthful garden. Then Mother Earth is consulted as to her unrivalled way for the grouping of her flower family, and she shows us the close company they keep—hand in hand over the whole meadow—nothing stands quivering alone, grasses and plants blending to fill all spaces. Then above, in the rainbow, we learn the harmony for our color scheme, and unto no nation on earth need we apply for the latest theories dealing with these subjects for the beautifying of our gardens. The more of the nature scheme we bring into them the greater satisfaction will they give.

We should build the garden with a setting of fine trees grouped upon the outskirts, otherwise it will seem as incomplete as a portrait without a frame. Half of the charm attached to the beautiful old gardens of Europe lies in the richness of their backgrounds of stately hedges and trees.

If comparisons were to be made between such views as those shown in this book and the pictures of English gardens, for instance, the differences would not in every case be favorable to England, although it must be admitted that age has given a dignity and grandeur to many English gardens that could hardly be surpassed. Time, doubtless, will add this dignity to our gardens, but can we not feel that we have already equalled some of the smaller English gardens when we consider the poetical beauty found in most of these illustrations?

Unfortunately, except in a few localities, our climate does not encourage the perfect development of the choicest of the evergreen hedge-plants, and yet with time we can produce some moderately fine effects in hedges. We may not hope soon to rival the best of the foreign gardens that have been maturing through generations of continuous care. Favored not only by climate but by riches unknown to the early landowners of our States, the best of the old gardens across the sea stand for the combined dreams of the many minds which gradually evolved them, the loving handiwork of innumerable patient toilers who have successively ministered to them.

Just as there are gardens peculiar to other nations, Dutch, French, Italian, etc., might we not give serious consideration to evolving some day a type peculiarly American, inasmuch as it would embody the poetic and artistic sense of our country? Such a result might be attained even should we claim the privilege of our individual liberty, to plant, each one for the expression of his own soul, thus keeping our gardens distinctly variable and original in type, and so ultimately national.