Lassitude, ennui—these do not give us a knowledge of genuine tiredness, therefore we are not in a condition to receive the full benefit of that rest which means a reaction of the physical system until we have done some kind of work that makes reaction necessary in order to establish a normal equilibrium. The rest that comes after getting really tired is so full of delightful sensations that we admit to ourselves that it is richly worth the price we have to pay for it.
There is a subtle charm about garden work from its very beginning. The seed we sow has a mystery wrapped up in it. The processes of germination are as fascinating as a fairytale. The development of the tiny seedling is a source of constant wonder to us. We watch for the first bud with eager impatience, and it has to be on the alert if it succeeds in opening without our being on hand to observe the performance. Spring begins the story, summer carries it forward, and autumn seems to complete it, but there is always the promise of the retelling of the story another year to keep us interested from the end of one season to the coming of another. Garden work is a sort of thousand and one days' entertainment, in which the interest is continually kept up—always something to look forward to—always something new.
The woman who grows weary over the monotony of household duties, but cannot put them entirely aside, will find relaxation in the garden. The change will rest her. And the woman who has no household duties to claim her attention needs something to get interested in. Both will find the necessary stimulus in growing flowers.
But in order to do this it must not be "played at." Set about it because you mean to accomplish something. A week after you have begun in earnest you will find yourself looking forward impatiently to the hour that takes you out of doors. You will forget about the gloves that you probably provided yourself with at the outset. You won't be bothered with veils. Tan will have no terrors for you. You will look upon dirt as something pleasing because you begin to see the possibilities in it. You will go back to the house with an appetite that makes plain bread and butter delicious.
Have a garden.
And do all the work in it yourself.
That's the secret of the benefit you are to get out of it.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
—Plain print and punctuation errors fixed.