Such is the ideal; sometimes such is the reality.
In some of our rural districts, where the local squire is of the resident benevolent feudal school, the cottages are surrounded by little paradises of flowery beauty. Those who have travelled through the Porlock Estate of the Acland family will know what I mean. In many places, however, little pride or interest is taken in gardening, and the yards fronting the cottages are dull and dismal from January to Christmas. Indeed, there are few districts where pretty cottage gardens are the rule.
Yet it were as easy to create a lovely picture within an area of twenty square yards as in the space of a palace garden, though possibly not so imposing or valuable an one. The size of the canvas is a detail; the other limitations are, however, more important. In a little plot we must often do without those lovely backgrounds of tree and shrub and those lovely foregrounds of grass or other dwarf herbage which are such helps in creating great garden pictures. It is at a sonnet that we small gardeners must aim and not at an epic or great narrative poem. Yet I often feel that brevity is of the very essence of fine poetry, and it is possible that limitation of space may be contributory to the finest expression of gardening. At all events, it affords a greater test of one's skill and taste as a gardening craftsman, for, whereas, in a big place, trees, shrubs and lawn almost create a beautiful garden of themselves, in a little garden we have to practise more selection and more rejection, and to exercise greater judgment and care in arrangement, since here every detail counts and every fault jars.
The cottage gardener has usually to employ the simplest flowers wherewith to express himself, but it is probable that this limitation is helpful rather than a source of increased difficulty. He may say, in the spirit of Lewis Carroll:—
"I never loved a dear gazelle,
Nor anything that cost me much:
High prices profit those that sell,
But why should I be fond of such?"
And these old common plants thrive as well and flower as beautifully in the garden of the shepherd as in the grounds of Windsor Castle. The wind blows from the same quarter, the rain falls equally, and the frost is as severe in the one as in the other.
I like each garden to contain some one feature of special and unique interest—some well-grown plant which is not much cultivated in the neighbourhood, or some brilliant floral pageant peculiar to the particular garden. Thus, one garden which I know is always associated in my mind with a little thicket, about ten feet in height, of the White-stemmed Bramble (Rubus biflorus), which, on a moon-lit evening, is a most impressive sight, and even in winter is very beautiful. In another little garden I always look for its show of beautiful Pansies, of which its owner—a fisherman—is very naturally and rightly proud. Of course, a special feature of this kind need not interfere with the perennial interest which every garden, even the smallest, should possess. For instance, in the garden with the Nepal Bramble (which, by the way, is surprisingly little known when one recalls the fact that it was introduced many a hundred years ago) are Poppies and Roses, White Musk-Mallows and Columbines, Canterbury Bells and Michaelmas Daisies; and my friend of the Pansies has the earliest Crocuses and Snowdrops in his village, and relies on a hedge of Chrysanthemums and Rosemary to brighten his plot when the Pansies are over.