The mild climate of south-western Scotland is most advantageous for
gardening. Hydrangeas and Myrtles flourish, Fuchsias grow into bushes
eight to ten feet high. Mr. Oswald’s garden lies upon the river Ayr, a
few miles distant from the town of Ayr. The house stands boldly on a
crag just above the river, which makes its music below, tumbling over
rocky shelves and rippling over shingle-bedded shallows. For nearly a
mile the garden follows the river bank, in free fashion as befits the
place. Trees are in plenty and of fine growth, both on the garden side
and the opposite river shore. Here and there an opening in the trees on
the further shore shows the distant country. The garden occupies a large
space; the grouping of the shrubs and trees taking a wilder character in
the portions furthest away from the house, so that, mingling at last
with native growth, garden gradually dies away into wild. Large
undulating lawns give a sense of space and freedom and easy access.
That close, fine turf of the gardens of Britain is a thing so familiar
to the eye that we scarcely think what a wonderful thing it really is.
When we consider our flower and kitchen gardens, and remember how much
labour of renewal they need--renewal not only of the plants themselves,
but of the soil, in the way of manurial and other dressings; and when we
consider all the digging and delving, raking and hoeing that must be
done as ground preparation, constantly repeated; and then when we think
again of an ancient lawn of turf, perhaps three hundred years old, that,
except for moving and rolling, has, for all those long years, taken care
of itself; it seems, indeed, that the little closely interwoven plants
of grass are things of wonderful endurance and longevity. The mowing
[Illustration: AUCHINCRUIVE