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Image from page 235 of “The garden of experience” (1922)
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Identifier: gardenofexperien00cranuoft
Title: The garden of experience
Year: 1922 (1920s)
Authors: Cran, Marion, 1879-1942
Subjects: Gardens and gardening
Publisher: London, H. Jenkins
Contributing Library: Earth Sciences – University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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Text Appearing Before Image:
y effect, like a fat woman in atight skirt with tiny feet. To anyone who has asentiment for passing under rose arches the idea willbe anathema, because the only way of traversingto and fro beneath my variety would be on all fours.But personally I have outgrown the leaning to thatform of romance, for I found, by living on intimateterms with rose arches, that they scratch ones facea great deal; and, indeed, I have heard somefateful language from friends on dark nights asthey turned from the glowing open door of farewellsinto the dark rose-bowered path towards thegarden gate, and met long thorny sprays in the face.The wind always takes good care that all the tyingin the world will not save you from loose sprays. In my Garden of Ignorance I used to make avery great mistake at first among the ramblingroses. I was mean about pruning. I got close-fisted and hated to part with the old wood. I couldnot trust the amazing vigour of the roots to flingup fresh leaders year after year, and I played

Text Appearing After Image:
To-night is the night of the dead. Chap. XVII. ROSES 233 around in a lady-like manner with a pruning knife,behaving as though I had met a group of tea rosesin need of attention. And so, of course, the bloomgrew spare and sulky, and the abundance of succu-lent green crowned with great heads of lusty bloomwhich I saw in other peoples gardens never camemy way at all. I complained bitterly, and waswarned by wise-acres about my mistakes, butsomehow autumn after autumn I dallied andminced among the old wood, unable to trust. One day a friend put a powerful pair of secateursin my hand for a birthday gift, remarking that allthat rubbish in the roses wanted something strongerthan my little knife. The size and strength of theinstrument went to my head, I believe, for I passedto the nearest Dorothy Perkins and shore everystrand to the ground, shutting my eyes as I did k,and gave up the rose for lost. The harsh treatmentgave the rambler the exact fillip it needed ; nextspring it was a maze of str

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