"Survival of the fittest" (if hardiest does mean fittest!) kept the others within bounds; but what he begged, borrowed, and stole, survived, all of it, conglomerate around the "double velvet" rose, which formed the centre-piece.

We used to say that when the top layer was pared off, a buried crop came up.
An old friend with lucky fingers visited my Little Garden this autumn.
He wanders all over the world, and has no garden of his own except window-boxes in London, where he seems to grow what he pleases.

He is constantly doing kindnesses, and likes to do them his own way.

He christened a border (out of which I had not then turned the builders' rubbish) Desolation Border, with more candour than compliment.

He said it wanted flowers, and he meant to sow some.