[graphic]HADOWY as himself is the "Gray Man's" garden; some even think it has vanished from the earth; true it has appeared and disappeared many times during the century, but has not this been said of him? Gardens often share their ...
[graphic]HADOWY as himself is the "Gray Man's" garden; some even think it has vanished from the earth; true it has appeared and disappeared many times during the century, but has not this been said of him? Gardens often share their owner's characteristics.
Surprising indeed was his first appearance in Salem and his frequent goings and comings are still a wonderment to those who have gathered the scattered leaves of history, telling what he accomplished in New York, Philadelphia and all this surrounding country. More has been written of the "Gray Man's" exploits as soldier, statesman and citizen than of his labors as a husbandman. Perhaps those who have personal acquaintance now can give a better insight of the things he loved,—one of which certainly was his garden. Broad and varied its domain; a high colonial fence enclosed the shrubs and flower-beds, but winding paths led over the brook to the orchard on the hillside and the grove upon its summit; others meandered to the grounds behind the home, where pears, plums, cherries, raspberries, currants, gooseberries and strawberries vied with the vegetables.
Is it asked—"Where is that garden now?" We answer—"Here where the 'Gray Man' planted it." The fence is no longer seen and the paths are obliterated, yet the cherished surroundings are the same. The majestic elms throw shadows on a richer lawn, the brook ripples even more musically through the meadow under the bushes, and "Woody Hill's" accumulated tales of love and romance are truly fascinating; so enchanting is this spot that only yesterday a timid deer returned to view its old-time play-ground.
Say not then in tones so dreary
That "the garden is no more"
There are those who here see clearly
Better things than those of yore.
Phantom-like is many a garden, a promise—an expectation—something in the mind's eye which rarely materializes, and when it does, so short-lived is the beauty as to seem more like a dream than a reality. Such have been the visions of this garden. Many have seen it grow up, flourish and fade away. Season after season the fantasy has given pleasure, then flitted with the Autumn leaves only to return with the Spring robins.