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diff --git a/old/69862-0.txt b/old/69862-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c3e1500..0000000 --- a/old/69862-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3616 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Days and Hours in a Garden, by Eleanor -Vere Boyle - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Days and Hours in a Garden - -Author: Eleanor Vere Boyle - -Release Date: January 23, 2023 [eBook #69862] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Alan and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAYS AND HOURS IN A -GARDEN *** - - - - - - DAYS AND HOURS IN A GARDEN. - - - - - [Illustration: _At the South Window._] - - - - - DAYS AND HOURS IN - A GARDEN. - - BY - - “E. V. B.” - - - “God Almighty first planted a garden; - And indeed it is the purest of human pleasures.” - - BACON. - - - _NINTH EDITION._ - - - LONDON: - ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. - 1896. - - - - - [Illustration: NOS ET MEDITEMUR IN HORTO] - - - - - TO - - RICHARD CAVENDISH BOYLE. - - WHOSE LOVE FOR NATURE AND FOR ART, - YEARS HAD NOT CHILLED - NOR TROUBLE CHANGED, - THESE RECORDS OF OUR GARDEN - WERE INSCRIBED BY - E. V. B., - IN 1884. - - - - -[Illustration] - -PREFACE. - - -If for a sixth reprint of DAYS AND HOURS IN A GARDEN a new Preface was -deemed advisable, still more so, perhaps, should there be something -new prefixed to the Seventh Edition, although, indeed, it contains -nothing that in any sense is new. Neither new words nor any new -vignettes appear therein. Nevertheless we venture to hope that perhaps -new readers may be found. Since the last edition was published some -three years have come and gone, with their world-old roll of seasons -and their burden of inevitable change. The garden has three times -slept beneath the rains and the snows of winter, and has awakened in -spring with the birds and the bees. Meanwhile, the shrubs are taller -and larger, and the trees have extended their roots and stretched out -their branches over lawns and gravel paths. And the summer shade, so -coveted in other days, has broadened, while, on the other hand, it has -become more hard to maintain in their wonted brilliancy our borders -and flowerful closes. The axe and the pruning-knife have been busy -during the winter months; and many a fine Laurel, in all its wealth of -glossy green, has been laid low, and with Yew and the full-foliaged -Phylleria, and more than one tall Deodara,--become a burnt sacrifice to -“Apollo’s sunny ray.” For the south sunshine must be let in, no matter -what the cost. In certain ways the garden may be said to _suffer_ -change; and chiefly when the grace and softly rounded loveliness of -various evergreens which do not bear the shears--Cryptomeria Elegans, -Red Cedar, and the like--after a course of years begins to wane. Even -to the upward-pointing Cypress middle life in an English garden is not -becoming. And as the larger trees increase in size, so the overshadowed -lawns diminish. And thus the slower progress of some of our trees has -given place to a rapid growth, which bids fair to overstep all bounds -of such limited space as ours. The Douglas Fir and the branching Cedar -of Lebanon keep growing into one another, while Excelsa touches them -both, and wants to reach across to the clump of Yew and Laburnum. Their -near neighbour the Sequoia already rises to the height of fifty feet, -and measures over nine feet round at some two feet from the ground. -Nordmaniana alone (most beautiful of all), through having five times -lost his leader, is forced to greater moderation. Still, although no -future of green maturity can ever compensate the earlier, expectant -delight of watching our young trees’ youth, all is not lost; for the -pleasures carried away by Time, Time itself replaces by others to the -full as sweet. It may be that favourite plants become established and -yield a larger harvest of beauty, or that deep-laid plans ripen into -bright perfection, while a thousand garden joys arise fresh each year, -nay, well-nigh every day. As to the living frequenters of the garden, -whose presence there for the most part enhances our enjoyment of it, -the tomtits and nuthatches, are as busy with the cocoanuts which hang -for their use all winter from the Rose-arches as the mice and the -sparrows are with the crocuses; the white pigeons still circle in the -air and settle upon the gables, or preen their feathers in the sunshine -amongst the yellow stonecrop at the base of the old grey pillar in the -parterr; the swallows return year by year to their nests within the -porch; but the faithful satin-coated Collie lies still for ever under -the turf by the ivied wall, and the earth lies heavy on his noble head. -For these thirteen summers past he had taken his pleasure in the -garden--had chased marauding cats, or bounded after apples with any -playfellow of the hour, while his glad bark rang again; or as in later -days, had gravely followed the steps of his mistress about the walks, -or rolled upon the grass, or watched with lazy but unfailing interest -his friend the Gardener at work. Four words graven on a little white -marble tablet that shines amidst the dark ivy-leaves on the wall record -his name and character:-- - -[Illustration: CASSIO. TENDER AND TRUE. _May, 1876._ _Nov., 1889._] - -Already the Snowdrops are giving way before impatient Hepaticas and -Primroses, the bare Elms are thickening with purple, and we begin to -count the Gentian buds. Everywhere Nature repairs herself in ceaseless -round. Only in our human lives some vacant spots there may be, where -the grass will not grow green again. - - E. V. B. - - HUNTERCOMBE MANOR, - _February_, 1890 - - -_OCTOBER._ - - - Fas est hic, Indulgere Genio. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -I. - -OCTOBER 17, 1882. - -Of Nuns and White Owls; Yews, Thrushes, and Nutcrackers. - - -THE GARDEN’S STORY. It is only eleven years old, though the place -itself is an old place--an old place without a history, for scarce a -record remains of it anywhere that we have ever found. Its name occurs -on a headstone in the parish churchyard, and on one or two monuments -within the chancel of the parish church. There is brief mention of it -in Evelyn’s _Diary_. It is there described as “a very pretty seate in -the forest, on a flat, with gardens exquisitely kept, tho’ large, and -the house, a staunch good old building.” It seems George Evelyn (the -author’s cousin) was amongst the many who have lived here once. At that -time eighty acres of wood surrounded the house, where now there lies -a treeless stretch of flat cornfields. Quite near, across the road, -are the ruins of an ancient nunnery. Our meadow under the high convent -wall is called the Walk Meadow, because here the nuns used to walk. -The great Walnut tree, which they might possibly have known, only died -after we came. It was cut down for firewood, and its hollows were full -of big chestnut-coloured “rat bats,” very fierce and strong. At that -time also white owls lived in the ruins, and used to come floating over -the lawn at twilight--until the days of gun licenses, since when, they -have disappeared. Dim legends surround the place, but nothing clear or -certain is known or even said, and there is not a ghost anywhere. All -we know is, that since taking possession, wherever a hole is dug in -the garden to plant a tree, the spade is sure to strike against some -old brick foundation of such firm construction that they have to use -the pick to break it up. Bones of large dogs also are found all about -the place whenever the ground is broken--remains of the watch dogs, or -hunting dogs, of the olden time--also quaintly shaped tobacco-pipes. -I know of nothing to support the tradition that monks abode here once. -There were signs of an upstairs room having at some remote time been -used as a chapel; a piscina in the wall and a narrow lancet window -having been found and destroyed, when the house was in the builder’s -hands eleven years ago. Broken arches, also, and mouldings in chalk -and stone, were dug up out of the foundations of some outhouses at the -same time. “They say” there is an underground passage between the Abbey -and the house, but we do not believe it, and we do not believe in the -murder of a monk for his money, said to have been committed by a nun in -the upper room now a guest-chamber. Such vague traditions are sure to -hang around old walls, like mists about a damp meadow. Very distinct, -however, and carved in no vague characters, are certain initials and -dates still visible on the stems of the trees in the Lime avenue. For -in old times-- - - “Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, - Cut in these trees their mistress’ name.” - -When the trees are bare and the western sky is bright, you can see them -quite plainly--large capital letters, often a pair, enclosed in a large -heart with the date. The dates run from 1668 on to late in 1700. Those -old village lovers must have had sharp pen-knives, which cut deep! They -and their names have long passed away and been forgotten; but, for so -much as is traced in the living bark, these Limes have proved as good -as any marble monument; much better than the long wooden “rails” which -are still in fashion hereabouts. Since the place was ours this short -avenue of twenty-four trees has been taken in from the public road; and -now the Limes give us cool shade and fragrance and many midges in the -hot summer days. I fear there is nothing more to be discovered about -the past history of the House than we now already know. We must be -content, and follow as we best may George Herbert’s concise admonition-- - - “When you chance for to find - An old house to your mind, - Be good to the poor, - As God gives you store.” - -We have had the great pleasure of making the garden. The feature of the -place was, and is, two symmetrically planted groups of magnificent Elms -in the park field, in which every season we hope the rooks will build. -There was everything to be done in the garden, to which these Elms form -a background. We found hardly any flowers; a large square lawn laid out -in beds, with unsatisfactory turf and shrubberies beyond, a long, broad -terrace walk, old brick walls, with stone balls on the corners, two -or three old wrought iron gates in the wrong places, dabs of kitchen -garden and potato plots, stable-yard and carriage entrance occupying -the whole south front, with a few pleasant trees, a young Wellingtonia, -a Stone Pine, a Venetian Sumach (_Rhus cotinus_), and a very large red -Chestnut (from a seed brought from Spain in the waistcoat pocket of one -of our predecessors here, fifty years ago, and said to be the first of -the kind raised in England). Such was our new playground in 1871. Here -we brought a skilful Gardener, possessed of common sense and uncommon -good taste--can one say much more in a few words?--and aided by our -own most unscientific but exceeding love for flowers and gardening, we -set to work at once. These “gardens on a flat” are transformed. - -[Illustration: _Kitchen Garden, East Lawn, etc._] - -There now are close-trimmed Yew hedges, some of those first planted -being 8 feet 6 inches high, and nearly 3 feet through, while others -are kept low and square. There are Yews cut in pyramids and buttresses -against the walls, and Yews in every stage of natural growth. I love -the English Yew, with its “thousand years of gloom!” (an age that ours, -however, have not yet attained). The Wellingtonia, planted in 1866, -has shot up to over forty feet high, and far outgrown its youthful -Jack-in-the-Green look. The Stone Pine, alas! has split in two, and -been propped up; and although half killed since by frost, it yet bears -a yearly harvest of fine cones, chiefly collected for use as fire -revivers--though the seeds ripen for sowing, or eating. The borders -are filled with the dearest old-fashioned plants; the main entrance is -removed to the north side; the stable-yard is removed also, and instead -thereof are turf and straight walks, and a sun-dial, and a parterre -for bedding-out things--the sole plot allowed here for scarlet -Pelargoniums and the like. In this parterre occurs the only foliage -plant we tolerate--a deep crimson velvet-leaved Coleus. The centre bed -is a raised square of yellow Stonecrop and little white Harebells; with -an old stone pedestal, found in a stonemason’s yard, bearing a leaden -inscription--“to Deborah”--surmounted by a ball, on which the white -pigeons picturesquely perch. There are green walks between Yew hedges -and flower borders, Beech hedges, and a long green tunnel--the _Allée -Verte_--so named in remembrance of a bower-walk in an old family place, -no longer in existence. There are nooks and corners, and a grand, -well-shaded tennis-lawn, and crown of all, there is the “Fantaisie”! -This is a tiny plantation in the field--I mean the Park--date 1874, -connected with the garden by a turf walk, with a breadth of flowers -and young evergreen trees intermixed, on either hand. Here all my most -favourite flowers grow in wild profusion. The turf walk is lost, after -a break of Golden Yew, in a little wood--a few paces round--just large -enough for the birds to build in, and with room for half-a-dozen -wild Hyacinths and a dozen Primroses under the trees; with moss, Wood -Sorrel, and white and puce-coloured Periwinkles, and many a wild thing, -meant to encourage the delusion of a savage wild! I am afraid I never -can be quite serious about a garden; I always am inclined to find -delight in fancies, and reminiscences of a child’s garden, and the -desire to get everything into it if I could. This “Fantaisie” was a -dream of delight during the past summer--from April, when a nightingale -possessed in song the half-hidden entrance under low embowering Elm -branches and Syringa--through all the fairy days and months, up to -quite lately. Yes, even last week, it was fragrant with Mignonette -and Ragged Jack (I mean that Alpine Pink _Dianthus Plumarius_), gay -with yellow Zinnias and blue Salvia in rich luxuriance, with a host of -smaller, less showy things--with bunches of crimson Roses, and pink La -France, blooming out from a perfect mist of white and pinkish Japan -Anemones, white Sweet Peas, and a few broad Sunflowers towering at the -back--their great stems coruscating all over with stars of gold; and -here and there clusters of purple Clematis, leaning sadly down from a -faggot of brown leaves and dead, wiry stalks,--or turning from their -weak embrace of some red-brown Cryptomeria Elegans. Even last week the -borders throughout the garden looked filled and cheerful--brilliant -with scarlet Lobelia and tall deep red Phloxes, and bushes of -blue-leaved starry Marguerites, and the three varieties of Japan -Anemone, with strange orange Tigridias and Auratum Lilies and Ladies’ -Pincushion (_Scabious_, the “Saudades” of the Portuguese language of -Flowers), and every kind of late as well as summer Roses, the evening -Primrose (_Œnothera_) making sunshine in each shady spot, with here and -there the burning flame of a Tritoma; though these last have not done -well this autumn. - -Out near the carriage drive are Golden Rod and crimsoned patches of -Azalea, and a second blow of late and self-sown Himalayan (so called) -Poppies. In one narrow bit of south border one finds that pretty blue -daisy (_Kaulfussia Amelloides_)--such an odd, pretty little thing. I -remember a bed of it in the garden of my childhood, and I possess a -portrait of it, done for me by my mother; and then, never met with it -again till a year or two ago, when unexpectedly it looked up at me, -somewhere in a remote country churchyard. I am afraid our present stock -comes from that very plant. Until now, the long border of many-coloured -Verbenas was still rather gay, and the three east gables of the house -were all aflame with Virginian Creeper. But two days of rain spoilt us -entirely. The variegated Maple slipped its white garment all at once -in the night, causing a melancholy gap. In the kitchen garden a bright -red Rose or two remains, but along the east border the half-blown buds -are rotted away. In the centre of one drenched pink bloom I saw a poor -drone, drowned as he sat idly there. Small black-headed titmice are -jerking about among the tallest Rose trees, insect hunting; and still -tinier wrens flit here and there, bent on the same quest. Great spotted -missel thrushes are now haunting the pillar Yews, beginning to taste -the luscious banquet just ready for them. While thus perched amongst -the sweet scarlet Yew berries and dark foliage, the thrushes always -bring to one’s mind a design in old tapestry. - -And this reminds me of the good and abundant fruit-feast we have -ourselves enjoyed this season. Strawberries and Raspberries were -not much, but such Gooseberries, Apricots, and Nectarines! Peaches, -plenty enough, but no flavour. Figs, enough to satisfy even _our_ -greediness,--though we have but one tree, on a west wall. Pears, -especially Louise Bonne, first-rate and plenty. Apples, a small crop, -but sufficient. Wood Strawberries have been ripening under the windows -till within the last few days: I planted them there for the sake of -the delicious smell of the leaves when decaying--a smell said to be -perceptible only to the happy few. Nuts (Filberts and Kentish Cobs) -were plentiful, but we were only allowed a very few dishes of them. -A large number of nuthatches settled in the garden as soon as the -nuts were ripe; they nipped them off, and, carrying them to the old -Acacia tree, which stands conveniently near, stuck them in the rough -bark and cracked them at their ease (or rather punched holes in them). -The Acacia’s trunk at one time quite bristled over with the empty -nutshells, while the husks lay at the roots. The fun of watching these -busy thieves at work more than made up for the loss of nuts. We had -a great abundance of large green and yellow wall Plums, also a fair -quantity of purple. Of sweet Cherries, unless gathered rather unripe, -my dear blackbirds and starlings never leave us many. But there were -a good lot of Morellos; they don’t care a bit for them. Whilst on the -subject of fruit, let me say that never a shot is fired in the garden, -unless to destroy weazels. Our “garden’s sacred round” is free to every -bird that flies--the delight of seeing them, and of hearing their -music, compensates to the full any ravages they may indulge in. Thanks -to netting without stint, and our Gardener’s incomparable patience and -longsuffering, I enjoy the garden and my birds in peace; and if they -ever do any harm, we never know it; fruit and green Peas never fail -us!... Here is a sunny morning; and the cows are whisking their tails -under the Elms, as if it were July. But indeed the last lingering -trace of summer has vanished: the garden is in ruins, and already the -redbreast is singing songs of triumph. - -[Illustration] - - -_NOVEMBER._ - - - “The True Pleasure of a Garden.”--BACON. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -II. - -NOVEMBER, 1882. - -Of Blossoms, Buds, and Bowers--Of May and June and July Flowers. - - -_November_ 3.--The ruin is complete! and cleared away, too.... Yet -there is consolation, and something very comfortable, in the neatness -of the dug borders, and the beds made up for the winter. - -The symmetrically banked-up Celery--crested with the richest green, -in the kitchen garden--rather takes my fancy; so also does the fine -bit of colour in some huge heaps of dead leaves, that I see already -stored in the rubbish yard. The dead leaves have to be swept away from -lawn and garden walks--but I believe we do not consider any except -those of Beach and Oak to be of much service. It is my heresy, that -leaves do not fall till the goodness of them has decayed. They are of -use, however, when left to cover the ground above tender roots. In -the Fantaisie the earthy bed can scarce be seen, so close lies this -warm counterpane of leaves! The great Elms, on the greyest days, now -make sunshine of their own. Their lofty breadths of yellow gold tower -above the zone of garden trees. When the sun illumines them, and the -light winds pass, it is a dream to watch the glittering fall of autumn -leaves. The ancient times return, and Jove once more showers gold -around some sleeping Danae! During the first days of the month, the -parterr was done, Tulips put in, and a lot of Crocuses in double row. -In a few beds the dwarf evergreens, which had been removed for the -summer, are planted in again--just to make the parterr’s emptiness -look less cheerless from the dining-room windows. Between these small -evergreen bushes, in their season, will come up spikes of Hyacinths, -of varied hue. I do not care for a whole bed of Hyacinths or Tulips; -they give me little real pleasure unless the colours be mixed. One -chief charm of a garden, I think, depends on surprise. There is a kind -of dulness in Tulips and Hyacinths, sorted, and coming up all one size -and colour. I love to watch the close-folded Tulip bud, rising higher -and higher daily--almost hourly--from its brown bed; and never to be -quite certain of the colour that is to be, till one morning I find -the rose, or golden, or ruby cup in all its finished beauty; perhaps -not at all what was expected. And then, amid these splendours, will -suddenly appear one shorter or taller than the rest, of the purest, -rarest white. How that white Tulip, coming as it were by chance, is -valued! And so, again this year a mixed lot are planted. There was -a time when we had only one Tulip in all the garden. I used to look -for it regularly in a certain shady border under a Laburnum tree; an -old-fashioned, dull, purple and white-striped flower, but it never -failed to show, at the very end of every season. I had a regard for -that Tulip, and last summer it was a disappointment vainly to wait for -its appearance in the accustomed spot. Many there were of its kind, -surpassing it in loveliness; but then they were not the same. - -Hyacinth beds will be a new thing here, but I doubt if they will -make us quite so happy as has hitherto the unexpected advent of some -stray pyramid of small odorous bells, pink, blue, or creamy-white, -in out-of-the-way places about the garden. After their flowering is -over, the pot-bulbs are always turned out somewhere in the borders. -When a plant has lived with us for a time under the same roof, or even -in the green-house, giving out for us its whole self of sweetness or -of beauty, it seems so cruel that it should at last be thrown away as -if worthless and forgotten! Some Narcissus that have had their day -have just been put into a round bed on the further lawn, mixed with -the “Mrs. Sinkins” white Pink; and there is a rim all round of double -lilac Primroses. I have long wished to have plenty of that dear old -neglected Primrose; so now we have a number of healthy roots from an -old garden in Derbyshire. In the centre of this bed is a very tall -dead Cupressus, one of our few failures in transplantation last spring. -A Cobæa, which was to have grown up quick and made a “bonnie green -gown” for the poor bare tree, proved failure number two. It absolutely -refused to grow, or do anything but look stunted and miserable, till -one day, late in October, there it was running up the tree as fast as -possible, clothing every twig with leaves and tendrils, and large, -deep, bell-like blossoms! Its day must be short, however, at the wrong -end of the year, and even now its bells are chilled to a greenish hue. -A fine red climbing Rose on one side, and one of the old Blairii on the -other, will make a kinder and more beautiful summer garment. - -We have made a new Lavender border, and now I hope to have enough for -the bees, and afterwards enough, when dried, to lay within the drawers -and wardrobes, and give us “all the perfume of summer, when summer -is gone;” enough, too, for pot-pourri, though we do not always make -this fresh each year. It takes time, and there is so little time in -these days! and often the Roses are too wet, and the Lavender too -scarce. The recipe we use is an old one: the paper is yellow, and the -ink faded. But our best pot-pourri of these days comes not near the -undying fragrance of some Rose leaves--three generations old--that we -still preserve in one or two old covered jars and bowls of Oriental -porcelain. Along the south wall, an oblong bed is planted with dark -purple Heartsease, and two more with yellow. There are six beds, and -in the spring they will glow resplendently with a setting of Crocuses, -white, yellow, and lilac; meanwhile a good layer of cocoanut fibre -gives a look of comfort for the winter; and moreover, rather annoys the -field-mice. - -Under the Holly hedge, facing south, a narrow border has been made -ready to receive a quantity of white Iris roots. The Holly hedge, -planted for shelter and for pleasure, along a broad walk on one side of -the carriage drive, is not in itself a success as yet. It was put in -four years ago, but the trees were too old, I think; this year it is -flushed all over with scarlet berries. - -I am sorry to have to remove my beloved white Irises, but they have -increased so enormously as to make some change necessary. Nearly twenty -years ago I carried home from the south of France a few small roots in -a green pitcher. For half that time they grew and multiplied on the -sunny terraces of a sweet Somersetshire garden, and now for ten other -years the same roots, transplanted here, have flourished, if possible, -still more abundantly. It may be fancy only, but I think our white -Irises might not have succeeded as they do, had they not been loved so -well. Everybody has a favourite flower, I suppose--the white Iris is -mine--the Fleur-de-lys of France--the lily of Florence. Nothing can -be more refined and lovely than the thin, translucent petals. To see -these flowers at their best, one must get up and go into the garden at -five o’clock on some fine morning at the end of May. I did it once, and -as I walked beside their shining rows in the clear daylight, I felt -there were no such pearly shadows, nor any such strange purity in the -whiteness of other flowers. We have given away a great many, but I -fear I am not altogether sorry that they do not seem always to succeed -elsewhere as they do with us. I am trying to collect every different -Iris I know of. We have now several which are very beautiful, and we -should have more were it not that numbers die off after, perhaps, one -short summer’s loveliness. They dwindle and become sickly, and then -altogether disappear. Almost our whole stock of one well-established -kind--an old inhabitant of the garden--was destroyed by mice two -seasons ago. The flower is bronze-brown, with a golden blaze in the -middle. La Marquise (Iris Lurida?), an old-fashioned dove-coloured -sort, with purple frays on the falls, will grow anywhere. So will the -large, broad-leaved, pale lilac kind, and the yellow Algerian. A little -black wild Iris, that fringes the vineyard trenches about Florence, we -have either lost or it will not flower. They call it here “La Vedova.” -I brought home some roots once from Bellosguardo, and we put them in -where all the warmest rays of the south sun would find them. But only -the long, narrow, wild onion-like leaves appear--or, I fancy, they are -the Vedova’s leaves. Still I do not lose hope, but watch for it always -when March comes round; and some day, somewhere, I think, my little -“widow” is sure to surprise me. The wild yellow Italian Tulip, that -came with the Iris, succeeds here well. The patch of pale gold never -fails, by the first week in April, to enliven the sunny side of a Yew -hedge. A few untidy yellow blooms, supported on slender limp stalks, -live there, just the same as in their own dear Italy. I stoop down to -gather one, and for a moment the English garden is not there.... Before -me lies a grassy vineyard path--there are the great open farm-sheds, -full of sunlight and sunlit shade--and the pair of grey long-horned -oxen, calmly waiting for the yoke. Near them, with her knitting, stands -a patient sad-eyed woman, while happy children run down the path at -play, or tie up bunches of yellow Tulips under the fig-trees.... Then -there is a tall, white flag Iris, whose place is not yet fairly fixed. -It is a handsome thing, and quite unlike the Fleur-de-lys. I think of -mixing it in with the yellow Flags and Osmunda Regalis beside the -little watercourse. Last July, to watch the slow blooming of some -Japanese Iris in the kitchen garden gave me intense delight. They grew -tall and straight, with curiously ribbed leaves. The single flower at -the top of each stem opened out very flat, with rounded petals, rich -purple in colour, and measuring nearly seven inches across. One saw at -once it was the purple flower the Prince, in the German fairy tale, -found on the mountains, and carried off to disenchant his love with, -in the old witch’s cottage by the wood--only a large pearl lay in the -centre of that flower. (There is no such thing as anachronism in fairy -tales!) - -We have gathered in our harvest of winter decorations for the hall -and corridors. There is Pampas-grass with its silken plumes, and soft -tassels of all kinds of downy German grasses, and Everlastings of -all lovely shades of orange and red. They have hung in bunches head -downwards in the vinery to dry for weeks past, and they will last for -the next twelve months as fresh as they are now. I have been told -of a great bouquet of Everlasting Flowers, in a Dutch gentleman’s -drawing-room at the Cape, which was affirmed to be two hundred years -old. We have sheaves of Honesty, also--“Money in your Pocket,” as the -poor say--which are to gleam like flakes of mother-o’-pearl in the -firelight of December’s dusky afternoons. We left plenty in the garden, -however, where they will stand a good deal more of rough weather -before they fall to pieces. Honesty is always handsome, in all stages -of its growth; and like the people who take things easily, it thrives -everywhere. With us it is quite at home in a damp north border, close -under a line of Elms. All through June and July, the violet glow of a -mass of it in full bloom made a brilliant effect; and now, in these -November days, the ripe seed-vessels are transformed--their outer husk -has shelled off, leaving only the silvery centre. The other day, in my -early walk, just where the Allée Verte ends (no longer green, it is now -a golden corridor, with, underfoot, crisp russet leaves), I seemed to -come upon--not Wordsworth’s host of dancing Daffodils, but a company -of spirits! The slanting sunbeams fell upon a clump of Honesty, and -touched with fire every one of the myriad little silver moons. Though -no wind stirred, they seemed to quiver with ghostly life in a shimmer -of opal lights. - - * * * * * - -_Nov_. 18.--Winter is striding on, and every bit of colour in the -garden becomes more precious than ever. Only a few days ago I made a -nosegay of crimson summer Roses, a fine Auratum Lily, a Gladiolus, a -Welsh Poppy, and a large red-rimmed annual Poppy, with a wonderful -spray of Flexuosa Honeysuckle, that filled the room with its fragrance. -A little while since, in one sheltered corner, Salvia Patens still -held its own in unsullied blue. Marigolds were plenty; St. John’s Wort -must have made a mistake in its dates, for it was all over polished -yellow buds ready to unclose; Mignonette and a few Sweet Peas lingered -still. Here and there one came upon a white Snap-dragon or a flash of -rose-red Phlox (“Farewell Summers” they call them in the West). It -was impossible not to admire the vigour and beauty of Primroses and -Polyanthus of every colour. One only hopes this abundant autumnal bloom -may not interfere with their blossoming in the spring; it is certainly -finer than I ever remember in former seasons. A rockwork of big flints -was quite gay with Virginian Stock and Primroses. To-day the frost is -most severe. The Marigolds look unlike themselves, with a white cap -border of frost, quilled round their orange faces; the half-opened -buds in a Tea Rose bed are like fancy Moss Roses; only the moss is -white, and every leaf is fringed with little sharp-pointed crystals. -The China Rose tree by the green door in the wall is covered with pink -roses, which I forgot to gather yesterday for my flower-glasses. This -morning the frost has curiously changed them. The delicate petals -are stiffened all through, as if they were turned into wax models, -though their lovely pink is not dimmed, and they smell as sweet as if -nothing had happened. By this time our Irish Yews have resumed their -wonted sadness. The berries are all carried off, and the blackbirds -have fattened so well on them, and on the bunches of grapes (left for -their benefit on the house Vines), that they rise from the lawn quite -heavily. I never saw such fat blackbirds! The seed of the Yew berries, -which is believed to be the only poisonous part, is, I think, in most -cases, left unswallowed; and in one little tree I found the remnants -of an old nest filled with a compact mass of Yew seeds. The large blue -titmouse carries off his berry to the Sumach tree, and there pecks off -the pulp, holding it down with his foot. The larger thrushes are gone, -I know not where; only one small bird, with richly spotted breast, is -still seen about the grass, under the Stone Pine. - -The Chrysanthemums in the greenhouse must have the last word. Nothing -could be more beautiful than they are now, and have been for several -weeks past. Some of the Japanese kinds are indescribably lovely; -arrayed in tints that make one think of a sea-shell, or the clouds -about an April sunrise. There is something, perhaps, in their delicious -confusion of petals, that helps this wonderful effect of colour. The -other sorts, which are stiffer in arrangement, and more decided in -colour, are to me somewhat less delightful. A tiny wren was among the -Chrysanthemums this morning, noiselessly flitting in and out, like a -little shade; evidently in a state of the highest enjoyment. No doubt I -and the bird both took our pleasure with them--in different ways! - -[Illustration] - - -_DECEMBER._ - - -“Once a Dream did Weave a Shade.”... - - “He who goeth into his garden to look for spiders and cobwebs will - doubtless find them; but he who goes out to seek a flower may return - to his house with one blooming in his bosom.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -III. - -DECEMBER. - -Of Spiders’ Webs, Christmas Roses, King Arthur, and the Tree I Love. - - -_December_ 6.--Among the strange and beautiful sights of the garden -during the hard hoar-frost that ushered in the first days of the month, -not the least beautiful were the spiders’ webs. Passing along the Larch -Walk, the oak palings that divide us on that side from the new road -(the old road, made by Richard, King of the Romans, in the thirteenth -century, is now within the grounds) were hung all over with white -rags--or so it seemed at first sight. And then, just for one second, -that curious momentary likeness of like to unlike chanced. I remembered -the street of palaces at Genoa, the day when I saw it last; the -grand old walls covered with fluttering rags of advertisements--yes, -advertisements in English: “Singer’s Sewing Machine.” The white rags -on our palings were spiders’ webs both new and old, a marvellous -number, thus crystallized, as it were, into existence by the frost, -where scarcely one had been before. In open weather the webs are as -good as invisible to human eyes; but now that frost had thickened -the minutest threads to the size of Berlin wool--though in beauty of -texture they resembled fine white velvet chenille--there was a sudden -revelation of these wonderful works of art! One feels, if the nets -show only half as large and thick to a fly’s eye, the spider’s trade -must be a poor one. Here is a calculation that will probably interest -nobody: 567 feet of pales over 5 feet high, and an average of 18 webs -to every 9 feet. It may prove, however, something of the unsuspected -multitude of spiders in a given area, though it is nothing to the acres -of ploughed land that the level sun-ray of an autumn afternoon will -show completely netted over with gossamer. Making the most of a few -minutes’ inspection--for I should myself have frozen had I watched much -longer these frozen webs--I could see but two varieties of work--the -cobweb which usurped the corners, and the beautiful wheel-within-wheel -net. In them all one might observe once more that ever-recurring stern -immutability of the thing called Instinct. Here, for instance, are two -sets of spiders living close neighbours for years together. Each set -makes its snares on an opposite plan; and although they cannot help -seeing each other’s work continually, neither takes the least hint from -the other. The plain cobweb is never made more intricate; the artist -of the wheel never dreams that she might do her spinning to a simpler -pattern. Happy people! They trouble not their heads about improvements; -yet, on looking closer at the last-named webs, there seemed something -of the faintest indication of a slight individuality; so far at least, -that in a dozen nets there would be five or six worked within a square -of four lines, while the remainder had five, tied rather carelessly in -a knot below. Perhaps the variation marks two distinct species; or -it may be only accidental. Next day every visible trace of the strong -beautiful webwork I had so admired was gone with the frost. The spider -may have “spread her net abroad with cords” as usual, but there was no -magician’s wand to touch it. - - * * * * * - -The orchard ought to be very gay in the spring. Daffodils have been -dropped in all over the turf, and a round patch dug round each Apple -tree is to be filled with yellow Wallflowers. This is an experiment, -and I do not feel sure that I shall like the flowers so well as the -trees simply growing out of the grass. A change, however, is always -pleasant; though, perhaps, one might hardly care to lay out the garden -differently every year, as the Chinese are said to do. I had a dream, -of the orchard grass enamelled with many-coloured Crocuses--in loving -reminiscence of certain flowery Olive grounds I know; but after all, -the imitation would have been as poor as a winter sky compared to the -glowing blue of June. I am not without hope some day--that golden “some -day” which so seldom comes--to naturalize in our orchards the real -_enamelling_ of the Olive groves--that often-used phrase is too hard -in sound and in its usual meaning to express the loveliness of those -lilac star Anemones--with here and there a salmon-pink, or a fiery -scarlet, blazing like a sun in the living green beneath the trees. I -used to think nothing on this earth could come so near a vision of the -star-strewn fields of Paradise. - -In the north, or entrance court, we have been busy transplanting some -large Apple trees that had overgrown their place, and setting free the -trimmed Yews between which they grew. The blackness of these formal, -cut Yews shows well against the old walls, which are covered with very -aged Greengages and golden Drops. On the turf between each of the -pyramid Yews, broad oblong beds have been made; in April we hope to -plant them with pink China Roses, which are to grow very dwarf, and to -flower the whole year through! The border round the Roses may be blue -Nemophila; or perhaps the lovely Santolina Fragrans, with the soft grey -foliage. - -I think the “going in” to one’s house should be as bright and cheerful -as it is possible to make it. But how hard it is to brighten up a north -aspect! ours has hitherto been far too gloomy. In the garden, the bed -of Roman Roses is warmly matted over for the winter. This brave little -red China Rose is one of my great favourites; it goes on flowering for -ever! Even now, when the matting is raised a little bit, I can see buds -and leaves and the red of opening blooms. I call it the Roman Rose -chiefly because it grows at Florence; which is so very Irish, that I -think there must have been some better reason now forgotten. The Rose -hedges in the beautiful Boboli Gardens are crimsoned over with blossoms -as early as the end of March; with us, however, it needs protection -when planted in the open ground. - -Under the east wall is our only Christmas Rose; it is a very large -plant, and over it was built up, about a month ago, a little green -bower of Spruce Fir branches. The shelter is to save the blooms from -frost, which so often tarnishes their whiteness with red. Almost -daily, as I passed, I have peeped in to watch the cluster of white -buds nestled snugly within. The buds have duly swelled and lifted one -by one their heads, and now this morning our first bunch of perfect -Christmas Roses has been gathered. This flower must, I think, be dear -to every one with a heart for flowers. Its expression is so full of -innocence and freshness--for it is not only human persons who have -expression in their faces! and then the charm of its Myrtle-like -stamens and clear-cut petals--snow-cold to the touch--and its pretty -way of half-hiding among the dark leaves--always ready to be found -when sought--and always with so many more blossoms than had been hoped -for! To some, indeed, the associations bound up with the Christmas -Rose--with even the sound of its name--may be dearer than all its -outward loveliness; recalling, perhaps, the house and garden of their -childhood, and happy Christmases of long ago; “the old familiar faces,” -and tones of the voices that are gone. I must here make the confession -that last year, in my anxiety for the whitest possible of blossoms, I -had glass placed over the plant; and in spite of warnings, put matting -over that; all which ended at Christmas in a fine show of green Roses! -In the pits there are several of the smaller kind coming on in pots, -which will soon be ready to cut. These are easy enough in their ways. -But the Christmas Rose out in the border is a difficult thing to grow; -full of quirks and fancies, and like a woman, hard to please. Once, -however, it settles down in any spot, it will thrive there; and then -will sooner die than take to a new place. - -_Dec_. 13.--Our second white frost has vanished, and the grass appears -again with a moist and pleasant smell. The forest of the Fantaisie -is thinned, and the encircling Laurels trimmed. The whole took just -half a winter’s day to do. At the end of the turf walk, between the -bushes and the golden Yews, peers out a Spindle tree, with its pink -and scarlet fruit. The birds seem not to care for it, for the fruit is -all there--untouched. I wonder if the name of Spindle comes from the -unnatural thinness of the tree! - -After these many years of working to a special end, we seem now to have -almost reached it in one direction, for the garden looks well-nigh -as green and furnished in winter as in summer--so far, at least, as -the outline of verdure goes. The Yew hedges, and Pines, and perennial -greens are at their best now, in mid-winter; they would even seem to -have grown and thickened out since the summer died away. Watching the -growth of these trees and hedges has been the delight and solace of -many a troubled time, and one cannot but feel the most affectionate -interest in them. In the centre of a triangular-shaped bit of lawn, -surrounded by Conifers, we have placed a large stone vase on a square -stone pedestal. The vase is old and grey, and had long stood in another -place, where it made no show. The grey stone looks well against the -warm greens that back it, and will look better when the season comes -to fill it with bright summer flowers. The trees that stand around -all wear a sort of charmed double life--at least to me--silently, -fancifully. - -It was at a time of sickness that the sleepless hours of the long -winter nights came to be passed in spirit with the trees in the garden, -and especially with half-a-dozen or so of our beautiful straight young -Pines. Dare I tell the secret? They all became knights and ladies of -King Arthur’s Court! The great Wellingtonia standing a little apart is -Arthur himself. The Nordmanniana, with its whorls of deepest green and -strong upward shoot of fifteen inches in the year, is Sir Launcelot. -The gold-green softly-feathered Douglas Fir, Sir Bedevere. The young -Cedar of Lebanon, with fretted boughs of graceful downward sweep, -Sir Agravaine. Sir Bors is a rounded solemn English Yew, of slow and -steadfast growth. Sir Palomides--a fine pillar-shaped Thuia--towers -between Sir Gawaine and Sir Gaheris, who are both clad in the wondrous -green with almost metallic lustre of Cupressus Lawsoniana erecta -viridis. These all stand round the triangular lawn, and amongst them -comes, by some strange chance, St. Eulalie, a lovely Pine (_Abies -Amabilis_), whose robe of grey-blue tufted foliage wraps her feet, and -trails upon the grass. - -Beyond, on the long lawn next “the par,” stands Sir Tristram, the fine -young Pinsapo; he all but perished in the frost of 1879-80, but now he -seems to have drawn new strength and vigorous green from that nearly -fatal conflict with his terrible enemy. On the house lawn, the Deodara, -is the fairy Morgan-le-faye. Near her stood Sir La Cote-mal-taille, -an ill-formed Lawsoniana; but he is now transplanted elsewhere. King -Mark is a rather wretched ill-grown Cedrus, in summer almost hidden by -Laburnums. Dame Bragwaine is a curious Cryptomeria Elegans; she has -so many names (seven, at least, that I know of), and she takes such -odd diverse disguises! once, loaded with heavy snow, she had to be -supported by a stake, and took the semblance of a bear leaning on a -ragged staff. In summer she is green, and in winter she wears a dress -of purple brown; in rain or heavy dew she is spangled all over with -diamonds and pearls. Queen Guinevere was never represented; no tree -was found to fit her character. But near King Arthur and Sir Tristram, -the two great Pampas tufts, still waving wintry plumes, are “La Beale -Isoude” and “Isoude les Blaunch Mains.” - -From our foolish garden-dreaming let us rest, and turn with a long look -of revering love to the great Oak, that stands in his strength out -in the park field, beyond the garden. On three sides round are lines -of guardian Elms, in all their pride of delicate leafless intricacy; -alone, amid the leafless ones, rises the Oak, wearing still his crown -of brown, sere leaves. Smooth and straight grows up the giant stem, -full twenty feet to the spring of the lowest branch. Two brother -Oaks stand on either side. Their form is more rounded, more perfect; -but high above them the great Oak uprears his head--unconcerned, and -grandly branched, though shattered by every fierce west wind that -blows. Every storm works some loss, but from the way each torn limb -lies, you would say he had thrown it down in proud defiance. The -wood-pigeons shelter among the summer leaves; the autumn ripens a rich -store of acorns; and now, as I survey him from the terrace walk, or -gaze upwards from the wet dead leaves beneath, through all the mystery -of his bare and spreading boughs, I think of Keats’ stanza-- - - “In a drear-nighted December, - Too happy, happy tree, - Thy branches ne’er remember - Their green felicity; - The North cannot undo them, - With a sleety whistle through them, - Nor frozen thawings glue them - From budding at the prime.” - -The Oak is to my mind the tree of trees; and the destruction of its -foliage, by insect ravages, that has year by year saddened so many -parks and woods, has not come near us, I rejoice to say. Our few -(there are but four or five) are safe as yet. I heard the gardener of -one great place that had suffered much acknowledge as the cause the -scarcity of birds. - -[Illustration] - - -_JANUARY, 1883._ - - -“To the Attentive Eye, each Moment of the Year has its own -Beauty.”--EMERSON. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -IV. - -JANUARY. - - Of Field-Mice, and the Thorn of Joseph of Arimathea--Of “Poor - Johnnys”--A Lilac Gem--and Greenhouse Flowers. - - -_January 5, 1883._--A large body of the army of the small ones of -the earth has attacked us, and it is no fault of theirs if we are -not despoiled of the best of our spring delights. The field-mice -have at length found out the Crocuses; we, on our side, have set -traps in their way, and large numbers have fallen--quite flat, poor -little things!--under the heavy bricks. We believe we should have -slain many more, had not some clever creature made a practice of -examining the traps during the night, devouring the cheese, and in -some way withdrawing the bit of stick, so as to let the brick fall -harmless. Suspicion points towards one person especially--the old -white fox-terrier, who lives in the stables, and is master (in his own -opinion) of all that department, and whom neither gates nor bars can -prevent going anywhere he chooses to go. “Impossible!” says he, with -Mirabeau; “don’t mention that stupid word!” Up to this time field-mice -have not troubled us much. In the days when there was always a hawk or -two hovering over the ploughed land, or keeping watch over the green -meadows, and when we used to hear the owls in the summer nights, and -saw the white owl who lived somewhere near by sail silently in the grey -of evening across the lawn--in those days we knew little of the plague -of field-mice. But now we have changed all that; cheap gun licences -have put a gun into every one’s hand, the vermin is ruthlessly shot, -and the balance of Nature is destroyed. - -It is rather a fearful pleasure that we take just now to mark the -unwonted earliness of green things of all kinds. One cannot help -dreading that some great check will happen later on in the year; and -yet it may be an omen for good that the birds’ full concert has only -just begun, in these dark mornings, amongst the trees of the garden. -The saying goes in Scotland, “If the birds pipe afore Christmas they’ll -greet after;” and so far as I know, not a note was sung till December -30. The birds served our Hollies a good turn at Christmas. In November -the Hollies were scarlet with berries, and one thought with a shudder -of how they would have to suffer, when the time came for Christmas -decorations; then occurred two short severe frosts, and, to my joy, the -Holly trees were swept clear of every tempting spot of scarlet before -Christmas, and thus were saved the customary reckless breaking and -tearing of branches. Dear birds! Does any one ever think, I wonder, -sitting in the summer shade near “some moist, bird-haunted English -lawn,” how dull it would be without them--how much they enhance for -us the grace and charm of the garden and the country? It is their gay -light-heartedness that is so delightful, and that we should miss so -much if they were not there. Who ever saw a grave bird?--at least -I mean a grave little one--the bigger the sadder it is, with them. -Their very labours of nest-building, and of feeding their young ones, -are done like a merry bit of child’s play! The birds’ never-failing -interest in life is like a sort of tonic to those who love them. -Michelet felt this when he called them “des êtres innocents, dont le -mouvement, les voix, et les jeux, sont comme le sourire de la Création.” - -I do not remember having seen before in mid-winter a Hawthorn hedge -bursting out into leaf! At the end of last month, however, there were -strong young shoots and fully formed leaves on some of the Quicks in -a hedge planted last spring in our lane. I have known nothing like -this, except the Glastonbury Thorn. There is one of these strange -Thorns, a large tree, growing just within the park gates of Marston -Bigot, in Somersetshire. It used to bloom with great regularity in mild -winters about this time. Tufts of flowers came all over the branches, -smelling as sweet as Hawthorn in May. I have often cut a long spray -all wreathed with pearly bloom, on New Year’s Eve, in former years. -The flowers come with scarce a sign of leaf about them, and they are -rather smaller than those of the common May. The emerald green of -turf, thickly sprinkled with Daisies, seems also an unusual sight for -January. The first green glow on the grass and the first Daisy we are -surely used to hail as signs of approaching spring. On the lawn, too, -a yellow Buttercup, careless of the heavy roller, has dared to hold up -its head! - -[Illustration: The BOCCAGE and Part of the FANTAISIE 1. GLORIETTA. 2 -Large Elm and line of same 3 Border of Blue Gentian. 4. Pigeon House -Grass Paths & & &....] - -_Jan_. 8.--The weather has been for many weeks so dark and gloomy, -that the rare sunshine which shone upon the land to-day was as welcome -and nearly as unlooked for as May flowers in January. The house stood -blocked out in sun and shadow. Magnolia Grandiflora, which covers the -south-east gable, looked grand in this flood of radiance. Standing -before it, the refrain of a wild canzonetta I once heard, chanted forth -lazily in the little sun-steeped piazza of an old Italian town, came -back to the mind’s ear--“Oh, splendid bella!” The eye, soon tired, -however, of so much dazzling brilliance in the polished foliage, -each leaf reflecting back the sun, follows the ascending lines of -beauty up above the pointed roofs, where the soft golden rust of the -topmost leaves’ inner lining meets the deep blue, cloudless sky. Next -the Magnolia, just under the painting-room window, is a Flexuosa -Honeysuckle which has not lost a leaf this winter. New shoots and -twists of brightest green, set with young leaves two and two, are -springing all over it. One tender shoot, indeed, has had the heart to -curl twice round a branch, sending out a length of spray beyond. - -Hard by the Flexuosa flourished once a fine Gum Cistus. To my sorrow, -it perished in the frost of two winters back. The aroma of its gummy -foliage, under the noontide sun, would penetrate deliciously through -the open windows. We lost that winter all but one of our Gum Cistus, -and their destruction was so universal that there was a difficulty in -replacing them. I like the Gum Cistus best when growing upon the lawn. -The snow of fallen petals on the grass seems right, and gives no sense -of untidiness, there. The loss of the Cistus, however, made room for -better growth to the old Maiden’s-blush Rose in the corner, by another -window. She has hard work, anyhow, to hold her own against the flowery -smothering of an Everlasting Pea, which persists in spreading beyond -all bounds, notwithstanding the hints it yearly receives from knife -and spade. Further on, still under the south front, a white Hepatica -(Poor Johnny) is already shyly blooming. The root is sheltered by its -own undecayed leaves; other plants of the same kind being quite bare. -Hepaticas in England almost always look discontented, and this is no -marvel to any who have seen them wild in their own place. I remember -as clear as yesterday the joy of finding the blue Hepatica for the -first time. It was in a narrow lovely valley at Mentone, on a mossy -bank beside the little stony river. We were gathering Violets, which -abound in that place; but on the edge of the bank, and over its steep -side, intermingled with deep Moss and Ferns, there was another blue, -which was not the blue of Violets. It was like the surprise and -wonder of a new world thus unawares to come upon such a flower--the -beloved of childhood--in such rich profusion--a flower we had never -seen before that happy day, save in rare scanty patches, in some damp -garden border! About the same time I saw also both the pink and white -Hepaticas, from the Pine woods on the slopes of the Alpes Maritimes. -In a corner near the Hepaticas is a little patch of Violets with Bella -Donna Lilies. The Lilies are sending up strong, healthy leaves, and -that is about all they will ever do to please me. Fine, good roots were -put in six years ago in this choice south corner, where I believed they -could not but do well. But no; it is in vain I watch and hope!--not -one of those exquisite “harmonies in ink” I so long to enjoy do they -vouchsafe to give me. Possibly they may object to the society of the -Violets! - -Primroses have been with us more or less since September last, and now -they are more abundant than ever--all colours--red, brown, yellow, -white, sulphur: the garden is quite full of Primroses. Roses, also, -we have scarcely been without all winter. Within the walled garden -there are real red Rosebuds, rather tightly closed up, but capable of -opening any day. Many Rose-bushes have never lost their old leaves, -and some are already putting forth new. On the top of the wall I -perceived to-day a white spot--it was a Gloire de Dijon--looking very -pale, but fully opened; and below it the Marcartney and an Apricot -Tea Rose are in bud. A space of kitchen garden wall by the north iron -gate is resplendent with Jasminum Nudiflorum, and close by, the bare -branches of a Fig tree are already pointed with green, recalling in -a dim way the Fig trees of the South, which in March glow like great -branched candlesticks lighted up with flames of golden-green, in -honour of the coming festa of spring. The Pyrus Japonica--a very old -plant--has opened two coral cups. But the gem of the whole garden just -now is a small, most delicately yet brilliantly tinted lilac Iris.[1] -The contrast between it and the rich dark green of its reed-like -leaves, amidst which the flower shines, is charming. It is only in -the mildest of winters that it ventures to appear. Last year the -date of its blooming first was February 10. There are several tufts -of foliage, but as yet only this one perfect flower, and we find -rarely more than half-a-dozen in the season. In “the land of flowers,” -however, which I believe to be its own, the paths of many a Cypress -and Ilex-shaded garden must be lined with lilac and green, at this -very time. I often think how little use is made of that most poetical -of colours, lilac--“lalock,” as our grandmothers used to pronounce -it. It was Schiller’s favourite colour; but I hardly know of any one -else particularly caring for it. Perhaps one reason may be, because it -is so hard to mix the most lovely shades of lilac in painting, or in -manufactured stuffs; and then it is so evanescent. Even Nature herself -does not make use of lilac so freely as of other colours--yellow -being, I almost think, her favourite. She has, however, hit the mark -indeed in the colouring of my lilac gem; there is a sharpness in the -flavour--so to speak--which makes it perfect. The dear little winter -Aconite--each bud of pure clean yellow surrounded with its green frill -of leaves--appears here and there among the damp dead leaves. Snowdrops -are showing daily whiter and larger above the ground, and all sorts of -green peaceful spears are piercing in their strength, up through the -black mould everywhere. - -[Footnote 1: _Iris Ensata._] - -We have got through some rather important work within the past three -weeks. A new Beech hedge has been planted on the open side of a green -walk or close, already hedged in on one side. I once read somewhere -of how it is reckoned good for the health to walk between Beech -hedges, the air being purified and freshened by passing through the -leaves. An old border, full of bulbs and Damask Roses, has been dug -and rearranged. The Roses, which are old plants, will be refreshed and -improved by the moving, and we shall add some day one or two York and -Lancaster Roses. In this border the Grape Hyacinths have increased so -rapidly that it is literally full of them, and we are planting them -about in different places, some under the Deodara (Morgan-le-faye) on -the lawn, with Snowdrops and Daffodils. The Deodara is in the wrong -place, and was spreading so much as to injure the effect of the Yew -hedges. So, instead of cutting it down, it is trimmed up to eight feet -or so from the grass; and for this act I have had to brave a perfect -storm of adverse criticism! In a few months I hope the stem will be -clothed with Virginia Creeper, which, when touched by Autumn’s fiery -finger, will become a pillar of flame, while wreaths of white Clematis -(Virgin’s Bower) are to light up the green in summer. Then we have been -planting out four fine tree Pæonies on the turf by the entrance drive. -In their season they will be as beautiful as great cabbage roses. - -There have been two days of frost and bitter cold, and yet the -impatient flowers are not discouraged. At the further end of the broad -walk, down among the broken Fern and withered leaves, a sense of colour -is felt in the border as one passes by. Omphalodes Verna (would that -dear English names were possible!)[2] is wide awake, and little eyes -of cœrulean blue are looking upwards. The Rock Roses are full of bud, -and small variegated-leaved Periwinkles, on a low wall, already begin -to tip their hanging sprays with stars of misty grey. But the strangest -effort of all is a Foxglove spire of buds, rising well up from its -leaf-crowned root on an ancient stump of Wistaria. - -[Footnote 2: Since writing this, I learn that the English name is -French Forget-me-not, and that it is a flower once beloved of Queen -Marie Antoinette.] - -The mention of all these flowers would make it seem, I fear, as if our -garden were even now a sort of flowery Paradise. The truth is a sad -contrast to every such idea; for though the beautiful things are all -in truth here, it would be difficult to describe the heavy gloom and -damp of the whole place. And so one turns more often than usual to the -greenhouse for consolation. Small as ours is--only about fifteen paces -long--it is large enough for as much pleasure as I desire, under glass. -To me the open garden is daily bread, the greenhouse “the honey that -crowns the repast.” There happens at this time to be a chord of colour -there, worth noting--ivory whiteness of Roman Hyacinths, green of all -exquisite gradations, pale yellow of Meg Merrilies Chrysanthemums; -others of a warmer yellow, and pure white; fairest pink of Primulas, -and a deep purple note, struck once or twice, of Pleroma. What a flower -that is! how charming in its way of blooming sideways on its stalk, to -let the sun shine through its violet translucence! - -[Illustration] - - -_FEBRUARY._ - - -With the Trees of the Garden. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -V. - -FEBRUARY. - -Land of Mandragora and the Serpent Flower. - - “There never was a juster debt - Than what the dry do pay for wet; - Never a debt was paid more nigh - As what the wet do pay for dry!” - - -_February_ 13.--If the West Country farmer’s rhyme prove true this -year, the “dry” will have a heavy debt to pay! Some of the gravel -walks in the garden are quite green, along the sides where the almost -ceaseless rain flows down. All our dressed stone--sun-dial, vases, -steps--is discoloured and green, and will all have to be scrubbed with -hot water and soap, like the rocks in the great rockery once described -in the _Gardener’s Chronicle_ (vol. xviii., p. 747). A large part of -the grounds has been under water nearly all through the winter; the -“wet,” however, in which they sometimes stand ankle deep for weeks, -seems not to do any harm to the evergreens here; whilst we get from -the floods charming landscape effects. I could almost wish the glassy -meres, with their clear reflections of tree or sky, to be permanent. - -I have been looking over and making notes of our Fir trees--we have -only about a dozen or so, I am afraid! I find that Pinus Austriaca -thrives better than any other here; it is a regret to me that we did -not plant numbers more of them, instead of wasting years in trying to -make Scotch Fir succeed. Spruce never seems to do well in this part -of the country; we have two or three old Spruce Firs which are mere -poles, and some much younger, which must be cut down to relieve our -eyes from that garden misery, a sickly tree. Only in the “Fantaisie” -are our Spruce Firs successful, and there, from overcrowding--for there -are at least ten--they are well-nigh spoilt. This little spot has -proved good for them, I imagine, because it was new ground, taken in -from old unbroken pasture and well trenched. One or two others, full -and healthy, of a few years’ growth, suddenly went off last summer; it -was as if a blighting wind had scorched their branches, or lightning -had seared them. I know no successful Spruce plantations anywhere in -the neighbourhood. The soil is gravelly, with chalk and flint; and -sometimes trees seem to strike their roots down into a subsoil--perhaps -an intermittent layer of greensand--and then they go off. But this can -scarcely be the only cause that so fatally affects our Firs. About -120 miles down west, there is a group of extremely fine Spruce Firs -that I have known for the last thirty years, and when I visited them -last year I found they had all gone off in the same way as ours here. -Excelsa Grandis flourishes equally with Pinus Austriaca. One fine -young plant in the “Fantaisie” was, as one says, “quite a picture” -in the summer for the perfect symmetry of its form, and on the two -topmost laterals were just two beautifully shaped upright green cones, -crested with amber-coloured gum! I rejoiced in this young tree during -all the season, but there is a fear since then that it may suffer -in its growth from the premature effort. The Balm of Gilead Firs, a -few of which we put in along one side of the turf walk, have failed -entirely. I meant each to become a little rounded beauty, like that one -planted by my father, which I remember long years since as a wonder of -aromatic greenery; but these are grey and stunted, and they all wear -such a look of age and decay as I fear we cannot long endure to see. -The crisp leaves, however, are as sweet when crumpled in the hand as -they ought to be. With two or three of these piteous little trees, the -branches show, without losing stiffness, a certain tendency to droop or -turn downwards at the extremities. It is rather curious, this droop, -affected by a few individuals in a Fir plantation! For they do not -begin life with that intention; the young tree may be just like any -other for years, when suddenly one branch will be observed turned down, -then another and another, till finally the whole thing is decided, and -the tree becomes a “weeper,” as some call them. In a large plantation -in Aberdeenshire, some years since, I knew one young Silver Fir out -of all the others that grew itself into a drooping form, so that it -seemed at last to draw down its branches close together as one would -draw a cloak around one in the cold. It was then ten or twelve feet -high, and now it must indeed be a remarkable object if it has grown -and drooped at the same rate. Our Douglas Fir (Sir Bedivere) has known -this temptation to droop, but evidently the feeling of the mass of his -branches is dead against the idea, and it will come to nothing. - -[Illustration: _Fair Maids of February._] - -This accident or sport is common in other trees all over the world, I -suppose, and one of the most ancient nomadic patterns of Persian rugs -depicts, on either side the Tree of Life, the columnar Cypress and the -drooping Cypress, beside a little tomb. - -In various odd nooks and corners of the garden, I know where to find a -few little old Cephalonian Pines, all that remain out of a number we -once had. They are only about 4 or 5 feet high, yet they were grown -from seed over a quarter of a century ago. Like poor old useless -retainers, they have followed the fortunes of the family, and we have -become attached to one another. One amongst the original number became -a fine specimen--and perished. The rest have never had a chance of -growing up, for every spring their new buds are nipped, so they remain -still the same, with a sort of look of old-young trees. I am especially -interested in the welfare of one of the Cephalonians, who lives in an -English Yew. Those two are certainly bosom friends! The Yew itself -was only half a tree, spared, out of charity, on what seemed a bare -chance of surviving. The Cephalonian stood near and shivered, and lost -its buds every spring, while the Yew crept nearer and nearer, till at -last its thick dark foliage reached the little Pine, and so grew on; -and now the Yew fairly holds it within its warm, comfortable embrace. -Some say, “What a mistake to leave them thus!” I say, “They shall not -be parted;” so the two remain together, and grow quite happily in -each other’s arms. Oddly enough, the Pine seems to be assimilating -itself in colour, and partly in form, with the Yew, so that it is not -easy to distinguish them. But if the Cephalonian at last out-tops its -benefactor, what will happen then? At times the space of ground over -which we reign seems to be very much too small; and I incline to envy -the possession of land, with room enough to plant; for there can be -no more engrossing interest of its kind than to watch the growth of -trees, their manners and customs. I would plant at once acres of Ilex -Oak. What shelter they would make! And in a congenial soil they would -not be too slow of growth. There should be broad bands of Beech and -Oak, and long groves of Larch, delicious in spring for the fragrance of -their green and pink-tipped tassels. And there should be plantations of -Fir--Scotch Fir, for the delight of their healthy blue-green in youth, -and for the glory of their great red stems in age; and Spruce Fir, with -all their charm of deep mosses underneath, and the loveliness in spring -of starry Winter-green (_Trientalis Europæ_) and “the rathe Primrose;” -and for the music of the winds among their branches, and the velvet -darkness of their colour under summer skies. (_Mem._--The Winter-green -would have to be sent us from the North.) - -Our great work of last month has been an alteration at the east end of -the garden. A Quickset hedge, forty or fifty years old, is moved back, -so as to take in from “the park” a bit of waste ground; the gravel -path that ran under the hedge is widened, and a block of Laurels cut -through. By this means a turf way, leading north and south, is made to -enter the improved walk, whose chief attraction is the border of old -damask Roses. Plum trees and Pears stand along the border amongst the -Roses, and a large perennial yellow Lupin, in which thrushes have been -known to make their nests. In the middle of the hedge grew a fine young -Elder. I had long promised that Elder it should never be cut down, so -when the Hawthorns were removed the tree remained, arching across the -path to meet a Plum tree on the other side. An Elder in full bloom is -such a beautiful thing that it is painful to feel obliged to destroy -it; but Elders have such an unfortunate knack of appearing where they -are not wanted! The birds sow Elder seeds in the clefts of trees, in -chinks of walls, flower borders--all sorts of inconvenient places--now -that the berries are no longer requisitioned to make Elder wine. In -old-fashioned days it was worth having a cold, to enjoy a night-cap of -Elder wine from the saucepan on the hob! So this one tree is preserved -in honour, as compensation for those others which are no more. I am not -in the least superstitious, but it _is_ rather uncanny to cut down an -old Elder! Eldritch legends and spells have clung to the tree in days -of yore, and have even come down to our own times. I used to listen at -my mother’s knee, and beg again and again for the story of the fairy -changeling. The interest of the story never failed, and the rhyme never -tired, about the enchanted hare, who ran-- - - “Runie and runie the Eildon tree, - And seven times runie the Eildon tree.” - -According to custom, I was rather on the look-out for treasures when -the old hedge was dug up, but nothing appeared excepting a huge -yellow bone and a gigantic root of White Briony. The uncouth thing -bore a strange resemblance to some organized being with arms and -legs--something like an octopus in full swim, only twenty times as big, -and yet also with a sort of human aspect! I was told it was a Mandrake -(though it did not shriek on being pulled up), and so I desired it -should be carefully buried, in order that the household might not be -disturbed by its groans at night. In India the sounds emitted by a -Mandrake in the dark night are said to be sometimes heartrending. And -so the witch, in the _Masque of Queens_-- - - “I last night lay all alone - O’ the ground to heare the mandrake grone.” - -I wonder if White Briony is really the true Mandrake, about which there -must seriously be something mysterious. I find in the dictionary, -“Mandragora (Mandrake), a powerful soporific. Mandrage, a plant said -to be so called because it points out that a cave is near.” I know no -more, besides the wild traditions, and this vision the other day, in -the twilight, of a white misshapen figure lying on the earth. There -are, however, few things more exquisitely graceful than the Black and -White Brionies. Black Briony is rare in our part of Buckinghamshire. -In this garden three White Brionies have leave to dwell. All winter, -the mystic root lies hidden, awaiting the appointed time. On a day in -spring or early summer, suddenly up-springs a group of delicate pale -green stalks, and they, as soon as they have seen the sun in heaven, -delay not to put forth all the strength stored under the earth in the -big ugly root; and before many days the green stalks have grown into -a beautiful leafy plant, mantling over whatever is nearest of tree or -bush, with leaves of most fanciful cut, and a thousand ringlets of -circling, sensitive tendrils. By-and-by there will be a whole firmament -of little star-like flowers, greenish-white in colour--all either male -or female, according to the plant. In October an unhappy collapse sets -in. Life ebbs fast from the flaccid stalks and tendrils, dying away, -sinking down, down into the buried root, till nothing remains but a dry -colourless shroud, clinging close over the supporting shrub, which -scarce can breathe, till a friendly hand in due course clears the whole -thing off. - -I think I never saw a finer show of white Arums than we have just now. -There is the grandest luxuriance of foliage, with thick tall stems, -crowned by spathes in spiral lines of perfect grace. The rich texture -of these flowers is marvellous; white as the drifted snow, with a -lemon scent. Our success is perhaps due, not only to good management, -but to what one may call imported bulbs. Four years ago they were -thrown out of a garden at Cannes, as worthless rubbish, on to the -road-side. I passed that way one day, while a little peasant girl was -collecting some of these bulbs in her pinafore. I asked her what they -were. “_Des lis!_” she said. So I immediately gathered up some for -myself, and they were done up in newspapers and packed in our trunks -and brought home. In grim contrast to these joyous flowers of light -is the Serpent Flower, a tropical member of the Arum family. I saw -it, once only, eleven years ago, in the beautiful garden of Palazzo -Orenga, at Mortola, near Ventimiglia. It grew on the edge of a ravine, -under the deep shade of a low stone wall. Right up from a cluster of -black-spotted leaves the centre spiral rose to about ten or twelve -inches, bending over at the top into a sort of hood, like the hooded -head of a cobra. The creature--flower I cannot say--took the attitude -exactly of a snake preparing to spring, the body marked and spotted the -same as a snake, with the hood greyish-brown. The whole thing seemed -something more than a good imitation only of the reptile whose name it -bears. The first glance gave a sort of shock, as if on a sudden one had -become aware of the actual presence at one’s feet of a deadly serpent; -and yet the terrifying object is, I believe, used by the Indians as an -antidote to snake-bite. - -All over the Olive grounds of the same country where the Serpent Arum -is acclimatized, about this time or early in March, appear the little -brown “Sporacci”--tiny hooded Arums of quaint form, little odd monks -with yellow tongues hanging out (Arum Arisarum). My window is full of -Paper Narcissus--Narcissus is Remembrance; and for the sake of past -days, I love it--they succeed a set of blue Roman Hyacinths, dear also -from association, and beautiful in their full tones of blue and green. -The perfume of both flowers brings back vividly the sweet South, where -I knew them wild. I must end with a little bit out of a letter sent -me from that southern land which has the power to create lovers of -Nature:-- - -“I am longing for sunshine, to bring to life all the flowers I am -watching for near the torrent beds. My ignorance of flowers has this -advantage, that each leaf is a mystery to me, and I know not what -flower it frames, so each will be a surprise as it appears.” - -[Illustration] - - -_MARCH._ - - - “Out of the Snow, the Snowdrop-- - Out of Death comes Life.”... - - DAVID GRAY. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VI. - -MARCH. - - Of Rooks, and the Close of Day--Of Fairy Garlands, Snowdrops, and Wild - Ivy. - - -_March_ 9.--We are rejoicing in the fulfilment of a long-felt wish, -and at last we possess a rookery! There are the nests, seven of them, -in the Elms, in full view of our east windows. The grand old trees -have always seemed to us a most tempting position for the rooks, who -themselves have half thought so too. But it has taken them long to come -to a decision. On many a spring morning for these eleven years past -have we observed them settling upon the trees in hundreds. But after a -short interval of noise and clamour, they would rise and depart. They -were only coquetting a little with us, or bent on kindling delusive -hopes. “Ill blows the wind that profits nobody,” however; so the storm -of April 29 last year, which uprooted some of our best trees, laid low -also part of a neighbouring rookery. The shock seems to have decided -the rooks, and to have won their confidence in our noble 300-year-old -Elms. The seven nests were begun and nearly built in about as many -days. How busy the old rooks are! And how, with no hands and only one -beak, they can make up those neat bundles of moss and dry grass, just -like potatoes, that we see them carrying to line the nests with, is -difficult to understand. During the rough snowy weather no work was -done; but a rook or two sat all day just above the nests on the very -topmost twigs, swaying in the wind, as if to watch and test their -security. One evening at dusk, after the rooks had gone off for the -night, an inquisitive starling came peeping about. He flew up from his -own lower range, visiting every nest; made a minute inspection inside -and out, and then decamped in a great hurry, afraid of being found out. - -Near the great Elms, but far below the new black colony, is the -dovecote. Beautiful white fantail pigeons, varied by two or -three purple-necked greys, here live joyous lives. On the steep, -heather-thatched roof they preen, and coo, and make love together, or -rise with sudden dash into the air, and wheel in circling flight over -the lawns and flower-beds. On sunny days, when they pass and repass the -house, swift gleams flash along the rooms within; brown oak panellings -reflecting back the sunshine from their silver plumes. Often, through -long summer afternoons, will these bright shadows come and go upon -the walls, like visions of happy ghosts upon the wing. It is not all -poetry, however, with our fantails, I am afraid; for the handsomest of -them all choked himself with too greedily swallowing a slug one day, -and was found stretched dead upon the lawn. Sometimes a poor tailless -fugitive, escaped from the nearest public-house shooting-match, will -take refuge with our pigeons and feed shyly with them for a day or so; -but only one ever remained, and she went to live with the bantam cock, -whose pert little wife had deserted him. - -The day has been cold, with scattered flakes of snow falling; and now, -in the grey still evening, the air is suffused with a certain splendid -sobriety of colouring, if it may be so described. The turf has lost -that living green it showed a month ago, for since then bitter winds -have swept the garden; the Yews look dark and sombre, dark pyramids -and lines; the older Yews, of large and natural growth, are powdered -over with dim gold-dust. Such profuse bloom on the Yews seems to soften -their blackness. Beyond the Yew hedges’ dusky outline glows a richer -green of Laurel, Cedar, and Firs, with the russet sheen of Beech, half -seen between the budding fulness of Thorn and Laburnum. Beyond all -stand the Elms; they form a background of infinite delicacy, purpling -under that nameless change, more felt than seen, which the turn of -the year has brought. Nearer home, in this pale evening light, the -hoary old garden walls, with here and there a ruddier tint of redder -brick, or faintest blush upon them of Pyrus Japonica, join their -mellow tones to the intense but quiet colour of the hour. A mass of -common sweet-scented white Clematis, whose summer glory has long since -melted into a softly shaded cloud of thin withered stalks, hides one -pillar of the central iron gate, and half enwreathes a sculptured vase -above; sere leaves of grassy wild things break the straight line of -mossy, lichened coping. Timid thrushes with spotted breast, and little -hedge-sparrows in sober brown, appear upon the lawn, since labour -for the day is done and the garden is deserted. A tomtit, quaintly -liveried, has made the square-topped Yewen hedge his hunting-ground. -(Yewen was the pretty old word in Spenser’s time: may we not revive -it?) But now a bold gay blackbird leaps up upon the stone ball that -surmounts the ivied corner of the wall. His jet-black plumage and “the -golden dagger of his bill” give just that touch of strength wanted to -complete the consonance of lovely colour. By-and-by he will be down -again upon the grass to flirt his tail and flout the thrushes till he -remains alone, master of the field. This is a dull time for the cock -birds all over the place. Awhile ago they had such games of an evening -on the lawn! chasing each other in and out between the Yews and Box -tree, and every blackbird had two hens to play hide and seek with. But -now the lawful wives are sitting, and there’s an end of the fun. - -The garden has been cold and joyless ever since March 4. It is true -that morning after morning, about sunrise, a treat for the eye has been -prepared by the Crocus beds with a succession of white frosts, but it -is one could well be spared. Meanwhile, it certainly is the prettiest -sight imaginable, these Crocuses thrown lightly, as it were, upon the -frosted turf in garlands of amethyst and amber. The rime, covering up -all varied greens and browns of earth and grass with a veil of pearly -grey, gives a most pure and charming result. If you look quite near--at -the purple wreath especially--the flowers seem all dipped in pounded -sugar, crystallized for a fairy’s feast. Except this pretty morning -show, there is as yet but little joy. Fewer flowers than in January -even, and such as are willing to bloom cast down on the ground. -Primroses and the earliest Daffodils are thus laid low, conquered by -overmastering cold. Violets, too, which before the frost began were -almost more perfumed and of finer bloom than ever I remember, are -pinched and shrunken. Snowdrops also failed, before the severe frost, -destroyed untimely by excessive rain. The Snowflake (_Leucojum vernum_) -appeared earlier than usual, and I look forward to the summer Snowflake -later on. These lovely flowers came from an eyot on the Thames, where -they grow wild. A fine double Snowdrop played an amusing little freak. -The southern face of a Yew hedge under which it grew had, I suppose, -gradually overgrown the plant, so its stalks had to preternaturally -lengthen themselves, growing up within the hedge till forth peeped the -flowers from various little interspaces, as if the Yew itself were -breaking out into Snowdrops! One of these long stems measured sixteen -inches, and the blossoms, larger than common, looked as if they enjoyed -the joke. - -Few indeed are the flowers to be recorded in bloom. There is a pink -tuft or two of Dog’s-tooth Violet (long lines of these, if there were -space sufficient, would make great show). Grape Hyacinths (looking -very unripe) are an inch or so above-ground. The sweet little dwarf -Daffodil, with bent head, smiles to itself in the accustomed place. A -few Polyanthuses, small blue Periwinkles, mixed with yellow Primroses; -Pulmonaria, seared and pinched; blue Scilla, in niggard clumps, quite -unlike its usual bounteous, radiant beauty. These, with bushes of rosy -Ribes, checked but ready to break into bloom, are about all we can -boast. There are, indeed, the Crocuses, whose best days, however, will -soon be ended. The mixed border of these, in three colours--yellow, -white, and lilac--would have been perfect had our friends the -field-mice, instead of choosing the lilac alone for their own private -consumption, shown more impartiality. Their taste is certainly -remarkable, for the yellow were the fattest bulbs. - - * * * * * - -_Mar_. 19.--After a day of rain it is wonderful how quickly Daffodils -and Primroses have picked themselves up. The Grape Hyacinths have -grown two inches since morning, and begun to colour in proportion, -or so at least it seems; and tiny golden buds, unperceived before, -burgeon all over the Kerria. Although Daffodils as yet are few, there -is already a Polyanthus Narcissus unfolded, and a few Narcissus of -deep orange-yellow have arisen behind the lilac winter Irises. The -Apricot bloom is chiefly brown, but all will not be lost. On the Peach -trees there are buds, and some expanded blooms of heavenly pink. I -find a curious small deception has been practised upon me by a plant -in the east border. I had often observed two patches of greenish -worn-out-looking moss there, and at last inquired of the Gardener -the reason of their being permitted. He pointed out that it was not -moss, but the green bare roots of a Violet, which I am well acquainted -with when its disguise is thrown off. It is a pied Dog Violet, from -Villa Clara, Baveno. We have had it now for some years. The flower is -scentless, striped white and purple, of large size, on a long stalk. -But flower and leaf are yet a long way off. - -The pruning and trimming of all the Ivy walls and festoons have been -done. The result for the time is as ugly as it is desirable. Ivy grows -so lavishly here that it has to be kept well in hand, and many whom -it favours less have said they envied us our Ivy. More than once we -have had to choose between some tree or a canopy of Ivy. It is like -a beautiful carpet underneath a long row of Elms, where nothing else -would grow; indeed, wherever there happen to be bits too overshadowed -for grass or otherwise unsatisfactory, we put in Ivy; it is sure to -understand, and to do what is required. My favourite sort is the -wild English Ivy, and no other has a right to grow on the house. Its -growth is slow and sure; it always grows to beauty, and never to -over-richness. The loveliness of its younger shoots and of the deeply -cut leaves might inspire either poet or painter! To either I would say, -Wherever on your tree, or fence, or house-wall you find it beginning to -spring, cherish it; for years it will do no harm, and if you are true -to your art, and therefore know that small things are not too small -for you, it will repay your love a hundredfold. Wild Ivy is best where -it comes up of itself; it clings then so close and flat. A thrush sat -on her nest, built on quite the outside of a Holly, two feet from the -ground, while the men were at work pruning an Ivy wall--large swathes -of Ivy falling close to her. She had faith in us, and never feared. - -Our grove of white Arums in the greenhouse is still a fine -sight--plants from four to five feet high, with enormous leaves. The -spathes, however, though fine, are less so than at first, when many of -them measured over eight inches across. The Maréchal Niel Rose will not -give us this season anything like the six hundred great yellow roses -we have had from him these last three years. He seems to be failing -a little, somehow. But every morning I have a foretaste of summer in -the glowing heap of beautiful roses of several kinds, brought in to -me before breakfast. And with them there are Gloxinias, marvellous -in their size and splendour of deep colouring. They are succeeding a -lot of most curious-looking Tydæas--orange and dusky pink, profusely -spotted. Both these flowers surprise one by the length of time they -remain fresh when cut. - -[Illustration] - - -_APRIL._ - - - “To the Wise a Fact is True Poetry, and the most Beautiful of - Fables.”--EMERSON. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VII. - -APRIL. - - Of Daffodils--Coltsfoot--An Archangel--Gold Wrens and the little - Vedova. - - -_April_ 9.--The garden is full of Daffodils. Yellow flowers and green -leaves form a most beautiful combination of colours when laid on by -Nature’s hand. Every part of the garden now has its show of single or -double Daffodils, and yet there is not one too many. Lovely always, -they are loveliest, perhaps, when growing in the grass. There, “the -green world they live in” shows them off better than when surrounded -by garden mould. Excepting one large single flowering plant under the -east wall, our finest Daffodils grow in the cool north border. One -thinks of “Enid” in her faded silk, like a blossom “that lightly breaks -a faded flower-sheath” when the Daffodils appear. Indeed, one can -scarcely look on them, in their beauty, without recalling the lines of -some familiar quotation; mine shall only be from the children’s nursery -song-book-- - - “Daffy-down-dilly has come up to town - In a yellow petticoat and a green gown.” - -(Poor Daffodilla! for yellow is jealousy, and green is forsaken.) -The old jingle paints well enough the Daffodil’s outside. Whatever -else may lie within the golden depth of her cup and about her silken -petals, all the poetry of the Daffodil has been said and sung from -old, old days, up to our own time, by those happy few whose thoughts -shape themselves in verse. Soon there will be a blooming of many -varieties in the garden, but at this moment only three abound, and of -these I hardly know which most to praise. There is the single variety, -with rather narrow, almost pointed petals, and trumpet tube of a -deeper shade of yellow; I cannot distinguish this one from Narcissus -Incomparabilis of the Riviera. Then there is the semi-double (old -Parkinson’s Narcissus Major, “confined to the gardens of the curious”), -which I sometimes think a still more handsome flower, from its rich -folded depths of colour. Its prime, however, lasts but a few days; -the full tube seems then to overspread and split, and a confusion of -doubleness ensues which mars its perfect form. Then there is the old -real Daffodil--quite apart from the so-called Lent Lily--with very -pale, broad-leaved corolla, and true Narcissus-shaped cup. When this -doubles itself there is again a loss of grace. I call it the real -Daffodil, because years ago, when that was a flower not thought so much -of, this, as I remember, was the usual kind seen in gardens. I believe -in those days the Daffodil--whose very name is music in our ears--was -considered almost a vulgar (!) flower; “it was so very common.” Now -it is so common in another way, one could half wish that it--with the -Sunflower--had remained undiscovered, or only bloomed to grace old -cottage garden plots, or as the Lent Lily, in wild woodland ways, for -the delight of simple village children. Is it fault or failing in -human nature that inclines us to turn from things that all the world -admires? I only know that, somehow, one loves one’s own love to be -for one’s self alone! and I do not care to see cartfuls of Daffodils -sent up to London.... There is a part of the garden on the north side -which just now gives me strange pleasure. There we leave the borders -to grow pretty much how they will. In summer on one side there is a -green forest of Male-Fern, Bramble, wild Ivy, and low-grown Berberis; -but at this time the scene is different. Great double Daffodils rest -their golden heads upon interlacing red-brown Fern and branching glossy -Berberis. A few shafts of narrow blue-green leaves pierce through and -amongst the brown and burnt-sienna colour; Pulmonaria--taking heart -after all the withering frosts--breaks into clouds of flower, all blue -and pink, with dusks of mottled leaf between. And among the Pulmonaria -crops up by chance, in the humblest way, a healthy beautiful Archangel, -or Dead Nettle, set with blossoms downy white. - -“More springs in the garden than the gardener ever sowed,” is an old -saying. Just the other side the walk there chances--who knows how?--a -charming little plant which curiously attracts me. Unlike “the small -Celandine,” it never had a poet, so far as I know, to sing its praise, -although the Painter-poet of England--William Blake--disdained not to -immortalize it. In his illustrations to the Book of Job it occurs, the -character of the flowers unmistakably given by a few master-touches. -Yet this little Coltsfoot is full of interest, and the little satiny -sunflower that crowns each pinkish fleshy flower-stalk is, in its -way, quaintly unique. The _specimen_ (_vide_ Dryasdust) in our north -border has rooted partly under and amongst the lowest leaves of an -Aucuba, partly in the Box edging. I think it has been in a vague -way not unknown to me for many past seasons, but I have passed it -unobservantly, only perhaps remarking to myself, “Ah, there you are -again!” One day, however, it drew down my attention to look more -closely, and since, it has had sometimes half-a-dozen visits in the -day. I wished to see if there were any set hours for its unfolding and -closing; it seemed so odd to find the little flowers fast shut at near -8 a.m., with the sunshine bright upon them. Then I found they did not -open till between 11 and 12 mid-day. One placed in water, at a south -window, opened itself wide before nine in the morning, and at noon the -small yellow disc was spread so broad that its rays turned over the -other way at the edges. You could scarcely find on any flower’s face an -expression of more serene content. Then both the growing flowers and -the one in the window began to close at precisely the same time--about -ten minutes to 4 p.m.; and the closing process with both only came to -an end at near 6. This slowness may have been, perhaps, because the -flowers were then all rather past their first youth. In grey cloudy -weather they hardly unclosed at all. The spot where this Coltsfoot has -chosen to grow must be unsympathetic, for after the early morning a -light chequered shade of Holly, from over the way, veils in some degree -its coveted sun supply. When its time comes the little flower dies very -prettily; it only changes to a dull saffron hue, and then shuts up for -ever. - -The all too brief delight of hearing the birds sing in the evening is -not at its best; about seven they begin. The other day, at 6.30, scarce -a note was heard through all the garden. The rooks were cawing in a -whisper their hoarse good-nights; two wood-pigeons answered each other -from trees far apart in the fields, with an interrupted chant--“slow -to begin and never ending.” Suddenly, a little before seven--about -three minutes before--one after another the thrushes awoke into song. -The whole air echoed and resounded with their music. It was the same -time, precisely, as on the day before. How do they tell the hour thus -to a minute? Not certainly by the clock; for seven struck from the -village church tower just three minutes after the concert began. Can -it be the first star appearing that sets for them the moment to begin? -Looking up, the pole star shone from heaven right overhead. Does some -“wise thrush,” sitting on a topmost branch, with full bright orbs -turned heavenwards, mark this sudden diamond in the sky, and then at -once pour forth his flood of liquid melody, the signal for his fellows -waiting round to take up the song? We watched near the Douglas Fir, I -and the satin-coated colley dog; he listened too, lying on the grass, -rather bored but patient, with ears alert; and twilight deepened, and -star after star stole out upon the dusk, while the orange west grew -dim and changed, and louder still re-echoed the ecstatic numbers from -every bush and tree, and from many a hedgerow in the fields beyond. In -all this multitude of bird voices not a discord intervenes; it is an -orchestra turned to one key, and the fuller the tones of the unnumbered -instruments, the deeper and more entire is the concord. How is it done? -There is no conductor with his baton!... But the dinner-bell rings, and -we must leave the concert and all its sweet-throated minstrels in full -song, and the garden, with its refined and lovely influences of perfect -harmony, its budding trees and tuneful thickets of Fir and Laurel, to -the Daffodils and the stars. The contrast is somewhat gross, of roast -mutton and lighted lamps!... But to those who prefer their Currant -bushes to the songs of “God’s poet hid in foliage green,” what can be -said? I do not believe such persons exist. - -The Sweet Briar hedge along the walk leading to the wicket-gate in -the entrance-drive begins to scent the air. We do not make enough of -such a treasure as Sweet Briar is. Some day we must plant some near -the windows, for pleasant perfume after rain. It is a favourite idea, -too obscure to be a doctrine or even a theory, that the sweet smells -of flowers, and aromatic leaves, and all kinds of green things have -a certain virtue for different conditions of health. Here are a few -examples, and I am afraid I do not know many more: To smell wild -Thyme will renew the spirits and vital energy in long walks under -an August sun. The pure, almost pungent scent of Tea Rose Maréchal -Niel is sometimes invigorating in any lowness of mind or body. Sweet -Briar promotes cheerfulness. Yellow Bedstraw (_Galium verum_), -Cowslip, Wallflower, Damask and pink China Roses, Plum blossom, and -notably Sweet Gale or Bog Myrtle, and wild white Honeysuckle refresh -the spirits; while the smell of ground Ivy, Charlock, Woodruff, -Rosemary, and fresh-cut grass seems to be a refreshment to the body. -Hawthorn is very doubtful, and Lime blossom is dreamy. These scents -are “transparent,” and are also, except the two first, more or less -uncertain, to be caught on the wing, as it were. The more positive and -“opaque” scents, such as those of the Gardenia, Lilies, Narcissus, -Jonquil, etc., seem less potent for the spirits than for the body. The -subject is full of indistinctness, since that which is life to one -may be death to many. I have known an instance of even white Sweet -Peas and white Pink being unendurable, and yet both are what I call -“transparent.” There may also be a system of mixed flowers. Small -scarlet Nasturtium and lemon-scented Pelargonium are good together, -and seem to have a pleasant effect on the mind, and as the venerable -Parkinson says, they “make a delicate Tussimussie, or Nosegay, both for -sight and scent.” The large Italian white Jasmine, mixed with Marie -Louise Violets, is comforting. Altogether I think the idea may be -something more than a mere fantastic whim.[3] - -[Footnote 3: Nearly twelve months after writing thus about healthful -Flower-scents, I found in Austen’s “Treatise of Fruit-trees,” 1657, a -curious confirmation of my idea, which appears, indeed, to be an old -one. He writes, “Health is preserved by pleasant and wholesome Odors, -and perfumes found in the garden of Fruit-trees,... from the blossomes -of _all the Fruit-trees_,... which are not simply Healthfull, but -are accompted cordiall; chearing and refreshing the heart and vitall -spirits.”--_Note, April, 1884._] - -_April 17._--This morning, before 8 o’clock, the whole garden felt like -spring. The turf was brightly green and shining with dew, and birds, -and grass, and flowers were unconsciously at ease and happy for the -moment under the warm sunlight. The unwonted warmth made a robin so -bold and confident, that he flew up against me in the most playful way, -and then perched on a young Beech, flapping his little wings with a -merry twinkle in his eye. All about and in and out the Stone Pine, to -them one huge world of insect life, flitted a pair of golden crested -wrens, as busy as possible, the flutter of their tiny wings making -just as much sound as might two butterflies. The sun glanced now and -then, for a moment, on the cock-bird’s golden streak, the hen held a -filmy white insect of some kind in her bill, and would on no account -show the way to her nest, so long as she was watched. It was unkind, I -fear, to tease so minute a creature, and I soon went another way; and -then both wrens made a little rush into the brambly ivy-smothered trunk -of the tree. We refrain from too curiously searching for the nest, -though I think the young family would be worth seeing! In the morning -light a host of single Daffodils shone like pale gold; double white -Wind-flowers have begun to bloom (there grows a yellow wild one[4] not -far from us, but I have only seen it after it had been transplanted -into a garden), and many kinds of Narcissus. The Pasque-flower has been -put out of its reckoning by the unusually early Easter; it is only just -in bud. The grass walk in the Fantaisie was too heavy with dew to be -pleasant, so I only looked across the gate at the Narcissus and flaming -star Anemones. In the clear sunlight, lilac patches of Aubrietia, side -by side with clean white Arabis, seem doubly charming. - -[Footnote 4: Anemone Ranunculoides is alluded to. The gardener of the -garden where I saw it assured me it grew wild in a little wood close -by, but I did not myself see it wild.] - -How eagerly one seizes all possible points of beauty in such a severe -trying season! I never before remember our having to water the garden -in April; it has been, however, quite necessary, for as yet only two -slight April showers have fallen, and the clumps of Narcissus Poeticus -were failing. Tulips are flowering with stalks barely one inch long, -and Crown Imperials half miss their usual “stately beautifulness.” One -day of soft warm rain would set all right, and give us an almost Roman -spring, so suddenly would the garden become clothed in bloom, and the -leaves burst out upon the trees. King-cups begin to glass themselves -in our narrow watercourse, and reeds to thicken greenly along the -brink. The long line of Primroses along the _Allée Verte_ is a sad -failure. As soon as the flowers open they are beheaded by those cruel -chaffinches. This is how the little painted traitors behave all the -while they are supposed to be gaily building their dainty nests! Such -wholesale execution is, I believe, the result of this very dry weather. -They cut off the flowers to get at the small drop of moisture or honey -in the calyx. I forgive the chaffinches without any difficulty, only -wishing that other people could be as easily pardoned; but when the -rooks are poisoned and our new hopes of a rookery nearly frustrated, it -is hard to be very forgiving! Some short-sighted farmer has done this -cruel deed. The poor rooks dropped on our own land on the grass under -their nests. Several of their young must have perished miserably, and -the deserted nests look very sad. Still we think enough young remain -to save the rookery. The Florentine yellow Tulips are in bloom. How -far more lovely to the unhorticultural eye are these wild kinds, with -their graceful bending stalks, than those the Tulip’s cultivation -has so well succeeded in stiffening--with all their grand colour! On -the 7th appeared, as I knew she would sooner or later, the little -“Vedova” Iris of Florence. Under the south wall, where we did not think -to seek, there she was, for the first time after these eight years’ -seclusion. And still she wears her weeds of green and black. The roots -have increased and thrown up quantities of leaves. These leaves are not -rounded like those of the Spanish Iris and other long narrow kinds; -they are four-sided, with sharp angles, very strong, and have a sharp -point at the end. - -[Illustration] - - -_MAY._ - - - “Pale crocuses have come before her; - Wild birds her welcome sing; - Ten thousand loving hearts adore her, - The grey world’s darling, Spring.” - - W. M. ELTON. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -VIII. - -MAY. - - Of Cherry Blossoms--the Nightingale’s “Melodious Noise”--Of Broken - Stones, etc., etc., etc. - - -_May_ 6.--The month of May would be Heaven upon earth if only it came -in August or September, when summer mostly begins! but such cold, -hard weather as we have had spoils sadly our enjoyment of the blossom -trees and all the pleasures of spring. There have been just one or two -sweet days, when the white Cherry orchards shone softly against a sky -of serenest blue; days when we did but revel in the joyous present, -forgetting quite that ever it could be that “rough winds do shake the -darling buds of May.” Alas! all too soon our dream is dispelled; dark -clouds arise, and we see “Heaven’s gold complexion dimmed,” and the -orchard grass strewn with pearly wreck. The Cherry tree’s magic season -is at an end; it seemed to last scarcely longer than a day. With the -first hot shafts of April’s sun it startles into bloom, shaken out in -snow-wreaths all over the tree, a waste of most lavish loveliness. It -is something gained, once in the twelvemonth’s round of commonplace, -if only for a moment to stand beside a Cherry tree in blossom. The -blue sky looks infinitely far off, seen through such a maze of flowery -myriads. And now Apple blossoms are coming on in rosy swift succession. -How beautiful they are! and is it not time that water-colour artists -should cease to weary, by attempting so vainly to pourtray them? (This -only by the way.) They have the merit of lasting just long enough for -us to enjoy them well; yet beautiful as they are, I do not know if -they can ever quite compare with the frail short-lived cherry. If the -Espaliers in the kitchen garden alongside the middle walk would but -flower together all at once, that walk in May would be better than any -picture-gallery. But our gallery walls perversely decorate themselves -only a little bit at a time. One bit, at a corner of the cross-walks, -is now in full perfection. A faint delicious perfume steals out through -the iron gate to the flower-garden, inviting as one passes by, to turn -and peep within. There are the trained leafless branches covered thick -with knots of flower. They open very deliberately, and there abide -for a little happy while, self-conscious, round, and pink, and firm; -then there comes a setting of delicate green around the flowers; and -then the Apple tree in bloom is one of earth’s loveliest sights. Apple -blossom must be added to my pharmacopœia of sweet smells. To inhale -a cluster of Blenheim Orange gives back youth for just half a minute -after. It is not merely that with the perfume the heart goes back to -remembered times--it is a real, absolute elixir! Our young Siberian -Crab trees are like great white bouquets; and behind the pigeon-house -there is a wonder of Japanese Apple (_Pyrus malus floribunda_). It is -like a fountain of flowers, tossing its pink flower-laden branches in -every direction. Blue Periwinkles creep over the ground underneath -it. In the autumn I shall hope to plant several more of these lovely -trees somewhere on the lawn, where we may see and enjoy them from the -windows. And now the Primrose-- - - “Lady of the springe, - The lovely flower that first doth show her face; - Whose worthy prayse the pretty byrds do syng, - Whose presence sweet the wynter’s colde doth chase,” - -has ceased to glad us “with worldes of new delightes.” She is on the -wane, “with her bells dim”--as old Ben Jonson said; but I should not -call them bells. She dies upon a bed of vivid green amidst tall grasses -and her own thick-coming leaves, as stars grow pale before the dawn. -And we are faithless to her beauty in the presence of other, fresher -loveliness; and we care not though the Primrose is dead. - -The Tulips in the parterr--it is the older and prettier way to spell -it without an “e” at the end--are now the chief ornament of the garden -and the delight of my eyes. Timely rains strengthened the stalks to -rise to their full height, and there are the beds now, a blaze of -scarlet and yellow splendour. There are tall Tulips and short Tulips, -rose and crimson, scarlet and orange Tulips, striped and dashed, and -brown and white, and every shade of Tulip colour. A few grow between -little box and golden Arbor Vitæ bushes, and all the beds are deeply -fringed with Crocus leaves. I am aware that as a matter of the highest -principle, Tulips are seldom mixed; the colours are usually arranged -separately. Long experience has taught me, however, to have nothing -to do with principles--in the garden. Little else than a feeling -of entire sympathy with the diverse characters of your plants and -flowers is needed for “art in the garden.” If sympathy be there, all -the rest comes naturally enough. No brighter, gayer garden scene can -be imagined than on a sunny morning, turning the corner of a clipped -Yew--buttressed out from the house--to come upon the parterr, decked -in all its gay brilliancy of Tulips. The sculptured stone pillar rises -from a little mound of Stonecrop in the centre, often with a pigeon -or a thrush pluming itself on the top. Suddenly the little flock of -fantail pigeons with whistling wings descend among the many-coloured -brilliants, and there, in the emerald, dewy interspaces, they strut -and play in their pride and purity of whiteness. My favourite Parrot -Tulips do not as yet make much way; the lack of sunshine keeps their -buds green. It was in Venice, years ago, that first I fell in love -with Tulips such as these. On the marble altars of one of the great -Jesuit churches were vases filled with Parrot Tulips, all cut-edged -and gold and scarlet-splashed. The cloister garden behind the church -was full of them. It is a strange disorderly beauty, and sometimes -draggles and hangs its untidy head like a Bell-flower, and sometimes -flaunts it up full in the sun’s face. There are Forget-me-nots in many -parts of the garden; their long smoke-like lines of turquoise are -specially pleasing. Two square beds in the entrance court, set between -the black Yews, are also a success--Forget-me-not, flecked with pink -Saponaria--they give the idea of blue mist touched by the sunset. In -the Fantaisie, bushes of orange-coloured Berberis Darwinii are in -great perfection of bloom. There is something peculiarly delightful in -the way they have of spreading the earth with orange, while yet the -laden boughs above own no apparent loss. The orange colour contrasts -well also with a chance lot of purple Honesty, which has grouped itself -round a smooth-stemmed young Mulberry at the end of the turf walk. -The walk itself is very bright, with an irregular bordering of white -and pink Phlox Nelsoni--a Cheiranthus, or a deep blue Gentian, here -and there. The little low-growing Phlox comes in exquisite patches of -colour all over the garden. When in flower, the plant itself--which -is straggling and rather ugly--is completely hid by a flat mass of -close-set bloom. In these “gardens on a level” I am always wishing for -rockeries and little low terraces, which should be all draped with -Convolvulus Mauristiana, Phlox Nelsoni, Aubretia, and wild Ivy and -Alyssum, or something yellow. I should not much care for many rare -Alpine plants, I think; though a surprise of the kind here and there -would be charming. Colour I must have, and plenty of it, to rejoice -the eye and make glad the heart. - -A tract of wild, savage scenery, six square yards in extent, is in -contemplation at the afforested end of the Fantaisie. Already one or -two large pieces of a sort of conglomerate have been conveyed here, -and are frowning in an open space amongst the wild Bluebells. There is -a background of dark Arbor Vitæ, and beyond, the pleasant fields are -seen, with the cows and Elms and an Oak tree. There exists a certain -necessity for feature in this flattest of all places! The Yew hedges -and pyramids have done much to give character to the flower garden, and -now there must be rocks for variety. - -A heap of fragments of an old headless statue lies near the rocky -waste; part of a sitting figure--a hand and a foot--and lumps of -heavy drapery, overlaid in beautiful green velvet of moss. Very -forlorn the broken stones look, and I cannot decide to make them -into rockwork. None now know whom the statue in its day was meant to -represent--probably a garden goddess, Flora or Pomona--but its history -is rather quaint, if not touching. It was beloved by a lady who lived -here once, and hated by her sister, and according as each for the time -reigned in the other’s absence, it was set up in a niche of the garden -wall, or cast down with ignominy. At last the sister who loved the -statue died, and then it was broken to pieces, and flung down a well. -It was fished up again long after, before our time. Tradition tells of -another statue, an image of Old Time, that stood or sat at one end of -the pond in “the park,” but of this there remains no trace. - -I am happy in the possession of two long-desired flowers, which seem -now to be settling down in their new abode. One is the pale-blue Star -Anemone Apennina, common in the Ilex woods of Frascati; the other, the -lovely purplish-brown Fritillary (_Meleagris_), found wild in river -meadows near us. Fritillary is no easy word for poetry, yet it is named -by at least one poet. Matthew Arnold, in his “Thyrsis,” says-- - - “I know what white, what purple fritillaries - The grassy harvest of the river-fields, - Above by Ensham, down by Sandford, yields.” - -I think no other flower of any kind can compare with it in finish and -exquisite grace of form. The purplish, dove-like colour I believe to be -the same described in old French as “colombette.” - -_May_ 15.--To-day, amid the brilliant green of new leaves and the -singing and twittering of a thousand birds in the sun’s warm glow, one -keeps saying to oneself-- - - “Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king,” - -or some such old snatch of songs that seem to wander upon the soft -sweet air. Ah, yes, “the year’s pleasant king”! and yet our spring is a -beautiful spirit, and she has been hovering about us; but now, to-day, -she has set her feet upon the earth, and there is a great triumph of -verdure on the trees and on the grass; and Apple trees meet her in -fulness of bloom, and May-buds are swelling on the Thorns to make up -for lost time; and all the edges of meadow-grass are jewelled with -little gems of purple, and blue, and red, and the broad fields shine in -silver and gold. - -The short reign of Narcissus Poeticus has begun; our large old clumps -down one side of the Broad Walk are not so fine as usual; frosts and -cold heavy rains laid the leaves of some of them, and sometimes turned -them yellow; but within the walled garden the clumps are as beautiful -as ever--throngs of long-stalked silvery flowers, stiff and firm, -with the stiffness and strength of perfect health. Narcissus Poeticus -is lovely; and we need not trouble to know if it be the very flower -named by Theocritus, Virgil, and Ovid. The east border, though not -much varied as yet, is gay and full of promise. There are double pale -yellow Ranunculus (the Swiss meadow kind), and bunches of Heartsease, -violet and brown Auriculas, sheets of double white Anemones, and the -Riviera double scarlet--which, however, never with us comes scarlet, -but only dull red; Tulips, Stonecrops, Kingspear, Phlox Nelsoni, -double King’s-cups, and Bachelors’ Buttons, a patch of Gentians at -the south angle of the wall, with yellow Corydalis Lutea peering out -of chinks in the old bricks above. Crowds of Lilies are springing up -in the background, with purple Iris and Pæonies in bud. Solomon’s -Seal (Lady’s Signet) in many nooks and corners unfolds its curious -club-shaped leaf-buds, and all its bells will soon be hung. Pansies, -under the south wall, make a bright display; there are three large -oblong beds--lilac, yellow, and deep royal purple; also a round bed of -semi-double Anemones, whose scarlet colour, about mid-day, is actually -dazzling; and one of Ranunculus not yet opened. Behind these beds, -against the wall, are white Irises, almost ready to bloom, and several -clusters of the garden Star of Bethlehem--valuable in its way, but not -nearly so pretty as the wild sort, and most precise in its daily system -of early closing and late opening. - -Between the tennis-court and the little lawn belonging to the Firs and -Cedar, the walk winds along beside a close of chosen trees--Plane, -Silver Birch, pink Thorns, variegated Maple, etc., all in their -pleasant time of youth, having been planted only a little over eleven -years. Portugal Laurel and Box mingle with them in deeper shades. Next -the walk are Sweet Briar and well-berried Aucubas; one Aucuba is still -covered with scarlet fruit and golden leaves. There is yellow Spanish -Broom, and tall trees of white Broom wave long white plumes, leaning -over the path. White Broom, they say, is “the Juniper tree” that Elijah -sat down under. If so, the shade must have been but scanty! Soon the -path turns past a Yew-tree, and becomes the Primrose Walk, along under -the line of Elms. - -On the left are the _Allée Verte_, and the dovecote, and small orchard, -bounded by Beech and Yew, and crossed by flower-bordered smooth-shaven -grassy ways, all leading to the Broad Walk; on the right a little -hidden path passes on to the oft-named Fantaisie. Just before coming -to the Yew tree, on warm days ever since the beginning of the month, -one is met and surrounded by a wonderful cloud of fragrance! One looks -round in vain for some bed of flowers whence should proceed so powerful -a scent. It is like the finest Jasmine and Citron, and I know not what -of sweetest unknown incense. It is the greeting sent out from a dense -mass of Spurge Laurel (_Daphne pontifia_), with unobtrusive green -flowers in full bloom. It grows over a bit of the Iris bank, and its -great luxuriance proves how it loves a southern aspect. - -In our garden the birds have divided the kingdom amongst them, and -in this half is the portion that fell to the reed sparrow. He keeps -the Silver Birch alive with his busy note. Landmarks, known only to -themselves, divide the territory of the reed sparrow from the realm -of the nightingale. The fiery-hearted nightingale! He sings all day, -and his song makes the night glorious. The north-east region of the -garden he keeps for himself alone. There, on still evenings, long after -sunset, is heard the faint barking of distant watch-dogs, or the sound -of horses’ hoofs on the road. There is his favourite tree--the grand -old Thorn--where, as he sings, he may press a thousand thorns into his -breast! There, across the hedge, he sees the meadow with a shimmering -yellow of Cowslips all over it--if Cowslips be his desire, as is said. -There, not too far off, is the straight long railroad--and he loves the -thunder of the train, and the red, fire-spitting engine; but late in -the night, when there is dark and death-like silence among the trees, -then the nightingale claims possession of the whole, and all the garden -is his own. I know not if the nightingale’s song be melancholy or -joyous. His voice has all the pathos of the finest things, and in the -broken notes we feel that not all nor half his soul is uttered, and in -each splendid fragment there is the sense of endless possibilities; -this, I think, is the secret of the nightingale’s incomparable charm. - -I have omitted to mention amongst our Pansies, a very choice kind. -It is a curious burnt-brown colour, like the once fashionable “Paris -brûlé.” We name it Highcliff, after the place from whence we had -it first. Two large pink Oleanders in the greenhouse will soon be -blossoming all over. We tried them last year in the open air, but they -did not do, and had to return to their glass. A lovely face gazes at me -all the time I write, and will not suffer itself to be neglected! It is -a choice white Cactus of great size, with warm lemon colouring in the -outer leaves. The stamens are so delicately set, they tremble at the -slightest touch, and the starry pointal is itself a flower! - -[Illustration] - - -_JUNE._ - - -A Mosaic of Nectared Sweets. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -IX. - -JUNE. - - Of Pink May--Swallows in the Porch--Flowers de Luce--Poppies--A Little - Scotch Rose, and “Clutie.” - - -_June_ 6.--It is difficult to know what to say about the garden in -June. There is so much to say, I can hardly tell how to begin. The -leafy month earns well its title, so grandly full-leafed are the -trees; in finer leaf, I think, than they have been for many a year. -The Elms stand out against the sky in rounded blocks of green, and in -the Lime avenue the broad leaves meeting overhead are round and pure -in outline, untouched as yet by destroying worms, untorn by tempests. -The young Horse Chestnuts along the little watercourse are nearly twice -the size they were last summer, when cruel winds had left them only a -few ragged discoloured leaves. The flower-spikes of a Chestnut within -the garden measure near a foot in length. The great red Horse Chestnut -(_Pavias rubra_) is red all over; it is a mass of blossom almost from -the ground upwards to the very top. The tree is a fine sight, and if it -were not so common one scarcely should tire of admiring it. The season -makes a great difference in the colouring of the blossoms. Sometimes -they come out almost yellow, from too little sun and too much rain; -but in the rich _floraison_ of to-day their colour is almost crimson. -Then the Thorns are in great perfection; the branches of double Pink -May can be compared to nothing else but bars of pink velvet. The double -scarlet varieties are finer than usual, and under the hot sun their -vivid colour is quite dazzling. We find this sort rather capricious; -some years there is more green than red, and when the trees were -younger the red was finer. A little single Thorn draped itself down -to the very grass in scarlet bloom; but it lasts so brief a time that -every petal now has fallen. It is a picturesque, delightful tendency -in all trees to bend and stretch out to meet each other; their branches -love to touch and interlace. So, at this time, across many of our green -garden walks the flowering May makes beautiful red-garlanded arches. -Pink May and Laburnum interweave their branches, and in another place -a Cherry and a Thorn have succeeded in meeting. A little further on, -an Apple reaches out long arms above the turf to touch a copper Beech. -Here, in this corner, there is also Laurel; and Brake Fern, springing -of itself, will soon be tall enough to reach almost the Apple branches. -The Beeches, on either side the _Allée Verte_, embower the walk, while -along the outmost line their slender drooping shoots stretch themselves -to meet and embrace more staid and slow young Elm branchlets, spreading -from the great old trees. The nightingale’s old White Thorn shone white -like a great snow mountain for about ten days, surpassing all the rest -in beauty; and not far from it, deep in a thorny thicket of Dewberry -mixed with Ivy and Nettles, we found the nightingale’s nest. I often -visited her, and she would lie close, with head laid back, and bright, -black, watchful eye fixed full upon me; but I never saw her strange, -smoked eggs, because she would never stir from the nest. Massive -gleams--if such an anomaly can be said--of yellow Spanish and English -Broom are shining between green trees, in contrast with paler gold -of overhanging Laburnum. I wonder if the Riviera Broom would live in -this climate. I mean the Broom that grows something like a Rush, with -the flowers set all round its polished stem.[5] In the orchard border -an immense luxuriantly rounded bush of Weigela replaces the Pyrus of -last month, the lovely pink of its blossom set off by the tender green -around it. These are all beautiful bits of colour, and yet they are -only samples, as it were, of what I wish and may partly hope for some -day; for a Laburnum colonnade is in contemplation, and lilac closes, -and golden cloisters of Genista, some day, there must be! Something -also should be made of the pale hanging clusters of Wistaria--a -_pergola_ ceiled in with its lilac pendants, or small bushes standing -alone, in some grassy place. Our Rhododendrons and Azaleas are in great -beauty, and since last year, are grown and filled out; the season -seems in some way to have pleased them well. We do not attempt fine -sorts, though there is just a sprinkling of crimson and white and a few -others, amongst the showy old pinkish-lilac sort. The broad border by -the side of the walk along the Holly hedge is filled with Rhododendrons -and Azaleas; as yet only the common--yet always beautiful--yellow and -creamy-white Azalea, filling all the air with its peculiar scent. The -success of this border is especially pleasant, for the young Americans -made one rather nervous at times during the early spring--on days when -the weather did not exactly suit them they would look so pitiable and -dejected, with their leaves hanging straight down. Into this border -were moved most of the aged drawn-up Rhododendrons, that used to crowd -the shrubberies. Here, with more room, they have begun to bush out -healthily. Yet there is at present no peat or made-up bed, and the -ground is flooded every winter. We think of giving them a few cartloads -of peat next autumn, just by way of encouragement. In another year this -walk will deserve to be called “the Rhododendron Walk.” At the back of -the border two double scarlet May trees are now radiant with blossom. -About three years ago they were removed here out of the garden, where -for some reason they had become sickly and had ceased to bloom. Change -of air and scene has worked wonders: they have increased greatly in -size, and the move is apparently forgotten. Beyond these is the new -orchard, deep in growing grass, and then the Larch Walk; and--and -then--palings, if the truth must out! Beyond the Holly hedge, in the -shrubbery, wherein we stuff everything that has nowhere else to go, -there is at this moment a white glory of snow-balled Gueldres Rose. -In my ideal garden there shall be large single trees of Gueldres Rose -standing alone; not, as they generally are grown, “smored up” with -crowded shrubs. - -[Footnote 5: _Spartium junceum._] - -But we have wandered far away from the beloved garden. Over the south -porch is the Lady’s Bower--the chamber always so called in old English -houses--with Vine-wreathed windows. Swallows are building in the -garden porch. It is the chimney swallow, with the red throat. Their -confidence and tameness, the perpetual darting in and out of blue-black -wings (like tenderly domesticated trout! as Mr. Ruskin says), and -the conversational cheery twitter that goes on all day long, are a -continual feast. South, north, and east are the three porches of the -house, and swallows in all three. At the north they are more bold, but -somehow less familiar. Darting shoals of swallows dash in and out, -through the open doors into the house, and two nests are now nearly -built. The family motto, “God’s providence is my inheritance,” written -round the porch walls, suits well such a place of birds; while the -footless martin--sign of the seventh son--borne on the stone shield -over the door among the Roses and Ivy, our swallows may also feel to -be not wholly inappropriate. Under the east porch, which is now green -with Virginian Creeper and Vine--and which will be in its season -purple with Clematis, a pair of swallows are arranging a settlement. -Here also, though not quite so welcome, no one dreams of denying them. -After the sun has turned the corner of the house, this porch is cool -and shady. On the threshold is set the legend, “Nos et meditemur in -horto,” taken from a sun-dial in the nuns’ garden at Polesworth, near -Tamworth. The invitation, I think, is generally disregarded. Many cross -that threshold to walk in the garden and admire the flowers, or to play -tennis, or perhaps--to smoke. But I do not think people often meditate -much in the garden in these days. Dogs do sometimes, as they sit in the -sun. But I wonder how it is done! - -From the south front a lot of Everlasting Pea has wound itself round -between the wall and the Yew buttress, taking up fully one half of -the porch. It is well named Everlasting! One has nothing to do but to -dig it up, and cut and hack it away, and the next year it will appear -strong and hearty and in double quantity. It takes no hint that there -may be too much of a good thing! And yet, when it looks so fresh and -handsome, with its large bright flowers, it would be cruel to wish it -away. So let it be, to teach its lesson and to smother as it will. The -white Irises are nearly over, and Wood Strawberries begin to redden -under the windows. An old Maiden’s Blush Rose, covered with buds, peeps -in at the dining-room window on one side, and on the other is the -lovely pink of a most perfect Moss Rose. The parterr in front of the -window is bedded out, of course. I know that it soon will be a blaze -of well-chosen colour; but excepting the golden mount of Stonecrop in -the centre, I do not take much personal interest in its summer phase. -It is fortunate for the garden’s character that this should be so; for -as the invention of new combinations of plants and colours would be to -me impossible, this is left always in our Gardener’s hands, with full -confidence that the result will be as perfect as such things can be. -From the dining-room window we can also see, between the Sumac and a -Box tree, near where a Pæony showers crimson on the daisies, a tiny -mound of turf. It has been there since the end of last month; and -under it lies the dear little favourite of nine summers--Clutie, the -little black Skye terrier. She always loved the dining-room!... We can -now almost walk all round the garden in deep cool shade, such growth -the trees have made! The Broad Walk must always be exposed to the sun; -but from the west of it, across the lawn where the old bowling-green -once was, the distance from shade to shade lessens year by year as the -trees grow on. There is a charming well-shaded welt along the grass, of -purple Pansies and white Pinks, in two thick lines; and on the sunny -side a very bright dash of Limnanthes Douglasii has made a self-sown -edging. As if it enjoyed the pleasant coolness of a north-west border, -one lovely double Narcissus still lingers on in her early freshness. -When hot sunbeams pierce the shade, every day I think must be her last. -The Spurge Laurel has relapsed into the plain dulness of its summer -state, but the Iris bank upon which it grows is as lovely as heart -can desire. Cedar and Copper Beech and one or two Firs cast light -shadows upon the company of Irises, and help them not to wither up -too quickly. The prevailing hue is lilac, with stronger tones, and -yellows intermixed. Each one in turn seems loveliest, but one chief -beauty (_Iris pallida_) has broad petals of soft grey, most delicately -flushed with pink. Then there are lilacs marked with deeper lines and -white with lilac edges (_Iris aphylla_), finely pencilled; Enchantress, -and several other yellow Variegatas, with lines of red or brown; pale -yellow, with the three outer petals intense velvety-purple; and one -pale bluish, with deep blue-purple velvet outside, and bright yellow -brush, well marked. These two are much better than gay Darius, or the -handsome sullen Versailles. The sober old Marquise (_Iris lurida_), -too--who is, however, more like Mrs. Delany in dove-coloured mode silk -hood!--after long delay, is there amongst the best. Does any plant -exist that loves not a corner or an edge? I think not one; so a little -corner here, where a narrow grass path crosses the Iris bank into the -Beechen close, is made especially lovely by the undesigned grouping -of three Irises, enriched by a background of green Ferns and Beech. -The centre of the group is a deep red-purple Iris (from Vesuvius), -a finely coloured yellow and purple, and between them a pure white. -These grow tall and stately from out their straight stiff leaves, -while a little Welsh Poppy, established there by chance, brings in its -crumpled lemon-gold with the happiest effect. Colour effects, wherever -they appear in our garden, are seldom planned. Somehow it does not -come naturally to think, “Here there shall be blue Larkspur and white -Lilies,” or there red Poppies and something else. But it is quite an -exquisite delight to find the most beautiful accidents of colour in -unexpected places all about the garden. Then these chances may give -hints, which we can take or not. At a corner behind the dovecote there -is a grand crimson Pæony, mixed up with brilliant orange Marigolds, -some of them black-eyed; red and yellow are splendid, if well used. -Against the dark brown of a Cryptomeria Elegans stands a tall Tulip, -like white china painted and streaked blood-red; at least it is over -now, but I see it all the same. Then there is a patch of Welsh Poppy, -growing just as one finds a patch of Gentian or white Crocus on the -Alps--and with it London Pride, a mass of feathery red, growing in the -same way. Under the trees, one meets a pallid Columbine, looking like a -ghost, and just by chance in the lilac Iris bed occurs one rich carmine -Rose. I do not even think the delicately refined colour combination of -dwarf-growing Gloire de Dijon Roses and bronze Heartsease was quite -intentional; they mix, however, strangely well. And the bed of pink -Roses--Prevost and Jules Margottin--with the white Pink “Mrs. Sinkins,” -promises to be an equal success. - -One would fain stay for awhile the steps of the summer flowers in the -garden; but these bright daughters of the year, in long procession, -flit by more swiftly as each new day arises. They are in such a hurry -now to come and to be gone, alas! Even at this very moment there are -signs of the quick approach of some of our latest loves. For in the -east border, among crimson Pæonies and lingering purple Iris, appears -already a single Dahlia! In such a multitude one hardly knows which -flowers to note, they are all so fair. But in the Fantaisie, I think I -could almost let the Roses go which are bursting into bloom as bushes -and as pillar Roses, just to keep it a little longer as it is now, -with the hosts of White Foxgloves, with double white Rockets, yellow -Day Lilies, and puce-purple Columbines; Irises and white stars of -Nicotiana rising over an edging of pink and white Phlox Nelsoni--all -these and many more, set off by Cupressus and Fir, interspersed among -the flowers beyond; and flaring across the grass walk, a great fiery -scarlet Oriental Poppy. With the morning shining through it, this -flower seems made up of fire from the sun itself--the very purest -possible essence of scarlet. Several magnificent Poppies light up the -garden at different points. Their scarlet is a fast colour; neither -wind nor sun will scorch or change it in the least, and in this quality -it is superior to so many flowers whose colours fly directly--some -more easily than others. The brown Heartsease cannot stand the sun, -while the large purple is unmoved. The crimson of the Pæony flies; -and the rose-red double Pyrethrum scorches quickly. Lilac (excepting -in Wistaria) seems one of the fastest colours in the garden!--though -rain-drops standing all night in a half-faded lilac Iris become a -most beautiful colour! Although it seems that scarlet, yellows, and -colours in which blue is mixed stand best. Besides the great scarlet -Poppies, the annual Poppies are coming on, in all their varied pinks, -and reds, and whites; their large crumpled petals have the shape and -all the transparent delicacy of rare sea shells. There is also a -charming uncertainty as to the colours or amount of doubleness to be -expected. Amongst the best are bright reds with a clear white eye, and -pink-hemmed whites. But whenever anything approaching a common field -Poppy makes its appearance amongst them--as often happens, they have -such a strong tendency to run back--it has to be pulled up immediately. -Our Columbines are not so fine as they were last summer; their flowers -are smaller and not so free in form. The Californian scarlet and yellow -is so small as to be a miniature of itself. There is, however, one -fine plant with flowers pale violet and primrose, and the various -tints of “crushed strawberry” are very lovely, especially in the double -Columbines. - - * * * * * - -_June_ 15.--Here is the middle of the month, and the garden is more -bewildering than ever! Rosebuds in countless multitudes are blooming -everywhere, in every part. And as the fashion is to call her so, we -must allow the Rose to be queen of flowers; and since it is most true -that Roses are-- - - “Not royal in their smells alone, but in their hue,” - -so, though my beloved Iris has not yet faded from the garden, the Rose -now must be worshipped. One by one we have already greeted many of -our old best favourites. Amongst them Boursault came first, climbing -the south gables of the house; then Souvenir d’un Ami, large and full -flushed, at the very top of the long bare old stem of a climber, any -age; then Gloire de Dijon, which, though even more profuse in its bloom -than usual, has a something not quite right about it this year--a -sort of old expression. After that, Maiden’s Blush and Moss Rose. A -great wild blush of Boursault Rose grows at the north end of the -garden--the flowers are lovely, recalling a little in their colour and -irregular shape what I remember as “the Musk Rose,” in the gardens of -former days. Coupe d’Hébé, on the wall of the gardener’s cottage, is -perfect in scent and shape and in true rose-colour. The yellow Briar -is finer than usual, and Damask Roses are opening fast. La France, -too--the Rose whose scent is made of the finest attar--has delighted -us with half-a-dozen beautiful blooms; Blairii No. 2 begins to crest -the wire arches (one never hears of No. 1!). But among the Rose joys -which abound already, or that we still expect in endless succession, -none are so dear to me as one little ragged bush, covered now with -small white Scotch Roses of exquisite perfume. This little Rose bush is -forty-eight years old, to my certain knowledge. It was planted by my -father, and it has been mine for the last twenty years. Last year it -showed some signs of feebleness, so we moved it from the over-crowded -place where it had been for eleven years, into a newly made bed with a -south aspect. There, with a companion of the same kind, it promises to -take a new lease of life. Strange that such a little Rose should thus -live on for well-nigh half a century, calmly putting forth its leaf and -bloom summer after summer, whilst so many of the men and women who knew -it once have passed away! It somehow makes one think of the old monk -pointing to the frescoes on his convent walls, and saying, “These are -the realities; we are the shadows.” - -A word of praise must be said for the blue and green of Anchusa Italica -at the southern end of the Broad Walk, and the beds of white Pinks -(these are the old-fashioned “maiden pinks of odour faint”), mixing -their perfume deliciously with Musk. The beds and large patches of -beautiful “Mrs. Sinkins” are very good this season. They are, as -Bacon would say, “fast flowers of their smell,” in flavour like Clove -Carnations. - -[Illustration] - - -_JULY._ - - - “As the last taste of sweet is sweetest last, - Writ in remembrance more than things long past.”--SHAKESPEARE. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -X. - -MIDSUMMER AND JULY. - - Of Pæonies--Iris Sibirica--Green - Peas--Fennel--Strawberries--Lilies--The Vine. - - -_June_ 24.--“Ere the parting hour go by, quick, thy tablets, Memory.” -In less than a week July will be here, and June will fade away into the -past and be forgotten, while more than half its loveliness is still -unnoted and untold. So here on Midsummer night, when the spirits of -earth and air have power, let me call back for a moment the dear-worth -vision of flowers that were my delight in the gone sweet days of -early June. I would try also to fix the remembrance of a few, out of -the thousand glories of the day, doomed to die before ever the story -of next month begins. And first the Pæonies, which I have as yet -scarcely named. Earliest of all came the crimson-pink single Pæony -(_Pæonia peregrina_), with yellow stamens and bluish leaves, like -a giant Rose of Sharon (the single red Scotch Rose); then the pale -pink double; then the heavy crimson, that pales so quick in sun or -rain; then, most beautiful of all, the pure, cold, white Pæony, with -a faint tinge of colour on its outer petals. Last of all the large -rose-red--rose-coloured, with an evanescent perfume like a dream of the -smell of a wild Rose, yet in substance so staunch a flower that I have -known rose Pæonies retain their beauty for two full weeks in a glass of -water. All these, excepting one or two who here and there outstay the -rest, are gone by. - -And then the Elder! The hedgerows have been white with it; and there -were days when all the air was scented with it, and the country smelt -of Elder! The path under our one tree is now a milky way, covered with -a myriad little fallen stars. They remind one of the far-away Olives’ -starry blossoms, when they fall softly among Lady Tulips and Gladioli -in May. Syringa (_Philadelphus_, or Mock Orange) has come and almost -gone; three varieties--the old small one, the large-flowered, and the -half-double sort. I like most the first, and this has also the most -powerful scent. A large old bush of it grows in the grass, just without -the glass door in the wall opening into the greenhouse. Dear Syringa! -best hated and best loved of flowers. The lovers of it hail its -blooming with enthusiasm, and break off sprigs to wear as they pass the -bush, whilst others will go the other way round to avoid passing near. -And now it suffers still further insult by being denied its own old -name, Syringa! Even in 1597, in Gerarde’s time, there began to arise -some confusion between it and the Lilac, or “Blew Pipe Tree.” - -And now, at this very time, has come a new burst of Irises--the -narrow-leaved kinds. Not the real Spanish Irises; their time is -not yet. We have a few old plants whose flowers are deep bronze, -flame-centred, in yellow gold, and a stronger, commoner kind, of full -lilac colour. One little plant, growing in a pet corner by the iron -gate in the south wall, has a delicate primrose and lilac-tipped bloom. -And there is the great white Flag Iris, whose grand leaves stand four -feet high. The right place has not yet been found for this fine plant. -For three years past he has just borne with us, and no more; I fear he -dislikes us--and he shows it. By the watercourse the yellow Flags are -as yellow as possible, in rich contrast with their dark green leaves; -and in the Fantaisie, where the China Tulip stood last month, showing -bright against the dusky Cryptomeria Elegans, is now a fine root of -Iris (_Sibirica alba_). The blue Sibirica is good, but this white -variety is most lovely. One could not pass it by without remarking -the peculiar whiteness of its small shapely flowers, set on such long -slender stalks. How wonderful are the contrasts of white in flowers! Of -those now in bloom together, one hardly knows which to call the whitest -of them all. This little Iris retains through its whiteness a dim -remembrance, as it were, of blue. - -There is the kitchen garden, too! The fresh and brilliant beauty that -just now it holds within its walls will soon be past, giving place -to richer, more sober colours. Looking through the old ironwork of -the gate, up the straight middle walk, there is such a splendour of -brightly blended colour in the flowers on either side! As yet, they -are in their prime; the key-note of colour is white--double Rockets, -double white Pyrethrums, and white Pinks. Then, bending down over the -walk, mixing in with the whiteness, glowing through leaf and branch -in brilliant intervals of colour, are Roses--pink, crimson, blush; -Annual Poppies, tender or dazzling in their hue; clouds of pale blue -Delphinium, with spires of deepening blue over-topping all the rest. -Just midway between the pink and crimson Roses, a Briar, wreathed about -with small yellow blooms, hangs over the cross walks at the corner. -Masses of low blue Campanula fill in below or between the larger -flowers. Right at the end, another iron gate lets in the glimmering of -cool shades beyond. A little wren’s nest is there, ensconced snugly in -a bowery Clematis, half-way up the pillar; the nest cannot be seen so -far off, but I know well how the small entrance hole is quite filled up -with greedy little yellow beaks and gaping mouths! The little mother is -hard at work for them, somewhere near--hunting the bark of an Elm, most -likely. The golden wrens have brought out their families--two nestfuls. -We found the nests hanging in the Yews, and now the garden seems to be -full of little elfin scissors’ grinders, busy all day long. - -[Illustration: _The Parterr._] - -I have a fancy to open the gate and go all round the kitchen garden -quite prosaically. The other garden will seem still sweeter, after. -Here, on the left, is a breadth of wonderful Lettuces, round and -close like small round Cabbages, with milk-white middles; and beyond, -some taller and tied-up--more like Salad. Near the Lettuces are tall -ranks of Peas, hung all over with well-filled pods. I think I like -these beautiful green Peas, growing here, as much as when served up -in a dish for dinner. There seems always to be something attractive -to Art of all kinds in pea pods; from the pods sculptured on the -great bronze gates of the cathedral at Pisa, or the raised needlework -of the sixteenth century, to the ornaments in the jewellers’ shops -of Paris or the portraits of Marrowfats or Telegraph Peas in the -advertisement-sheets of gardening papers--these last being really -pictures, though not meant so. I remember once being shown a white -satin spencer of Queen Elizabeth’s, embroidered in butterflies and -Green Pea pods half-open, to show the rows of peas within. - -I think there is Beetroot, and a fine lot of young Cabbages, beyond the -Peas--in which no one can feel any particular interest; and oh! such -a sweet patch of seedling Mrs. Sinkins white Pink. I wish that Pink -did possess a more poetical name--Arethusa or Boule de Neige! but the -thing is done, and to the end of time Mrs. Sinkins will be herself. -Next comes a little square of Japanese Iris, the tall stems tipped with -swelling buds whose grand unfolding I long to see. Rows of young Sage -plants grow near, quite unlike sage-green, so-called, in colour; and a -nice little plantation of healthy-looking Fennel. That is for broiled -mackerel; but there is to me another interest connected with Fennel, -that lies in a lurking hope, always unfulfilled, of finding upon it -a caterpillar of the rare _Papilio regina_. Caterpillars of another -sort are only too multitudinous on the Currants growing up the walls. -The increase of them, and of the sawflies belonging to them, is not -short of miraculous. One may stamp out whole families and clear the -bushes, and next morning they will be beginning again. Yet invariably -in the act of destroying there creeps in a sort of questioning, whether -the caterpillars have not full as good a right to the Currants as we -have--except, indeed, that we, and not they, planted them. But the -sawflies would seem to have at least a right to live--a greater right, -perhaps, than we to have tarts; yet they are spared none the more for -such-like uncomfortable reflections. On the south wall the fruit trees -seem to be more or less flourishing. An old Nectarine is covered with -fruit. Then comes Apricot tree No. 1, on which I find no Apricots; -Nos. 2 and 3 the same, 4 dead, and 5 with “a good few” on it. Then we -come to Peaches, plenty of them; then a beautiful dark-leafed Fig tree; -and then the Cherries, well fruited and well netted. And so on round -the walls. Near the wren’s nest there is another large patch of Pinks, -commoner and better than any, with the neatest lacing of purple-madder -or lake. And here a powerful fragrance stops one short; it is the -strawberries, smelling deliciously. They are littered down with clean -straw, and netted close, for the discomfiture of blackbirds. The scent -takes me back a very long way--back to an inconceivable time, when this -old smell of Strawberries, borne across the hedge in the hot noontide -of some summer holiday, was reason enough to set us wild vagrants of -the garden scrambling through the thorns to seize the exquisite delight -of spoiling our neighbour’s Strawberries--a joy that was never marred, -for we were never found out. Sun and rain have both been kind, and this -is our second week of immense red Presidents, one of the oldest and -best of strawberries--the older Caroline being now quite forgotten. -The espaliers are showing plenty of Apples and Pears. Three Pear trees, -standing at the four cross-ways, are curiously in bloom; the blossoms -are all sickly-looking and undersized, but the trees are covered with -them up to the very top, while fruit is set at the same time. I dislike -this unnatural blooming, for the mind will persist in reverting to -foolish sayings and superstitions connected with trees bearing fruit -and flower at the same time. - -Among the pleasant sights of this mid-summertide, perhaps the -pleasantest of all is the great thicket of wild Roses growing within -the wire network that bounds the tennis-lawn on the garden side. The -east, shining full upon it every morning, brings forth hundreds of -new-blown Roses. Very often, as you pass into their sweet presence from -under the Plane trees, the air is redolent of a subtle perfume--not -always, though, nor every day, for Roses are capricious of their -scent. The yellow-stamened centre of each flower glows like a tiny -lamp of gold, and the soft petals surrounding it are rose-pink of the -tenderest dye. Were these the canker-blooms of Shakespeare? If so, and -if in his day they could be said to “live unwooed, and unrespected -die,” surely now the tide has turned, for the wild Rose is beloved of -all; while we must confess that garden Roses now-a-days do not always -“die sweet deaths.” - - * * * * * - -_July_ 22.-- - - “It is not growing like a tree - In bulk that makes man better be. - The Lily of a day - Is fairer far in May: - Although it fall and die that night, - It was the plant and flower of light.” - - _Ben Jonson._ - -Once more our favourite old Ben! Roses are gone, and the memory of them -is as of something too beautiful for words. And Lilies, too, are over; -the fairest of them, the tall white Lily, with her shining head--_nil -candidius_--pure as the shining robe of saints in heaven--better than -Solomon in his glory. She, too, is past; nothing of her remains but -long dismal stems, with down-hanging shrivelled leaves and melancholy -pointals undrest of beauty--to tell of her former pride. - -[Illustration: _East Gate._] - -The character and features of the Lily would seem to be well marked -enough; and yet, sometimes, the popular idea of it is certainly a mixed -one. In former days flower-hawkers in the streets of London may be -remembered crying, “Lilies, fine white Lilies!” with their barrow-loads -of white Thorn, or May blossom, from the country. Some botanical reason -there must have been for the Lilies in Ferrari’s “De Florum Cultura” -(1633) being named Narcissus! I have been studying an odd volume of -this curious old book, and the unmistakable Lilies represented in the -plates are all “Narcissus Indicus.” Even the Water-lily-like Blood -Flower is a Narcissus. Very likely these remarks may only show my -ignorance. - -July must be all retrospect, for all is over--or so it seems to me. -After an absence of a few days, on returning to the garden, I find -there is a change--an almost autumnal feeling in the air, and withered -leaves are blown across the lawn. Faint perfumes linger still about -the Limes, and though no song birds are there, the sound of bees is -heard in the green depths above. But we no longer would breakfast under -the Limes, as we did so short a while since, in summer days departed. -Wind and rain have done their worst amongst the flowers, and yet there -is consolation in all that remains. The best are passed away, but -beautiful new things are coming on. The Evening Primrose (_Ænothera_) -already lights up the garden ways. Variegated Maples, with their -foliage white as ivory, look their best against the darkening Elms.[6] -The hedge of Sweet Peas is for the moment in beauty. Sweet Peas go off -too quickly in our light warm soil, so we try to prolong their blooming -to the latest limit by cutting off their pods as fast as they appear. - -[Footnote 6: A small branchlet in one of these white Maples has -returned to the original green, and this is also the sole bit of the -tree that bears a _bunch of keys_.] - -Purple draperies of Clematis (Virgin’s Bower), in many shades, from -the deepest violet softening into grey, make the old brick walls -beautiful; or the same Clematis droops from trellises, or clambers up -the trees in many parts of the garden. Almost always it so happens that -the tender green of Vines mingles with the purple. There is something -almost unpleasing in the arrangement of the four petals of Clematis -Jackmanni! but much must be forgiven for the sake of such grand -colouring. No climbing plant comes near the Vine, perhaps, in perfect -grace and beauty of line. The fruitful Vine gives delight to the eye -in far larger measure than Virginia Creeper, or any other of our green -hangings upon the walls of a house. The Vine is more obedient and yet -more free, and its intelligence is greater. Thinking of the Vine as -of a person, one would say that her foliage shows all the variety of -genius. Scarcely will you find two leaves alike, in shape, or size, -or colour. The youngest leaves are half-transparent and golden-green, -or reddened by the sun; on some the light lies cold and grey. If the -Vine is trained round the window, the leaves seen from within outspread -against the light glow like green fires. The very shadiest recesses of -the Vine are full of light. And then the tenderness and strength of -her slender beautiful tendrils! How they reach out like sentient hands! -and when they have found, how strong and firm their clasp! Then, who -does not know and love the curious aroma of her small green flowers, -bringing back to memory the smell of a Southern vineyard? Very soon, -now, autumn suns will swell the clustered fruit, and purple bloom will -begin to show between the leaves. A Vine is one of the only plants -whose every leaf, well nigh, may be painted with care in a picture, and -yet not seem too much made out. Yet rarely indeed can human hand give -the fine thinness and yielding texture of a Vine leaf! - -We are never without Portulaca and Mesembryanthemum (how far more -simple is the old name--Fig Marigold) about this time, and the two -beds of them now flowering are especially brilliant. Cool colours -tell beside the scarlet and orange that mostly prevail, and in this -way nothing could be more refreshing than the dwarf Ageratum and blue -Lobelia, mixed with honey-scented Koniga Maritima Variegata, near the -Carnations and Portulaca. The deep blue, with bronze foliage, of the -Lobelia beds in the parterr is almost hot beside the cooler blues -beyond. The Sumac this year is not in beauty--not as if a sunset cloud -had settled down upon it. The multitude of new green shoots would seem -to overpower the crimsoned fluff. - -[Illustration] - - -_AUGUST._ - - - The Garden is a mute Gospel. - The Garden is a perpetual Gala. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XI. - -AUGUST. - - “My Sunflower”--Of a Garden Sunday--Of Ghosts in the - Twilight--Magnolia Grandiflora. - - -_August_ 6.--The Lime avenue is pleasanter than ever now, on these -bright afternoons when the low sun strikes amber shafts through the -branches, and light shadows lie on the parquet of brown and yellow -leaves beneath. With every breeze hundreds of the winged sea-vessels, -like queer little teetotums, come twirling down. The wrens are busy -with their second or third nests--without counting the cock-nests at -the beginning of the season; the porch swallows are thinking of a -second brood, and scatter straws of hay and patches of wet mud untidily -upon the stones underneath their nests; thrushes go about the lawn -followed by two or three great awkward young ones (their third family -this season), too foolish to pick up worms for themselves. As for the -sparrows, they are hard at work with probably the sixth or seventh nest -of their series. Roses are coming on in their second bloom; low bushes -and standards of La France show large buds and attar-scented blossoms; -while crimson Roses of many names glow in richest bloom here and there -all over the garden. Precious as are these late Roses, the chord of -colour has changed so much since Roses were in their prime, that fresh -pink or crimson seem almost misplaced among the fiery reds and scarlet. -White Roses are seldom so beautiful as one feels they ought to be; but -a small plant of the Japanese Rosa Rugosa, in its first season with -us, has been a great pet this summer, with its large white petals; the -Macartney also is welcome, flowering as it has for the first time in -its life here. The buds have hitherto always fallen off, without an -attempt at unclosing, and it has only kept its place on the wall for -the sake of the lovely evergreen leaves and yearly promise of abundant -bloom. But the only perfect white Rose, the White Moss, remains still -for me a dream and nothing more. There are tall old bluish-pink Roses -at the back of the Beechen close which have been blooming in almost -rank luxuriance. They, with a few Cabbage Roses and Maiden’s Blush, and -a yellow Banksia, were all of Roses the garden had when first we came -here, eleven years ago. At that time they were thought too ugly almost -to live, and were banished to the outskirts. But time has brought -them round to the front again; and now these relics of a bygone Rose -age are beloved for their redundant and perfumed bloom, and for their -most uncommon colour, the red in them being so largely mixed with cold -blue. The York and Lancaster Rose--long lost and long coveted--will, -I hope, ere next season be established with us. For the other day in -Somersetshire we found one growing near a ghostly house in a deserted -garden, and from this plant we have some healthy suckers. I cannot keep -pace with the new Roses; they are mostly too large and heavy. They -seem to run too far from the flatness of a really typical Rose type. - -We have not made _pot pourri_ this summer; but the Lavender harvest -is gathered in, with spikes unusually fine. I am not sure that they -smell much the sweeter for their great size. It is a pleasant time -when the Lavender is laid out in trays, and the house is full of the -sweetness of it. On these bright windy mornings the Broad Walk looks -its best. Looking up from south to north, the end of the walk, framed -in with trees, is bounded by a low Quickset hedge, beyond which lies -meadow-land, with glimpses of yellow corn-fields. Beyond all is the -soft blue of distant wood. Along the Yew hedge, on one side, are long -borders in the turf of single Dahlias, in succession to Sweet-williams -(Bearded pink); and the other side under the wall is enriched with -scarlet, the scarlet of those tall Lychnis which the children call -“Summer Lightning” (_Lychnis chalcedonia_, flower of Bristow and -Constantinople). And there are sheaves of finely dyed rose-red Phloxes, -pyramids of blue and white Campanula, and clumps of dark blue Salvia; -grey and feathery Gypsophila Paniculata also--priceless for the setting -off of delicate Poppies and other refined and frail kinds when cut. Yet -the mass of colour would be far more brilliant but for the bulbs which -lie hidden under the earth. They must not be disturbed by planting -in amongst them, so all that is in the border has its place there -perennially. - -Spaces in the wall behind--where the ancient Pear trees may have -perished from old age--are sometimes dressed in spreading Vines. Last -month a tall blue Larkspur, near one of these Vines, was caught by the -wandering tendrils, and so they grew together, the Larkspur upheld by -her friend the Vine with a strong and tender grasp. Green streamers -of this Vine also wreathe the head of an iron gate empurpled with -intermingling Clematis. Here also, close to the old wall, at regular -intervals, are our Sunflowers; some of them grow to nearly ten feet in -height. After many trials of other spots, we think they seem to do best -planted thus. The shelter saves them all conflict with wind and rain, -and they are tall, and straight, and full, having no cares of weather -to divert their gradual growth to beauty. There was a time when I did -not love Sunflowers. Their constant repetition as a kind of æsthetic -badge can scarcely fail to tire. In those days they had no place in the -garden, or only in some out-of-the-way obscure corner. But once I found -a little song of William Blake’s, and ever since, for the music of it, -the Sunflower has been beloved, with the feeling that to know her is to -give her your heart. - - “Ah, Sunflower! weary of time, - Who countest the steps of the sun, - Seeking after that sweet golden prime - Where the traveller’s journey is done, - Where the youth pined away with desire, - And the pale virgin, shrouded in snow, - Arise from their graves and aspire - Where my Sunflower wishes to go.” - -Perhaps there is not much of common sense in the words! but they surely -are most musical. How grand these Sunflowers are! and there is a sweet -and gracious look in the Sunflower’s open face. With all her grand -mien and stately stature, she never stares up direct at her god; the -golden head half bends down; downward also point the symmetrically set -broad leaves, delicately shaped _en cœur_. The whole aspect is one of -contemplation, or at least one fancies it to be so. There is also a -sort of majesty in the one strong single stem, from which proceeds so -fine a show of buds, and flowers, and leaves. Yet I have never been -happy enough to see her act the part of the poet’s Sunflower--the real -Sunflower of our earthly gardens could never turn her head so fast; -all that I know she does is to bloom on whichever side of her the sun -rises. Poets, nevertheless, are the true seers, and without doubt they -know what they say. The French name, “Tournesol,” would seem to imply a -popular belief that the flower follows the sun. - -The silly Dahlia would turn her face to the wall or any way. Brilliant -as are these single Dahlias, they are rather trying in their ways; so -much rank leaf and stalk, and so little flower; the plants sometimes -too large and bushy, sometimes too thin; and then it is so irritating -when their backs are turned as one passes along the walk! The so-called -Cactus Dahlia is not at all tiresome; it is beautiful both in form and -colour. - - * * * * * - -_Aug_. 26. _Sunday Morning._--After a hundred years, if the Seven -Sleepers awoke on an English Sunday morning, they would certainly -at once know what day it was. There is nothing else like it for the -feeling of intense repose. No other stillness can compare with the -deep calm of a Sunday morning such as this. No leaf stirs; there is -no cloud moving about in the hot hazy blue; the clatter of the iron -road has ceased; the very birds are still. Swallows alone are ever on -the wing, and the silence is so profound that the beat of their wings -can be heard as they dart by in rapid course. The busy corn-fields lie -empty in a golden rest. Only here and there, where the harvest is not -yet gathered in, the sheaves, like praying hands, stand together on -the field. In the green pastures the grazing cattle seem to tread with -hushed and silent step. And there is a sound of church bells on the -air, coming clear yet faint across the level country. There will be -no church for the tired harvestmen whom we saw yesterday lying on the -dusty grass by the roadside. They are too tired, and too ragged and -dirty; but we may hope for them also some restful influences from the -quiet of the day, under such a blue sky. - -The early morning is always the time of all others for the garden, -while the flowers are refreshed with the dew and darkness and cool -of night, and are rejoicing yet in the light of a new sun. Soon they -will begin to flag in the dry weary round of burning hours. To one who -only knows the garden after 8 o’clock a.m., a walk round it between 7 -or 8, or earlier, would be a revelation. On this special morning the -flowers in the east border seem penetrated through and through with -the rapture of existence. Each Sunflower stands with half-transparent -shadow sharp out upon the wall behind it, its petals fresh gilt, its -centre sparkling with dew; rose-red Phlox and flaming Sword Lilies -(Corn-flag), blue Salvia intermixed with many-coloured stars of -Dahlias, and an indescribable mob of smaller, more insignificant -things. Round the corner a great mass of common white Clematis fills -the air with fragrance. It is all whiteness and sweetness; it is a -summer cloud, a white cumulus of surpassing beauty. One of the stone -vases of the gate pillars is completely hidden under the white foam. -But this matters not; nothing matters but that we should have the -Clematis there, in its loveliness! The Tigridias in the entrance court -are wide open, and none would guess how brief their hours were to be. -There are a few perfect Roses--morning glories (_Convolvulus major_), -and orange Tropœolums (“Lark-heels trim”) with bluish leaves. The dew -lies upon all, and one may say in the garden the Psalmist’s words about -the valleys thick with corn, for the flowers all seem to laugh and sing -with joy. Ten glorious days of almost uninterrupted sunshine have made -us very dry. Daily waterings help to keep things alive, but the grass -is a little brown in some parts of the lawns, and there are yellow -leaves on the Elms and the older Laburnums. The dead dry leaves rustle -so thick under foot in the Lime Avenue, that one looks up to see if any -green is left. - -Most of the German seed Grasses are already gathered, though a few -have still to ripen. We always sow a good variety; they look so fresh -while growing, and afterwards are dried for the winter. There is the -pretty Tussock Grass, with soft downy tufts, and the long feathery -kind, like waving hair; and one, most delicate and spray-like, is a -sort of miniature Bulrush, with a green curved head; and then there is -a little forest of our English Bashaw Grass (_Bromus aspen_). This is -very handsome and gigantic in size, and came up of itself in one of -the wild bits of the garden. The handsomest of all our Grasses this -year is a fine blue Grass (Lyme Grass, _Elymus arenarius_), from the -dunes of Holland. The colour amongst other greens is absolutely blue. -It grows so strong, and the leaves so long, that it might almost be -mistaken for an Iris. It is strange that this Grass should thrive -apparently as well, or better, in a Buckinghamshire garden, than in -its native sands! Near the old Syringa (_Philadelphus_), on the turf -at the greenhouse door, two large pots of white Campanula are stood -out for change of air. They are so tall that as one passes by in the -gloaming, one is startled by these tall white people suddenly appearing -out of the dusk. Others of the same pyramidal Campanulas remain in the -house. They are pale pinkish blue and white. Hundreds of blossoms cover -up and hide the whole plant, and nothing is seen but the mass of wide -open flowerets. So cleverly are the flowers arranged, there is no sign -of over-crowding--and one asks how this is, for they seem to be set -quite close and even. “To questions such as these Nature answers, ‘I -grow.’” The Auratum Lilies had vainly promised to open for so long that -I almost lost patience. The dry weather may have caused them to delay. -Constant watering seems now to have begun to take effect, and there -are two or three superb blooms. The bulbs are not taken up for the -autumn; they are only covered over with fine ashes or cocoanut fibre. -If a plant will consent to live in its own place winter and summer, it -seems so much more real, somehow. I wished to try the plan with our -Spanish Irises, but in their case it proved a complete failure. Our -large roots of Salvia Patens are seven years old; they are yearly cut -down and covered with ashes. - -The parterr is at this time in its full perfection. In other gardens -I observe the blue Lobelia has done flowering, but our seedling that -we raised, with bronze foliage, is as fine as it was two months ago. -I cannot say the blue is so cool as the others, but the staying power -of this special kind is of real importance, and the beds are most -luminous. I am greatly enjoying a beautiful large blue Agapanthus in a -green tub, placed on the grass near a trimmed Box tree, with a black -Irish Yew for background. The scarlet Pelargoniums (must that long name -be always said?) glow so hotly, they seem to want as much blue and -green as we can give them. Never has our Magnolia Grandiflora flowered -so well; I have counted nine great blossoms on the two trees at the -same time. The texture of no other flower comes near to the beauty of -the Magnolia. I remember long ago a white-chested beautiful boy, whose -mother called him in play her Magnolia boy. That little child was the -only flower I ever saw that could compare with the Magnolia! - -[Illustration] - - -_SEPTEMBER._ - - - “Time will not run back to fetch the age of gold.”--MILTON. - - “_In graceful succession, in equal fulness, in balanced beauty, the - dance of the hours goes forward still._”--EMERSON. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -XII. - -SEPTEMBER. - - Of Psyche--Of an Old Garden--_Nil Desperandum_--Of Branches bearing - Beauteous Fruit. - - -_September_ 17.--That is not to-day! Time has since been sliding on -faster and further away from summer into autumn. Yet I have a fancy -to mark the date of as sweet a September day as ever shone upon -this garden. I believe the people who got most enjoyment out of the -sunshine of that marvellous day were the butterflies. There was a -real butterflies’ ball held in the long border of single Dahlias! -An hour before noon the flowers, beautiful in all the brilliance of -their rainbow dyes, were visited by a dancing throng of Atalanta -butterflies. Yellow, red, orange, lilac, white--every flower had -its Atalanta or two. They were the finest butterflies of the kind -I ever saw. Strong on the wing, and faultless in the perfection of -their white-edged black velvet and scarlet suits, they were the very -embodiment of joyousness. Not a jot did they care, in their pride and -joy of life, though a hundred deaths surrounded them. They knew nothing -at all about that, indeed. Life in the balmy air with the sunshine -and the flowers was all in all to them. A few shabby Gamma moths, and -hosts of humble bees, combining business with amusement, mixed in -with the butterflies. By noon the whole gay company dispersed. Later -in the day I found those fickle Atalantas disporting themselves upon -some yellow Everlastings in another part of the garden. Butterfly life -varies in our garden year by year, but I never saw so many Atalantas. -This summer we have seen few Peacocks or Tortoiseshells. Orange-tips -(_Euchlæ cardamines_) were unusually plentiful in the spring, as were -also our White Cabbages throughout the summer. So much fair weather as -there has been required a good supply! since two white butterflies -in the morning are the sure sign of a fine day--and this summer they -had always to be about in pairs. Often, a large brimstone has floated -calmly by. The chalkhill blue (_Polyommatus Corydon_), for many -past seasons noted as appearing about the Yew hedges in March, has -failed us this year; there have been no humming-bird sphinxes, and -the far-scented Auratum Lilies, where often on warm evenings I have -sought great Hawkmoths, seem to have attracted nothing but scores of -very inferior-looking Gammas. It is an intense pleasure to watch these -various most beautiful beings, in all the freedom of their wayward -wildness. No inducement would to me seem powerful enough--now that the -barbarity of youth is past--to cause their capture and death, were they -never so rare as specimens. - -And now the rain and the falling leaves recall but too vividly the -true date (Sept. 28), reminding me that I have to tell of the garden’s -autumnal desolation; yet if the days would only keep fair and bright, -enough still is left there to make one happy. The single Dahlias -have won their way quite since last I wrote, and now I love them -dearly. They are alone sufficient to light up half the garden. Our -chief border is made up of seedlings, an exquisite variety of colours, -mauve or rose-lilac coming least often, and a yellow with reddened or -burnt-sienna tipped petals by far the loveliest. Named varieties are -along with the Sunflowers opposite. White Queen I like the best--such -large pure flowers. A White Queen with an Atalanta butterfly settling -on it is a perfect little bit of contrasted colour. I am schooling -myself to say Dah-lia, but habit is strong, and Daylia will persist -in coming out. In Curtis’s _Botanical Magazine_ of 1803, vol. xix., -p. 762, “Dahlia Coccinea, scarlet-flowered Dahlia,” is figured. There -is a note--“So named in honour of Andrew Dahl, a Swedish botanist; -... not to be confounded with Dalea, a plant named after Dale, the -friend of Ray.” The pronunciation settled, the magazine goes on to -say the Dahlia is “a native of South America, and may be considered -as a hardy greenhouse herbaceous perennial.” These beautiful flowers -are especially valuable, since rain has no effect on them, though -rough winds so easily break the brittle stems. The double Dahlia is -unknown in our garden; it has never been admitted. Fine as it is in -form and colour, the dislike to it seems, perhaps, unreasonable, yet -through some far-off association, I can never disconnect the double -Dahlia from a sort of mixture of earwigs and pen-wipers! The clumps of -Japanese Anemones, both white and rosy-grey, are full of an unfailing -charm. We try to prolong their existence by snipping off the round -seed-heads. One might as easily make ropes of sand.... The same service -done to Dahlias is just within human possibility. The dark red-mauve -variety shows an individuality which gives it great value in the autumn -borders. The irregularly shaped flowers, whose narrow petals manifest -an inclination to double, last longer than those of the other two -kinds. Rain and wind have destroyed the beauty of Salvia Patens; it -will bloom out again, however. The rich blue of this well-loved Salvia -contrasts well with white Anemones when mixed in the flower-glasses. -As for cut flowers, they are always a doubtful pleasure. I gather them -with a pang, and would rather enjoy them blooming their full time out -in the garden. And yet what other ornament is there--even of finest -porcelain--to compare with fresh-cut flowers? Nor are pictures, nor -rich satins of Italy, sufficient without flowers to make your room -look bright and habitable. Even that best decoration, walls well lined -with books, is the better for a few flowers on the table. So that I -am not yet prepared to follow the example of the old lady who never -allowed one flower in her garden to be cut, and filled her glasses with -artificial Roses! Sunflowers are sprouting round their strong stems, -and surrounded thus by constellations of smaller suns, are perhaps even -handsomer than before. We have two curiosities of Sunflower at this -moment--curious as demonstrating a resolve to exist and flower under -any circumstances whatever. One is a large thick-stemmed plant, which -must have met at some time with some violent discouragement; it lies -curled round flat on the earth, looking almost like a poor starved cat -with a large head; for, though quite overgrown with summer Phloxes and -Roses, etc., one large flower at the end of its stalk tries to look up, -while two or three of smaller size, growing along the stalk, do the -same. In contrast to the deformity below it, a miniature Sunflower, -slenderly graceful, with blossom no larger than a florin, springs out -of the mortar between two bricks high up on the wall. There is no -visible crevice, but some tiny nail-hole there must be where somehow a -seed had lodged. - -Though many borders have now begun to look forlorn, we feel the garden -has done well. It is still quite full of flowers, in some parts -gay, even, as it could never have been with the dulness of the most -brilliant “bedding out.” The entrance court is bright with Nicotiana, -scarlet Pelargoniums, Zinnias, double white Petunia, and blue Lobelias. -The long-desired pink China Roses, intended for these beds once, could -not be found anywhere. Such simple loveliness is out of fashion, it -seems! Torch plants (_Tritoma_) are alight in all the edges of distant -shrubberies. There are Japan Anemones and Œnothera everywhere. The -Sweet Pea hedge by the tennis-court is out again in bloom. Marigolds -take care of themselves. They keep going off and coming on again, -shining out in the dark where least expected. Our Marigolds are of the -deepest orange-gold. The seed was brought from Cannes, where their -colour is always fine. They incline to turn pale with us, so we have to -weed out pale faces in order to keep the stock black-eyed and fiery. -Golden Rod is plentiful and useful, and I like it for the sake of -old remembrance. Eighty years ago, as I used to hear, the gardens at -Hampton Court knew no other flowers at all.[7] The great square beds -were simply filled with Golden Rod. Those must have been happier days -at Hampton Court, before carpet bedding was known--when the Yews were -in all their beauty, and the fountain sent up its single lofty jet, -and children played upon the mimic harp wrought in the beautiful iron -gate of the Pavilion Walk, or peeped through the bars at the browsing -deer. - -[Footnote 7: In the royal private gardens, however, at Hampton -Court, rare plants were cultivated so far back as 1691; such as the -Green-flowered Knowltonia Vesicatoria, etc.] - -Amongst what may be called the ruck of flowers throughout the -garden, are deep crimson Snapdragon, Zinnias, of all shades of -colour; Verbenas, pink, white, red, and striped purple; low Phloxes, -flesh-coloured and crimson--more beautiful than they ever were in -their proper season; Musk, Michaelmas Daisies, Euphea Platycentra, -Mignonette, Lobelias--the bronze-leaved Lobelia Cardinalis; lilac and -white and pink Everlastings, white Marguerites and red Pyrethrums, -Princes’ Feather, yellow Heartsease, and Mrs. Sinkins Pink in a grand -dash of second bloom--an endless variety, all making the effort to put -forth their best, now that the last times draw so near. We might gather -baskets of flowers and fill the house with them, were we so minded, and -still hardly miss them from the garden. And yet has it not been said, -“Bright tints that shine are but a sign that summer’s past”? And full -well I know the garden’s pleasure is even now growing towards the end. -Roses, it need scarcely be said, abound; even Charles Lawson is red -with a second bloom. A few Damask Roses are coming out by mistake. They -look very strange, putting one in mind of a long-forgotten Rose, the -Rose des Quatre Saisons. I see it clearly now, as I knew it in other -days--pink all over with its October blossoming--in a garden whose -loveliness lives only in the past. “Quarter Sessions” Rose, the ancient -guardian of the place not unnaturally used to say! Shall I try to paint -that garden? for surely none such exist any more. It was like Shelley’s -poem of the “Sensitive Plant,” full of the poetry of trees, and grass, -and flowers.... A nearly level space cut in the depths of a hanging -wood; no enclosing boundary to be seen, save here and there, between -the Rhododendrons, hints of a mossy low stone wall, or the Sweet Briar -hedge at one end fencing off a stretch of Cedarn turf. On the upper -edge of the gently sloping lawn a grand old Beech tree with silvered -bole caught the rays of the morning sun. There was a giant Larch, all -bearded with long grey lichens; a Tulip tree, a standard Magnolia. Here -also was the orangery; up its columns were twined trumpet Honeysuckles -and Passion-flowers. In front, a sunny plot--oblong beds, with narrow -walks between--was devoted to Carnations, Ranunculus, and many choicest -favourites. A walk wound round the lawn, and upon the smooth grass -were beds full of lovely old-fashioned flowers. Large tree-Roses, -yellow Briars, and Scotch Roses (white and red), and the old Queen of -Sweden, and tall poles covered with climbing Roses, loose-petalled and -cherry-coloured--Noisettes, and Souvenir de Malmaison grew also on the -turf, with arches of Honeysuckle and thickets of incense-breathing -Spice plants. On the lower shady side the walk went on between bosquets -of Kalmia and Azalea. Here also great heaped-up limestone rock -formed a sort of natural wall between the garden and the wood. Every -cranny was filled with rare and delicate Ferns and all shade-loving -Alpine plants, while double white and blue Periwinkles streamed down -everywhere. Alpine Roses, too, flourished here luxuriantly. On the -lower side, at one corner, a vista was cut through the trees, so that -over the Rhododendrons, here kept quite low, one looked through a frame -of Beeches far away across the wide sunlit valley, across the corn -and pastures, hedgerows, coppice, and farm roofs, to the long range -of wooded hills, and the grey tower cresting the distant headland. A -little wire gate, hid behind the rocks, gave access to the garden from -the house by a narrow pathway in the wood. I never knew that garden in -its prime. When I remember it the sweetest flowers grew amid long weeds -and grasses, and it had all the wild grace of a deserted garden; for -those who loved it were gone, and the old gardener could scarce hobble -round to tend his “Quarter Sessions” Roses; and now he too is long -dead, and the place is--modernized.... - -The Fantaisie has been an unfrequented spot of late. It is a wilderness -of flower and seeding plants, somewhat damp and overgrown. “The Forest” -will have to be remodelled, and we contemplate an annexe on the north -side. Such rapid growth is made that soon the character of both garden -and Fantaisie must wholly change. The larger trees are fast losing that -look of smiling youth which so enchants us in young newly planted wood. -Each little tree is growing tall, and each begins to spread itself in -uncompromising isolation. Evergreens encroach more and more upon the -borders, crowding out the flowers and crowding each other, so as to -render necessary many a painful sacrifice. Twelve months ago signs of -the coming change were hardly visible. Since regret is unavailing, new -plans must be laid to draw new pleasures from the inevitable. I note -with some pride that the experiment of beheading Cryptomeria Elegans -succeeds so far that in every instance the trees bush out healthily, -instead of running up into brown raggedness. - -As I write, near the library window, a dim glory seems to be stealing -round. The light from a stormy sunset has fired the Virginian Creeper -and the apples on a large tree beyond the stone ball at the corner of -the wall. The leaves glow blood-red, and the fruit shines like molten -ore. The tree is decaying, with a huge brown fungus feeding on its -heart. It is so old that a Virginian Creeper was planted to grow up the -gaunt trunk, and Mistletoe is left to flourish over all the branches as -it lists. Yet in a good apple year the fruit still clusters from the -top of the tree down almost to the ground. And growing on its green -lawn thus, one dreams a passing dream of the apples of the Hesperides, -and the red Virginian climber is the great fiery scaled dragon gliding -up through the leaves to gaze with dull eye seawards. But there are no -maidens dancing in a ring, and I have just seen three hungry thrushes -attack the apples unforbidden. - -Nothing is so uncertain as pears. There has been a first-rate lot on -a young Flemish Beauty, growing against the Gardener’s cottage. They -have been gathered earlier than usual, which may be the reason why -they surpass in flavour and juiciness those of last year. Williams’ -Bon Chrétien, always good, is this year somewhat impaired in outward -appearance by black dots all over the fruit. Can these dots be -caused by the age of the trees? In one half of the Vine-houses long -bunches of white Muscats are hanging still. They are crisp and finely -flavoured, and show well against a purple background of Madresfield -Court. Next season we hope for a crop of Frontignacs, to satisfy the -wish for old-fashioned thin-skinned Grapes. Round the windows the Vines -are yellowing, with green fruit ripening fast. These are unusually -sweet for outdoor Grapes, and have yielded a fair wine in their time. -Large green Apples (_Reinette du Canada_), in the walled garden, are -nearly as beautiful as the trees of Blenheim Orange which are reddening -in the orchard. - -Very pleasant and Arcadian in the mellow autumn sunshine are these -days of Apple gathering! There is no undue haste; the man on the -ladder up in the tree leisurely fills his basket. Baskets, half full -of fruit, stand near, upon the leaf-strewn grass. Children are sure -to gather round, and there is an odour of ripe Apples upon the air. -After an indecision of some years’ duration, I have at last arranged -my September bill of fare--in Arcadia!--Grapes and Pears to look at, -Nectarines and “the curious Peach” to smell, fresh Figs to feed on in -the morning, Golden Drop Plums all day long! - -But, ah! there has chanced just now a golden drop of quite another -kind. The last gold sand has fallen of the last hour of these dear -garden days, and only one more word must be said--Farewell! - -[Illustration] - - -[Illustration] - - - - - Transcriber's Notes: - - Italics are shown thus: _sloping_. - - Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained. - - Perceived typographical errors have been changed. - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAYS AND HOURS IN A -GARDEN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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