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B.”—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 15%; - margin-right: 15%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -h2 {font-weight: normal; - } - -h1 {font-weight: normal; - } - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} - - - -hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 20%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 40%; margin-right: 40%;} - - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - -.tdl {text-align: left;} - - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; - font-size: 90%; -} - - -.captionc {text-align: center; - font-size: 80%; - word-spacing: 0.3em;} - -.xxlarge {font-size: 220%;} -.xlarge {font-size: 140%;} -.large {font-size: 120%;} -.less {font-size: 90%;} -.more {font-size: 80%;} -.med {font-size: 70%;} - -.c {text-align: center;} - -.ph2 {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; - font-size: 150%; - margin-top: 1em; - letter-spacing: 0.3em;} - -.sp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: -0.2em; -} - -p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0.1em 0.1em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.85em; -} - -.r {text-align: right; - padding-right: 2em;} - -.l {text-align: left; - padding-left: 2em;} - -.lm {text-align: left; - padding-left: 3em;} - - -.gtb {letter-spacing: 3em; - font-size: 130%; - text-align: center; - margin-right: -2em; - font-weight: bold;} - -.greentext { color: green;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.gesperrt -{ - letter-spacing: 0.2em; - margin-right: -0.2em; -} - -em.gesperrt -{ - font-style: normal; -} - - - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} -.figcenter1 { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; - margin-top: 4em; -} - - -/* Footnotes */ - -.footnote {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 74%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/* Poetry */ - -.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; font-size:85%;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} - -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} -.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -1em;} -.poetry .indent3 {text-indent: 15em;} -.poetry .indent7 {text-indent: 4em;} -.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 6em;} -.poetry .indent9 {text-indent: 8em;} -.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: 9em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:small; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; -} - - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Days and Hours in a Garden, by Eleanor Vere Boyle</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Days and Hours in a Garden</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Eleanor Vere Boyle</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 23, 2023 [eBook #69862]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAYS AND HOURS IN A GARDEN ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - -<h1>DAYS AND HOURS IN A GARDEN.</h1> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig1.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc"><i>At the South Window.</i></p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c p2 xxlarge sp"> -DAYS AND HOURS IN<br> -A GARDEN.</p> - -<p class="c med p2"> -BY</p> - -<p class="c xlarge"> -“E. V. B.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“God Almighty first planted a garden;</div> -<div class="verse indent0">And indeed it is the purest of human pleasures.”</div> -<div class="verse indent3"><span class="med">BACON</span>.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="c p2 sp"> -<i>NINTH EDITION.</i></p> - -<p class="c p2 large sp"> -LONDON:<br> -<span class="smcap">Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row, E.C.</span><br> -1896. -</p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter1"> -<img src="images/fig2.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc">NOS ET MEDITEMUR IN HORTO</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c p4 more"> -TO</p> - -<p class="c xlarge sp"> -RICHARD CAVENDISH BOYLE.</p> - -<p class="c sp"> -WHOSE LOVE FOR NATURE AND FOR ART,</p> - -<p class="c sp"> -YEARS HAD NOT CHILLED</p> - -<p class="c sp"> -NOR TROUBLE CHANGED,</p> - -<p class="c sp"> -THESE RECORDS OF OUR GARDEN</p> - -<p class="c sp"> -WERE INSCRIBED BY</p> - -<p class="c xlarge"> -E. V. B.,</p> - -<p class="c"> -IN 1884. -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span></p> -</div> - - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig3.jpg" alt=""> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="ph2">PREFACE.</p> - -<hr class="r5 x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p class="drop-cap">IF for a sixth reprint of <span class="smcap">Days and Hours -in a Garden</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</span> -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 <i>suffer</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</span> -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:—</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig4.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc">CASSIO.<br> TENDER AND TRUE.<br> -<i>May, 1876.</i>] [<i>Nov., 1889.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="r"> -E. V. B. -</p> - -<p class="l"><span class="smcap">Huntercombe Manor</span>,</p> - -<p class="lm"><i>February</i>, 1890 -</p> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>OCTOBER.</i></p></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p> - -<p class="c">Fas est hic, Indulgere Genio.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig5.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">I.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">OCTOBER 17, 1882.</p> - -<p class="c less">Of Nuns and White Owls; Yews, Thrushes, and Nutcrackers.</p> - - -<p class="drop-cap">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 -<i>Diary</i>. 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Cut in these trees their mistress’ name.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p> -<p>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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“When you chance for to find</div> -<div class="verse indent0">An old house to your mind,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Be good to the poor,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">As God gives you store.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> - -<p>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 (<i>Rhus cotinus</i>), 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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig6.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc"><i>Kitchen Garden, East Lawn, etc.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>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 -<i>Allée Verte</i>—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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -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 -<i>Dianthus Plumarius</i>), 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -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 (<i>Scabious</i>, the “Saudades” -of the Portuguese language of -Flowers), and every kind of late as well -as summer Roses, the evening Primrose -(<i>Œnothera</i>) 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> -daisy (<i>Kaulfussia Amelloides</i>)—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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>our</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig7.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>NOVEMBER.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> - - -<p class="c">“The True Pleasure of a Garden.”—<span class="smcap">Bacon.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig8.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">II.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">NOVEMBER, 1882.</p> - -<p class="c less">Of Blossoms, Buds, and Bowers—Of May and June<br> -and July Flowers.</p> - - -<p><i>November</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -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!)</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="gtb">*****</p> - -<p><i>Nov</i>. 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -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!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig9.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>DECEMBER.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> - -<p>“Once a Dream did Weave a Shade.”...</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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.”</p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig10.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig11.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - -<h2 class="nobreak">III.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">DECEMBER.</p> - -<p class="c less">Of Spiders’ Webs, Christmas Roses, King Arthur,<br> -and the Tree I Love.</p> - - -<p><i>December</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="gtb">*****</p> - -<p>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”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -which so seldom comes—to naturalize in our -orchards the real <i>enamelling</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><i>Dec</i>. 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!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was at a time of sickness that the sleepless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -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 (<i>Abies -Amabilis</i>), whose robe of grey-blue tufted -foliage wraps her feet, and trails upon the -grass.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -are “La Beale Isoude” and “Isoude les -Blaunch Mains.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -of his bare and spreading boughs, I think -of Keats’ stanza—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“In a drear-nighted December,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Too happy, happy tree,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Thy branches ne’er remember</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Their green felicity;</div> -<div class="verse indent0">The North cannot undo them,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">With a sleety whistle through them,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Nor frozen thawings glue them</div> -<div class="verse indent0">From budding at the prime.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig12.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="c xlarge"><i>JANUARY</i>, 1883.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> - - -<p class="c">“To the Attentive Eye, each Moment of<br> -the Year has its own Beauty.”—<span class="smcap">Emerson.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig13.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">IV.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">JANUARY.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Field-Mice, and the Thorn of Joseph of Arimathea—Of -“Poor Johnnys”—A Lilac Gem—and Greenhouse -Flowers.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>January</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>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!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/fig14big.jpg"> -<img src="images/fig14.jpg" alt=""> -</a> -<p class="captionc">The <span class="smcap">Boccage</span> and Part of the <span class="smcap">Fantaisie</span><br> -1. <span class="smcap">Glorietta</span>. 2 Large Elm and line of same<br> -3 Border of Blue Gentian. 4. Pigeon House<br> -Grass Paths & & &.... <span class="greentext">(click image to enlarge)</span></p> -</div> - -<p><i>Jan</i>. 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -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.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> 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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> <i>Iris Ensata.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!)<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> is wide awake, and little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> 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.</p> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> -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!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig15.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>FEBRUARY.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> - - -<p class="c">With the Trees of the Garden.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig16.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - -<h2 class="nobreak">V.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">FEBRUARY.</p> - -<p class="c less">Land of Mandragora and the Serpent Flower.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“There never was a juster debt</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Than what the dry do pay for wet;</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Never a debt was paid more nigh</div> -<div class="verse indent0">As what the wet do pay for dry!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<p><i>February</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -the great rockery once described in the -<i>Gardener’s Chronicle</i> (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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> -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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>“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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig17.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc"><i>Fair Maids of February.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -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 (<i>Trientalis -Europæ</i>) and “the rathe Primrose;” and -for the music of the winds among their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -branches, and the velvet darkness of their -colour under summer skies. (<i>Mem.</i>—The -Winter-green would have to be sent us -from the North.)</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> -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 <i>is</i> -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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Runie and runie the Eildon tree,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">And seven times runie the Eildon tree.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>According to custom, I was rather on the -look-out for treasures when the old hedge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> -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 <i>Masque of Queens</i>—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent7">“I last night lay all alone</div> -<div class="verse indent0">O’ the ground to heare the mandrake grone.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -clinging close over the supporting shrub, -which scarce can breathe, till a friendly -hand in due course clears the whole thing -off.</p> - -<p>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. “<i>Des lis!</i>” 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -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:—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig18.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="c xlarge"><i>MARCH.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Out of the Snow, the Snowdrop—</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Out of Death comes Life.”...</div> -<div class="verse indent8"><span class="smcap">David Gray.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig19.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">VI.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">MARCH.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Rooks, and the Close of Day—Of Fairy Garlands, -Snowdrops, and Wild Ivy.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>March</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -decamped in a great hurry, afraid of being -found out.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> -so; but only one ever remained, and she -went to live with the bantam cock, whose -pert little wife had deserted him.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> -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 -(<i>Leucojum vernum</i>) 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.</p> - -<p>Few indeed are the flowers to be recorded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="gtb">*****</p> - -<p><i>Mar</i>. 19.—After a day of rain it is wonderful -how quickly Daffodils and Primroses have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>Tydæas—orange and dusky pink, -profusely spotted. Both these flowers surprise -one by the length of time they remain -fresh when cut.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig20.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>APRIL.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> - -<p class="c">“To the Wise a Fact is True Poetry, and,<br> -the most Beautiful of Fables.”—<span class="smcap">Emerson.</span></p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig21.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">VII.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">APRIL.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Daffodils—Coltsfoot—An Archangel—Gold Wrens -and the little Vedova.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>April</i> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Daffy-down-dilly has come up to town</div> -<div class="verse indent0">In a yellow petticoat and a green gown.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>(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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> - -<p>“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 <i>specimen</i> (<i>vide</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -changes to a dull saffron hue, and then shuts -up for ever.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -(<i>Galium verum</i>), Cowslip, Wallflower, Damask -and pink China Roses, Plum blossom, -and notably Sweet Gale or Bog Myrtle,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -I think the idea may be something -more than a mere fantastic whim.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> 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 <i>all the Fruit-trees</i>,... which -are not simply Healthfull, but are -accompted cordiall; chearing and refreshing the heart -and vitall spirits.”—<i>Note, April, 1884.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p><i>April</i> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -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<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> 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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>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.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> 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.</p> - -</div> - -<p>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 <i>Allée Verte</i> is a sad failure. As soon -as the flowers open they are beheaded by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig22.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="c xlarge"><i>MAY.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Pale crocuses have come before her;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wild birds her welcome sing;</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Ten thousand loving hearts adore her,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">The grey world’s darling, Spring.”</div> -<div class="verse indent8"><span class="smcap">W. M. Elton.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig23.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">VIII.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">MAY.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Cherry Blossoms—the Nightingale’s “Melodious -Noise”—Of Broken Stones, etc., etc., etc.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>May</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> -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 (<i>Pyrus malus floribunda</i>). -It is like a fountain of flowers, tossing its -pink flower-laden branches in every direction.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent9">“Lady of the springe,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">The lovely flower that first doth show her face;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Whose worthy prayse the pretty byrds do syng,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Whose presence sweet the wynter’s colde doth chase,”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> -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. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>Colour I must have, and plenty of -it, to rejoice the eye and make glad the -heart.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -(<i>Meleagris</i>), 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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“I know what white, what purple fritillaries<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></div> -<div class="verse indent0">The grassy harvest of the river-fields,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Above by Ensham, down by Sandford, yields.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p><i>May</i> 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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king,”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>On the left are the <i>Allée Verte</i>, 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 (<i>Daphne pontifia</i>), with unobtrusive<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> -leaves. The stamens are so delicately set, -they tremble at the slightest touch, and the -starry pointal is itself a flower!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig24.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>JUNE.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> - - -<p class="c">A Mosaic of Nectared Sweets.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig25.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">IX.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">JUNE.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Pink May—Swallows in the Porch—Flowers de Luce—Poppies—A -Little Scotch Rose, and “Clutie.”</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>June</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> -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 (<i>Pavias rubra</i>) 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 <i>floraison</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -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 <i>Allée Verte</i>, -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -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.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> -clusters of Wistaria—a <i>pergola</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> <i>Spartium junceum.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p>But we have wandered far away from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> -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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> -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 (<i>Iris pallida</i>) -has broad petals of soft grey, most delicately -flushed with pink. Then there are lilacs -marked with deeper lines and white with -lilac edges (<i>Iris aphylla</i>), 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 (<i>Iris lurida</i>), 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -flowers pale violet and primrose, and the -various tints of “crushed strawberry” are very -lovely, especially in the double Columbines.</p> - -<p class="gtb">*****</p> - -<p><i>June</i> 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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Not royal in their smells alone, but in their hue,”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig26.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="c xlarge"><i>JULY.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> - -<p class="c"> -“As the last taste of sweet is sweetest last,<br> -Writ in remembrance more than things<br> long past.”—<span class="smcap">Shakespeare.</span><br> -</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig27.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - -<h2 class="nobreak">X.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">MIDSUMMER AND JULY.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Pæonies—Iris Sibirica—Green Peas—Fennel—Strawberries—Lilies—The -Vine.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>June</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> -month begins. And first the Pæonies, which -I have as yet scarcely named. Earliest of -all came the crimson-pink single Pæony -(<i>Pæonia peregrina</i>), 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.</p> - -<p>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’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> -starry blossoms, when they fall softly among -Lady Tulips and Gladioli in May. Syringa -(<i>Philadelphus</i>, 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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> -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 -(<i>Sibirica alba</i>). 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig28.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc"><i>The Parterr.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> -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 <i>Papilio regina</i>. -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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p class="gtb">*****</p> - -<p><i>July</i> 22.—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“It is not growing like a tree</div> -<div class="verse indent0">In bulk that makes man better be.</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The Lily of a day</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Is fairer far in May:</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Although it fall and die that night,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">It was the plant and flower of light.”</div> -<div class="verse indent4"><i>Ben Jonson.</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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—<i>nil -candidius</i>—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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>pointals undrest of beauty—to tell of -her former pride.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig29.jpg" alt=""> -<p class="captionc"><i>East Gate.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> -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 (<i>Ænothera</i>) already lights up the -garden ways. Variegated Maples, with their -foliage white as ivory, look their best against -the darkening Elms.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> 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.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> 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 <i>bunch of keys</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig30.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="c xlarge"><i>AUGUST.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> - - -<table> -<tr><td class="tdl">The Garden is a mute Gospel.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl">The Garden is a perpetual Gala.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig31.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">XI.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">AUGUST.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“My Sunflower”—Of a Garden Sunday—Of Ghosts in -the Twilight—Magnolia Grandiflora.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>August</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> -too large and heavy. They seem to run too -far from the flatness of a really typical Rose -type.</p> - -<p>We have not made <i>pot pourri</i> 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” (<i>Lychnis -chalcedonia</i>, flower of Bristow and Constantinople). -And there are sheaves of finely -dyed rose-red Phloxes, pyramids of blue<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent0">“Ah, Sunflower! weary of time,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Who countest the steps of the sun,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Seeking after that sweet golden prime</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Where the traveller’s journey is done,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Where the youth pined away with desire,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And the pale virgin, shrouded in snow,</div> -<div class="verse indent0">Arise from their graves and aspire</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Where my Sunflower wishes to go.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -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 <i>en cœur</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="gtb">*****</p> - -<p><i>Aug</i>. 26. <i>Sunday Morning.</i>—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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> -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 (<i>Convolvulus -major</i>), 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 (<i>Bromus -aspen</i>). 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, <i>Elymus arenarius</i>), 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> -the old Syringa (<i>Philadelphus</i>), 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> -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!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig32.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="c xlarge"><i>SEPTEMBER.</i></p></div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Time will not run back to fetch the age -of gold.”—<span class="smcap">Milton.</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>In graceful succession, in equal fulness, in -balanced beauty, the dance of the hours goes -forward still.</i>”—<span class="smcap">Emerson.</span></p> -</div> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig33.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - -<h2 class="nobreak">XII.</h2> - - -<p class="c xlarge">SEPTEMBER.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Of Psyche—Of an Old Garden—<i>Nil Desperandum</i>—Of -Branches bearing Beauteous Fruit.</p> -</div> - - -<p><i>September</i> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -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 (<i>Euchlæ cardamines</i>) -were unusually plentiful in the spring, as -were also our White Cabbages throughout -the summer. So much fair weather as there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> -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 (<i>Polyommatus Corydon</i>), -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -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 <i>Botanical Magazine</i> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 (<i>Tritoma</i>)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -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.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> 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.</p> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> -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....</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> -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 (<i>Reinette du Canada</i>), -in the walled garden, are nearly as beautiful -as the trees of Blenheim Orange which -are reddening in the orchard.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/fig34.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter1"> -<img src="images/fig35.jpg" alt=""> -</div> - - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="c">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p>Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.</p> - -<p>Perceived typographical errors have been changed.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAYS AND HOURS IN A GARDEN ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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. 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