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diff --git a/old/54641-0.txt b/old/54641-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f3a7006..0000000 --- a/old/54641-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8450 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Charm of Gardens, by Dion Clayton Calthrop - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Charm of Gardens - -Author: Dion Clayton Calthrop - -Release Date: May 1, 2017 [EBook #54641] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHARM OF GARDENS *** - - - - -Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _OTHER BEAUTIFUL BOOKS - ON FLOWERS AND GARDENS_ - - Each containing full-page illustrations in - colour similar to those in this volume - - FLOWERS AND GARDENS OF JAPAN - ALPINE FLOWERS AND GARDENS - BRITISH FLORAL DECORATION - DUTCH BULBS AND GARDENS - FLOWERS AND GARDENS OF MADEIRA - THE GARDEN THAT I LOVE - GARDENS OF ENGLAND - KEW GARDENS - - A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE CHARM OF GARDENS - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - AGENTS - - AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK - - AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS - 205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE - - CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA LTD. - ST. MARTIN’S HOUSE, 70 BOND STREET, TORONTO - - INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY LTD. - MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY - 309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -[Illustration: THE LAKE GARDEN AYSCOUGH FEE HALL, SPALDING.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE - - CHARM OF GARDENS - - BY - - DION CLAYTON CALTHROP - - WITH THIRTY-TWO FULL-PAGE - ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR - - [Illustration] - - PUBLISHED BY . 4 SOHO SQUARE - ADAM & CHARLES LONDON . . W. - BLACK . . . . MCMXI . . . . - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _The illustrations in this volume have been selected - from volumes in Black’s Series of Beautiful Books_ - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TO - - F. M. MARSDEN - - WITHOUT WHOSE HELP THIS BOOK COULD - NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN - FROM - HER AFFECTIONATE - SON-IN-LAW - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART I - - A VIEW OF ENGLAND - - PAGE - I. THE SPIRIT OF GARDENS 3 - - II. THE GARDEN OF ENGLAND: THE PATCHWORK QUILT 10 - - III. A COUNTRY LANE: A MEMORY FROM ABROAD 18 - - IV. FIELDS 23 - - V. EPISODE OF THE CONTENTED TAILOR 27 - - VI. THE BLUEBELL WOOD AND THE CALM STONE DOG 35 - - VII. THE TAILOR’S SISTER’S TOMBSTONE 42 - - VIII. THE COTTAGE GARDEN 54 - - IX. A FEAST OF WILD STRAWBERRIES 64 - - X. THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE 71 - - - PART II - - GARDENS AND HISTORY - - I. THE ROMAN GARDEN IN ENGLAND 75 - - II. ST. FIACRE, PATRON SAINT OF GARDENERS AND - CAB-DRIVERS 88 - - III. EVELYN’S “SYLVA” 96 - - - PART III - - KALENDARIUM HORTENSE 108 - - - PART IV - - GARDEN MOODS - - I. TOWN GARDENS 151 - - II. THE EFFECT OF TREES 163 - - III. A LOVER OF GARDENS 182 - - IV. OF THE CROWN OF THORNS 185 - - V. OF APPLES 187 - - VI. OF THE FIRST GARDENER 189 - - VII. OF THE FIRST ROSES 191 - - VIII. OF THE ABBEY GARDEN 193 - - IX. THE OLYMPIAN ASPECT 195 - - X. EVENING RED AND MORNING GREY 204 - - XI. GARDEN PROMISES 213 - - XII. GARDEN PATHS 220 - - XIII. THE GARDENS OF THE DEAD 233 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - 1. THE LAKE GARDEN, AYSCOUGH FEE HALL, SPALDING _Frontispiece_ - - _Facing page_ - - 2. A PRIMROSE BANK NEAR DORKING vi - - 3. SIR WALTER’S SUNDIAL, ABBOTSFORD 9 - - 4. THE WEALD OF KENT, SHOWING THE COUNTRY LIKE A - PATCHWORK QUILT 16 - - 5. POPPIES IN SURREY 25 - - 6. PORCHES GROWN OVER WITH HONEYSUCKLE AND ROSES - AT BROADWAY IN THE COTSWOLDS 32 - - 7. BLUEBELLS IN SURREY 41 - - 8. A COTTAGE GARDEN 48 - - 9. A SURREY COTTAGE 57 - - 10. PATCHES OF HEATHER 64 - - 11. A PERGOLA IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN 73 - - 12. ENTRANCE TO THE GARDENS, AYSCOUGH FEE HALL, - SPALDING 80 - - 13. A CAB-DRIVER IN PICCADILLY 89 - - 14. A WOOD AT WOTTON, THE HOME OF JOHN EVELYN 96 - - 15. TULIPS IN THE “GARDEN OF PEACE” 105 - - 16. APPLE TREES 112 - - 17. DAFFODILS IN A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 121 - - 18. A POET’S ORCHARD IN KENT 128 - - 19. A KENTISH GARDEN IN AUTUMN 137 - - 20. A HAMPSTEAD GARDEN IN WINTER 144 - - 21. AZALEAS IN BLOOM, ROTTEN ROW 153 - - 22. IN HYDE PARK 160 - - 23. THE SEAT BENEATH THE OAK IN THE POET - LAUREATE’S GARDEN 169 - - 24. IN THE BOTANIC GARDEN, OXFORD 176 - - 25. THE PRIDE OF SPRING, SURREY 185 - - 26. A ROSE GARDEN IN BERKSHIRE 192 - - 27. A SHEPHERD OF CONISTON 201 - - 28. A DOVECOTE IN A SUSSEX GARDEN 208 - - 29. A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE GARDEN 217 - - 30. A PATH IN A ROSE GARDEN 224 - - 31. A CHURCHYARD IN THE COTSWOLDS 235 - - 32. AUTUMN COLOUR AT BONCHURCH OLD CHURCH NEAR - VENTNOR 238 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PART I - - A VIEW OF ENGLAND - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - THE SPIRIT OF GARDENS - - -Once, I remember well, when I was hungering for a breath of country air, -a woman, brown with the caresses of the wind and sun, brought the Spring -to my door and sold it to me for a penny. The husky rough scent of those -Primroses gave me news of England that I longed to hear. When I had -placed my flowers in a bowl and put them on the table where I worked, -they told me stories of the lanes and woods, how thrushes sang, and the -wild Cherry Blossom flared delicately across the purpling trees. - -A flower often will reclaim a mood when nothing else will bring it back. - -To garden, to garner up the seasons in a little space, is part of every -wise man’s philosophy. To sow the seeds, to watch the tender shoots come -out and brave the light and rain, to see the buds lift up their heads, -and then to catch one’s breath as the flowers open and display their -precious colours, living, breathing jewels, is enough to live for. But -there is more than that. A man may choose the feast to spread before his -eyes, may sow old memories and see them grow, and feel the answering -colours in his heart. This Rose he used to pass on his way to school; it -nodded to him over the high red wall, while next to it a Purple Clematis -clung, arching over, so that, by standing on his pile of school-books, -he could reach the flowers. This patch of Golden Marigolds reminds him -of a long border in the garden where he spent his boyhood (they used to -grow behind the bee skeps, had a little place to themselves next to the -Horseradish and the early Lettuces). There’s a hedge of Lavender full of -association, he may remember how he was allowed (or was it set him for a -task?) to cut great sheaves of it and take them to the Apple-room, and -hang them up to dry over old newspapers. To look at Lavender brings back -the curious musty smell of that store-room, where Apples wintered on -long shelves; where the lawn-mower stood, and the brooms, and the scythe -(to cut the orchard grass), and untidy bundles of bass hung with string -and coils of wire. What a wonderful place that store-room was, with the -broken door and the rusty lock that creaked as the big key turned to let -him in: to reach the latch he had to stand on tip-toe, and to turn the -key seemed quite a grown-up task. There was all a garden needs stored in -that room. It had been a dining-room once, a hundred years ago, a room -where the members of a bowling club convivially met and fought old -games; bias, twist, jack, all the terms ring in his ears, even the click -of the bowls, sharp on the summer air, comes back; and the plastered -ornamental ceiling had sagged and dropped away here and there, showing -the laths. There was a big dusty window, across which the twisted arms -of a Wisteria stretched, and a broken window seat in it that opened like -a box to hold the bowls. Just the hedge of Lavender brings back the -picture of the boy whose cherished dreams hung about those four walls; -who, having strung his bunches, neatly tied, on wooden pegs along the -walls, and spread his papers underneath to catch the falling seeds, sat, -book in hand, and travelled into foreign lands with Mungo Park. There, -on his left, and facing him as well, shelves lined the walls, and Pears, -Apples and Medlars were arranged in rows, while by his side, placed on -the window ledge to catch the sun, were fallen Nectarines, Peaches and -big yellow Plums set to ripen. - -What curious things a garden store-room holds! The tins, slopped over, -of weed-killer, of patent plant foods, of fine white sand. The twisted -string, criss-crossed upon a peg of wood, covered with whitewash, the -string that serves to guide the marker for the tennis-court. Then an -array of nets to cover Currant bushes, and bid birds beware of -Gooseberries, Cherries and ripe Strawberries. A barrow, full of odds and -ends, baskets, queer little bags of seeds, a heap of Groundsel gathered -for a bird and lying there forgotten. Like a Dutch picture, half in -gloom with bright lights on the shears, and along the edge of the -scythe, and on the curved wire mesh made to guard young seedlings. Empty -seed packets on the floor, bright coloured pictures of the flowers on -the outsides, a little soiled by the earth and the gardener’s thumb. - -Plant memories, indeed! A man may plant a host of them and never then -recapture all his joys. There’s his first love garnishing a rustic arch, -a deep yellow Rose, beautiful in the bud—William Allen Richardson: she -wore them in her sash. He can laugh now and see the long yellow hair -floating in a cloud behind her as she ran, and the twinkling black legs, -and the merry pretty face looking down on him from between the leaves of -the Apple-tree she climbed. He grows that Apple in his orchard now, and -toasts her memory when the first ripe fruit of it shines on the dish -before him at dessert. - -The Clove Carnation with its spice-like scent he bought from a barrow in -a London slum, brought with care—wrapped in paper on the rack of the -railway carriage—and planted it here. This Picotee he hailed with joy in -the flower-market at Saint Malo and carried it across the sea, each -bloom tied up to a friendly length of cane. His neighbours marvel at his -pains, but it recalls many a happy day to him. - -There, in a corner under a nut-tree, is a grass bank thick with Primrose -plants—another memory. A picture comes to him from the Primroses very -clear, very distinct, a picture of the world gone black, of a day when a -boy thought heaven and earth purposeless, cruel; when he ran from a -garden to the woods and threw himself on a bank, covered with Primroses, -sobbing and weeping till the world was blotted out with his tears, -because his dog had died. It had been the first thing he had learnt to -love, the first thing he had had to care for, to look after. All his -childish ideas were whispered into the big retriever’s silky coat. They -had secret understandings, a different language, ideas in common, and -the dog’s death was his first hint of death in the world. Years after, -when he planted this garden, he gave a place to Don, and planted the -Primroses himself. The earth was kindly and the flowers flourished. The -earth is kindly, even your cynic knows that and marks the spot where he -hopes to lie, and thinks, not sourly, of the Daisies over his head. - -There is something more than memory in a garden. There is that urgent -need man has to be part of growing life. He must have open spaces, he -takes health from the sight of a tree in bud, from the sight of a newly -ploughed field, from a plant or so in a window-box, a flower in his -button-hole. Men, who by a thousand ties are held at desks in cities, -look up and hear a caged thrush sing, and their thoughts fly out to -fields and the common wayside flowers, and, for a moment, the offices -are filled with the perfume—indescribable—of the open road. - -[Illustration: A PRIMROSE BANK NEAR DORKING.] - -There is that in the hum and business of a garden that makes for peace; -the senses are softly stirred even as the heart finds wings. No greeting -is as sweet as the drowsy murmur of bees, in garden, lane or open heath. -No day so good as that which breaks to song of birds. No sight so happy -as the elegant confusion of flower-border still wet and glistening with -the morning dew. - -I heard a man once deliver a learned lecture on the Persian character, -full of history, romance and thoughtful ideas. Towards the end of his -discourse I began to feel that he, indeed, knew the Persian inside out, -but that I could catch but a fleeting and momentary glimpse of his -knowledge. Then, by way of background to an anecdote, he mirrored, with -loving care and wealth of detail, Oriental in its imagery and -elaboration, the gardens in a palace. There was a stream of clear water -running through the garden, and the owner had paved the bed of the -stream with exquisite old tiles; white Irises bloomed along the banks, -white Roses, growing thickly, dropped scented petals in the stream. I -have as good as lived in that garden; I saw it so well, and what little -I know of the Persian I know from that description. Omar is more than a -dead poet to me now; I can smell the Roses blooming over his grave. - -There should be a sundial in every garden to mark the true beginning and -the end of day; some noise of water somewhere; bees; good trees to give -shade to us and shelter to the birds; a garden-house with proper amount -of flower-lore on shelves within; a walk for scent alone, flowers grown -perfume-wise; a solitary place, if possible, where should be a nest of -owls; a spread of lawn to rest the eyes, no cut beds in it to spoil the -symmetry, and at least one border for herbaceous plants. If this is -greedy of good things leave out the owls—that’s but a fanciful thought. -Do you know what a small space this requires? Those who might be free -and yet choose to live in towns might have it all for the price of the -rent of the ground their kitchen covers. - -[Illustration: SIR WALTER’S SUNDIAL, ABBOTSFORD.] - -There are those aching spirits to whom no land is home, whose feet go -wandering over the world; gipsy-spirits searching one must suppose for -peace of mind in constant new sights. For them the well-ordered garden -with its high walls, its neat lawn, its fair carriage-drive, is but a -dull prison-house, and even if in the course of their wanderings they -stray into such a place their talk is all of other lands; of scarlet -twisted flowers in Cashmere; of fields of Arum Lilies near Table -Mountain; of the sad-grey Olives and the gorgeous Orange groves of -Spain; the Poppy fields of China, or the brightly painted Tulips growing -orderly in Holland. We with our ancestral rookery near by, our talk of -last year’s nests, or overweening pride in the soft snows of Mrs. -Simpkin’s Pinks, seem to these folk like prisoners, who having tamed a -mouse proclaim it chief of all the animal world. But ask of the Garden -of England and the flowers it affords and see their eyes take on a -far-away look as the road calls to them, and hear them at their own lore -of roadside flowers, praising and loving Traveller’s Joy, the gilt array -of Buttercups, the dusty pink of Ragged Robin, and the like sweet joys -the vagabond holds dear. This one can whistle like a blackbird; that one -has boiled the roots of Dandelions (Dent de Lion, a charming name) and -has been cured by their juices. He knows that if he sees the delicate -parachutes of Dandelion, Coltsfoot, or of Thistle-fly when there is not -a breath of wind, then there will be rain. They read the skies, hear -voices in the wind, take courses from the stars, and know the time of -day from flowers. These men, having none of the spirit that inspires -your gardener, see the results of the work and smile pleasantly, ask, -perhaps, the name of some flower, to please you, know something of -soils, praise your Mulberries, and admire your collection of Violas, but -soon they are off and away, breathing more freely for leaving the -sheltered peace of your well-kept place, and vanish to Spitzbergen or -the Chinese desert in search of what their souls crave. We are -different; we sit in the cool of the evening, overlooking our -sweet-scented borders, gaining joy from the gathering night that paints -out the detail of our world, and hope quietly for a soft, gentle rain in -the night to stiffen the flowers’ drooping heads. We English are -gardeners by nature: perhaps the greyness of our skies accounts for our -desire to make our gardens blaze with colours. - -We have our memories, our desire for peace, our love of colour, and, at -the back of all, something infinitely more grand. - - “No lily muffled hum of a summer bee - But finds some coupling with the spinning stars; - No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere; - ... Earth’s crammed with heaven, - And every common bush afire with God: - But only he who knows takes off his shoes.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - THE GARDEN OF ENGLAND: THE - PATCHWORK QUILT - - -Even your most unadventurous fellow can hardly look on a fair prospect -of fields and meadows, woods, villages with smoking chimneys, a river, -and a road, without a certain feeling rising in him that he would like -to tread the road that winds so dapperly through the country, and -discover for himself where it leads. - -To those who love their country the road is but a garden path running -between borders of fair flowers whose names and virtues should be known -to every child. - -A poet can weave a story from the speck of mud on a fellow traveller’s -boot—the red soil of a Devonshire lane calls up such pictures of -fern-covered banks, such rushing streams, as make a poem in themselves. - -It strikes one from the very first how neatly most of England is kept. -The dip and rise of softly swelling hills across which the curling -ribbon of the road winds leisurely between neat hedges, the fields in -patches, coloured brown and green, golden with Corn, scarlet with -Poppies, yellow with Buttercups; the circular bunches of trees under -whose shade fat cattle stand lazily switching their tails at flies; the -woods, hangers, shaws and coppices, glades, dells, dingles and combes, -all set out so orderly and precise that, from a hill, the country has -the appearance of a patchwork quilt set in a pleasant irregularity, -studded with straggling farms, and little sleepy villages where the -resonant note of the church clock checks off the drowsy hours. The road -that runs through this quilt land seems like a thread on which villages -and market towns are strung, beads of endless variety, some huddled in a -bunch upon a hill, some long and straggling, some thatched and warm, -red-bricked and creeper-covered, others white with roofs of purple -slate, others of grey stone, others of warm yellow. All alive with birds -and flowers and village children, butterflies and trees; fed by broad -rivers, or hanging over singing streams or deep in the lush grass of -water meadows gay with kingcups. - -This garden is for us who care to know it. We can take the road, our -garden path, and pluck, as we will, flowers of all kinds from our -borders; sleep in our garden on beds of bracken pulled and piled high -under trees; or on soft heaps of heather heaped under sheltering stones. -If we know our garden well enough it will give us food—salads, fruits -and nuts; it will cure us of our ills by its herbs; feed our imagination -by the quaint names of flower and herb. Here’s a small list that will -sing a man to sleep, dreaming of England. - - Poet’s Asphodel. - Shepherd’s Purse. - Our Lady’s Bedstraw. - Water Soldier. - Rowan. - Hound’s Tongue. - Gipsy Rose. - Fool’s Parsley. - Celandine. - Columbine. - Adder’s Tongue. - Speedwell. - Thorn Apple. - Virgin Bower. - Whin. - -These alone of hundreds give a lift to the day: there’s a story to each -of them. - -Take our England as a garden and let the eye roam over the land. Here’s -the flat country of the Fens, long, long vistas of fields, with spires -and towers sticking up against the sky. Plenty of rare flowers there for -your gardener, marsh flowers, water plants galore. That’s the place to -see the sky, to watch a summer storm across the plain, to see the -Poplars bending in an angry wind, and the white windmills glare against -purple rain clouds. Few hedges here but plenty of banks and dykes, and -canals they call drains. Here you may find Marsh Valerian, Water -Crowsfoot, Frogbit, pink Cuckoo-flowers, Bog Bean, Sundews, Sea -Lavender, and Bladder-worts. The Sundews alone will give you an hour’s -pleasure with their glistening red glands tricked out to catch unwary -flies and midges. - -Then there’s a wild garden waiting you by stone walls in the dales of -Derbyshire, or in the Yorkshire wolds, or the Lancashire fells. On the -open heaths, where the grey roads wind through warm carpets of ling and -heather, you can fill your nostrils with the sweet scent of Gorse and -Thyme. - -I was sitting one hot afternoon, drawing the twisted bole of a Beech -tree. All the wood in which I sat was stirring with life; the dingle -below me a mist of flowers, Primroses, Wind-flowers, Hyacinths whose -bells made the air softly fragrant. Above me the sky showed through a -trellis-work of young leaves, the distance of the wood was purple with -opening buds, and the floor was a swaying sea of Bluebells dancing in a -gentle breeze. Squirrels chattered in the trees; now and then a wood -pigeon flopped out of a tree, and a blackbird whistled in some hidden -place. - -All absorbed in my work, following the grotesquely beautiful curves of -the beech roots, I heard no sound of approaching footsteps. A voice -behind me said “Good,” and I started, dropping my pencil in my -confusion. - -“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” said the voice. - -I turned round and saw a man standing behind me, a man without a cap, -with curly brown hair, and a face coloured deep brown by the sun. He was -dressed in a faded suit of greenish tweed, wore a blue flannel shirt, -carried a thick stick in his hand, and had a worn-looking box slung over -his shoulders by a stained leather strap. - -I suppose my surprise showed in my face in some comic way, for he -laughed heartily, showing a set of strong white teeth. - -“No, I’m not Pan,” he said laughing, “or a keeper, or a vision. I’m a -gardener.” - -His admirable assurance and pleasant address were very captivating. - -I asked him what he did there, and he immediately sat down by me, pulled -out a black clay pipe, and lit up before replying. He extended the -honours of his match to my cigarette and I noticed that his hands were -well formed, and that he wore a silver ring on the little finger of his -right hand. - -When he had arranged himself to his comfort, propping his back against a -tree and crossing his legs, he told me he was a gardener on a very large -scale. - -I wished him joy of his garden, at which he smiled broadly, and informed -me in the most matter-of-fact way that he gardened the whole of Great -Britain. - -For a moment I wondered if I had fallen in with an amiable lunatic, but -a closer inspection of his face showed me he was sane, uncommonly -healthy, and, I judged, a clever man. - -“A vast garden?” I said. - -Without exactly replying to my remark, which was put half in the manner -of a question, he said, partly to himself, “The slight fingers of April. -Do you notice how delicate everything is?” - -I had noticed. The air was full of suggestion, the flowers were very -fairylike, the green of the trees very tender. - -“Pied April,” said I. - -Instead of answering me again he unstrapped the box that now lay beside -him on the grass, opened it and took from it a beautiful Fritillaria. - -“There’s one of the April Princesses, if you like,” he said. “There are -not many about here, just an odd one or two; plenty near Oxford though.” - -“You know Oxford?” said I. - -“Guess again,” he said, smiling. “I’m no Oxford man, but I know the -woods about there well. Please go on working; I’ll talk.” - -I was about to look at my watch when he stopped me. - -“It’s half-past two,” he said. “The slant of the sun on the leaves ought -to tell you that.” - -I was amused, interested in the man; he was so odd and quaint. “I’ve not -eaten my lunch yet,” I said. “Perhaps you’ll share it with me.” - -“I was wondering if you’d invite me,” he replied. “I’m rather hungry.” - -I had, luckily, enough for two. Slices of ham, some cheese, a loaf of -new bread, and a full flask. Very soon we were eating together like old -friends. - -In an inconsequent way he asked me what I thought of the name of Noakes. - -I said it was as good as any other. - -“Let’s have it Noakes, then,” he said, laughing again. A very merry man. - -“About this garden of yours, Mr. Noakes?” I asked. - -He tapped his wooden box and said, “If you want to know, I’m a -herbalist. You can scarcely call me a civilised being, except on -occasions when I do go among my fellow men to winter.” He pulled a cap -and a pair of gloves out of his pocket. “My titles to respectability,” -he said. - -“And in the Spring?” - -“I take to the road with the Coltsfoot and the Butterburrs. I come out -with the first Violet, and the Pussy-cat Willow. I wander, all through -the year, up and down the length and breadth of England, with my box of -herbs. I get my bread and cheese that way—while you draw for pleasure.” - -“Partly.” - -“It must be for pleasure, or you wouldn’t take so much pains. I suppose -you think I’m a very disgraceful person, a bad citizen, a worse patriot. -But I know the news of the world better than those who read newspapers. -Although I trade on superstitions, I do no harm.” - -“Do you sell your herbs?” - -“Colchicum for gout—Autumn Crocus, you know it,” he replied. -“Willow-bark quinine; Violet distilled, for coughs. Not a bad -trade—besides, it keeps me free.” - -I hazarded a question. “Tell me—you must observe these things—do swifts -drink as they fly? It has often puzzled me.” - -“I don’t know,” said he. “Ask Mother Nature. Some of these things are -the province of professors. I’m not a learned man; just a herbalist.” - -At that moment a thrush began to sing in a tree overhead. My friend -cocked his head, just like an animal. - -“There’s the wise thrush,” he quoted softly, “he sings his song twice -over.” - -“So you read Browning,” I said. - -“I have a garret and a library,” he said. “Winter quarters. We shall -meet one day, and you’ll be surprised. I actually possess two dress -suits. It’s a mad world.” He stopped abruptly to listen to the thrush. -“This is better than the Carlton or Delmonico’s, anyhow!” - -“What do you do?” I asked. “Go from village to village selling herbs?” - -“That’s about it. Lord! Listen to that bird. I heard and saw a -nightingale sing once in a shaw near Ewelme. I think a thrush is the -better musician, though. Yes, I sell my herbs, all sorts and kinds. -Drugs and ointments, very simple I assure you—Hemlock and Poppy to cure -the toothache. Wood Sorrel—full of oxalic acid, you know, like -Rhubarb—for fevers. Aconite for rheumatics—very popular medicine I make -of that, sells like hot cakes in water meadow land, so does Agrimony for -Fen ague. Tansy and Camomile for liver—excellent. Hellebore for -blisters, and Cowslip pips for measles—I’m a regular quack, you see.” - -“And it’s worth doing, is it?” - -He leaned back, his pipe between his lips, a very contented man. “Worth -doing!” he said. “Worth owning England, with all the wonderful mornings, -and the clean air; worth waking up to the scent of Violets; worth lying -on your back near a Bean field on a summer day; worth seeing the Bracken -fronds uncurl; watching kingfishers; worth having the fields and -hedgerows for a garden, full of flowers always—I should think so. I earn -my bread, and I’m happy, far happier than most men. I can lend a hand at -haymaking, at the harvest; at sheep-shearing, at the cider press, at -hoeing, when I’m tired of my own company. I’ve worked the seines in the -mackerel season on the South coast—do you know the bend of shore by Lyme -and Charmouth? I’ve ploughed in the Lowlands, and found lost sheep in -the Lake Country; caught moles for a living in Norfolk, and cut -Hop-poles in Kent, and Heather in the Highlands.—And I’m not forty, and -I’m never ill.” - -[Illustration: THE WEALD OF KENT SHOWING THE COUNTRY LIKE A PATCHWORK -QUILT.] - -“It sounds delightful.” - -He rose to his feet and gave me his hand. - -“We shall meet again,” he said laughing. “Perhaps in the conventional -armour of starched shirts and inky black. For the present—to my work,” -he pointed over his shoulder. “I’m building hen-coops for a widow. -_Hasta luego._” - -With that he vanished as quietly as he came. Almost as soon as the trees -had hidden him from my sight, a blackbird began to whistle, then -stopped, and a laugh came out of the woods. - -Altogether a very strange man. - -I found, when he had gone, that he had written something on a piece of -paper and had pinned it to the tree with a long thorn. It was this: - -“I think, very likely, you may not know Ben Jonson’s ‘Gipsy -Benediction.’ If you don’t, accept the offering as a return for my -excellent lunch. - - “The faerybeam upon you— - The stars to glisten on you— - A moon of light - In the noon of night, - Till the firedrake hath o’er gone you! - The wheel of fortune guide you; - The boy with the bow beside you; - Run aye in the way - Till the bird of day, - And the luckier lot, betide you.” - -He signed, at the foot, “Noakes, Under the Greenwood Tree.” And he -seemed to have written some of his clear laughter into it. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - A COUNTRY LANE: A MEMORY - FROM ABROAD - - -I was looking at a vision of the world upside down, mirrored in the deep -blue of a still sea. Where the inverted picture of my boat gleamed -white, and the rope that moored her to a tree showed grey, I saw the -dark fir trees growing upside down, the bank of emerald grass looking -more brilliant because of the grey-green lichened rocks; a black rock, -glistening, hung with brown seaweed, made the vision clear, and, over -all, clouds chased each other in the sky, seemingly below me. They were -those round fleecy clouds, like sheep, and they reminded me of something -I could not quite arrest. - -A fish swam—dash—across my mirror, another and another, rippling the -sky, the trees, the bank, distorting everything. Then I looked up and -saw a fishing-boat come sailing by with its great orange and tawny sails -all set out to catch the land breeze; and bright blue nets hung out -ready, floating and billowing in the slight wind. There was a creaking -of ropes and a hum of Breton as the sailors talked. From my moorings by -the island I watched her sail—_Saint Nicholas_ she was called, and had a -little figure of the Madonna on her stern. Out of the land-locked -harbour she slipped, tacking to make the neck that led to the outer -harbour, and there she was going to meet other gaily coloured ships and -sail with them to the sardine grounds off the coast of Spain. - -After she had passed, leaving her wide white wake in the still waters, I -followed her in my mind, seeing the nets cast and the shimmering silver -fish drawn up, and the long loaves of bread eaten, with wine and onions, -until the waters round me were quiet again, and I could look once more -into my mirror and wonder what it was the flocks of clouds said to my -brain. - -It came in a flash. Big Claus said to Little Claus, “After I threw you -into the river in the sack, where did you get all those sheep and -cattle?” And Little Claus said, “Out of the river, brother, for there I -came upon a man in beautiful meadows, and he was tending the sheep and -cattle. There were so many that he gave me a flock of sheep and a herd -of cattle for myself, and I drove them out of the river and up here to -graze.” Now they were looking over the bridge at the time, and the -description Little Claus gave of the meadows and the sheep below in the -river made the mouth of Big Claus begin to water with greed. As they -looked, Little Claus pointed excitedly at the water, and said, “Look, -brother, there go a flock of sheep under your very nose.” It was, -really, nothing but the reflection of the clouds in the water, but Big -Claus was too interested to think of this, and he implored his brother -to tie him in a sack and push him into the water, that he, too, might -get some of these wonderful herds. This Little Claus did, and that was -the end of Big Claus. - -How well I remember now—so well that when I looked into the water and -saw the fleecy clouds go floating by, the picture changed for me and I -saw an English country lane, and a small boy sitting under a hedge out -of a summer shower, and he was deep in dreams over an old brown volume -of “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” - -How wonderful the lane smelt after the rain! The Honeysuckle filled the -air and mingled with the smell of warm wet earth. It was a deep lane, -with the high hedges grown so rank and wild that they nearly crossed -overhead, and the curved arms of the Dog Roses criss-crossed against the -patch of turquoise sky. The thin new thread of a single wire crossed -high overhead, shining like gold in the sun. It went, I knew, to the -Coast Guard Station below me, and I remember clearly how I used to -wonder what flashed across the wire to those fortunate men: news of -thrilling wrecks, of smugglers creeping round the point, of battle-ships -put out to sea, and other tales the sailors told me. - -The lane was deep and twisted, and so narrow that when a flock of sheep -was driven down it, the dogs ran across the backs of the sheep to head -off stragglers. What a cloud of white dust they made, and how thick it -lay on the leaves and flowers until the rain washed them clean again. - -On the day of which I was dreaming, there had been one of those sharp -angry storms, very short and fierce, with growling thunder in the -distance, and purple and deep grey clouds flying along with torn, -rust-coloured edges. I had sheltered under a quick-set hedge (set, that -is, while the thorn was alive—quick, and bent into a kind of wattle -pattern by men with sheepskin gloves) and where I sat, under a wayfaring -tree (the Guelder Rose), the lane had a double turn, fore and aft, so -that a space of it was quite shut off, like an island. I had my garden -here and knew all the flowers and the butterflies. - -On this day the rain washed the Foxgloves and made them gay and bright, -each bell with a sparkling drop of water on its lips. The Brambles had -long rows of drops on them, all shining like jewels, until a -yellow-hammer perched on one of the arched sprays and shook all the -raindrops off in a fluster of bright light. - -Behind me, and in front, trailing Black Bryony twisted its arms round -Traveller’s Joy, Honeysuckle and Wild Roses. Here and there, pink and -white Bindweed hung, clinging to the hedge. By me, on the bank, -Monkshood, Our Lady’s Cushion, and Butterfly Orchis grew, all shining -with the rain, and the Silverweed shone better than them all. - -Presently came two great cart horses, their trappings jingling, down my -lane, and on the back of one, riding sideways, a small boy, swaying as -he rode. His face was a perfect country poem, blue eyes, shaded by a -battered hat of felt, into the band of which a Dog Rose was stuck. His -hair, like Corn, shone in the sun, and his face, red and freckled, a -blue shirt, faded by many washings and sun-bleached to a fine colour, -thick boots, a hard horny young fist, and in his mouth a long stem of -feathery grass. He looked as much part of Nature as the flowers -themselves. There was some sort of greeting as he passed. I can see the -group now; the slow patient horses, the boy, the yellow canvas coat -slung to dry across the horse’s neck, a straw basket, from which a -bottle neck protruded, hitched on the horse’s collar. They passed the -bend in the lane and the boy began to whistle an aimless tune, but very -good to hear. And it was England, every bit of it, the kind of thing one -hungers for when a southern sun is beating pitilessly on one’s head, or -when the rains in the tropics bring out overpowering scents, heavy and -stifling. - -So I might have dreamed on about this garden lane I carried in my mind, -had not the tide turned and little waves begun to lop the sides of my -boat. - -I slipped my moorings, shipped the oars, and sailed home quietly on the -tide under a clear blue sky from which all the clouds had vanished like -my dream. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - FIELDS - - -A man will tell you how he has walked to such and such a place “across -the fields,” with an air of saying, “You, I suppose, not knowing the -country, painfully pursue the highroad.” He has the look of one who has -made the discovery that it is good and wise to leave the beaten track, -the cart rut, and the plain and obvious road, and has adventured in a -daring spirit from stile to stile, from gate to ditch, where only the -knowing ones may go. He is generally so occupied in the pride of -reaching his destination by these means, that he has had little time to -look about him and enjoy the expanse of country. For all that, he is a -man after my own heart for, in a sense, he becomes part owner of England -with me as soon as he puts his leg across a stile and begins to cast an -eye across country. - -There is an extraordinary satisfaction in following a footpath, that is -made doubly sweet if one sucks in the joy of the day, and the blitheness -of that through which we pass. To be knee-high in a bean field in flower -is as good a thing as I know, more especially if it be on a hillside -overlooking the sea. - -I sat once on the polished rail of a stile (very well made with cross -arms to hold by, like two short step-ladders, each with one long arm) -and looked at a path I had taken that lay through a field of whispering -oats. They seemed to hold a thousand secrets that they passed from ear -to ear all down the field, and when the breeze came, and blew birds -across the hedge, the whole field swayed, showing a rustling, silken -surface, as if it enjoyed a great joke. The Poppies and Cornflowers and -the White Convolvulus had no part in the conversation of the Oats, but -field mice had, and ran across the path hurrying like urgent messengers, -and once a mole nosed its way from the earth by my stile and vanished -grumbling—like some gruff old gentleman—along the hedgerow. I never saw -a field laugh as much as that field, or be so frivolous, or so feminine. -The field at my back was more like a great lady in a green velvet gown, -embroidered with Daisies. There, at the bottom of the field, was a pond -like a bright blue eye in the green, and lazy cattle, red and white, -stood in it, while others lay under a chestnut tree near by. - -Down in the valley, a long undulating spread before me, fields of -different hues, some green, some brown, some golden with ripe Corn, lay -baked in the heat, quivering under a calm blue sky. In one field a man -was sharpening a scythe with a whetstone—the rasp came floating up to me -clearly, and presently he began to open a field of wheat for the reaping -machine I could see, with men round her, under a clump of trees. Next to -this field was a narrow strip of coarse grass all aglow with Buttercups, -then a wide triangular field, with a pit in the corner of it, snowed -over with Daisies, and then a farm looking like a toy place, neat with -white painted railings, and a dovecote, and a long barn covered over -with yellow Stone Crop. I could see—all in miniature—the farmer come out -of his house door, beckon to a dog, and walk past a row of Hollyhocks -and a flush of pink Sweet Williams, open the gate and cross a road to -the Corn-field. The dog leapt ahead of him, barking joyously. - -[Illustration: POPPIES IN SURREY.] - -A little further down, and cut off partly from view by the May tree that -sheltered me, was a village, white and grey, sheltered by Elm trees. In -the midst of the handful of cottages the square-towered flint church -stood with Ivy on the tower and dark Yews in the churchyard. The graves -in the churchyard looked like the Daisies in the distant field, as if -they grew there. At the back of the church, and facing the high road, -was a line of trees from whence came an incessant noise of rooks. - -Very few things moved on the high road, a lumbering waggon, the doctor’s -trap, a bicycle, and then the carrier’s cart with a man I knew driving -it, a very pleasant man who preached in the Sion Chapel on Sundays and -chalked up texts in the tilt of his waggon—but with a shrewd eye to -business: a man who never forgave a debt. - -As I sat on my stile I felt this was all mine: no person there knew the -beauty of it as I did, or cared to capture its sweetness as I did. No -one but I saw the field of Oats laugh, or cared to note the business of -the dragon fly, or the flashing patterns of the butterflies. I had seen -these fields turned up, rich and brown, under the plough, and tender -green when the seeds came up, and waving green, and gold when they bore -their harvest of Corn, or silver and green with roots and red with -Beets. I had counted the sheep on the hillsides, and watched the cattle -stray in a long line to be milked at milking time, and though I did not -farm an acre of it, I owned it with my heart, and gathered its harvest -with my eyes. - -Every field footpath had its story, the road was rich in old romance, -and hidden by the trees at the head of the valley was the big house -where my hostess lived and with a loving hand directed all this little -world—but I doubt if she owned it more than I. - -To end all this, comes a little maid through the Oats, almost hidden by -them, her face quivering with tears because of a misplaced trust in a -bunch of Nettles. So we apply Dock leaves and a penny, and a farthing’s -worth of country wisdom, and part friends—I to the head of the valley, -she to her father’s farm on the other side of the hill. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - EPISODE OF THE CONTENTED TAILOR - - -Not a hundred yards out of a certain village I came across a little man -dressed in grey. We were alone on the road, we were going in the same -direction, and I came to learn that he travelled with as little purpose -as I. - -As soon as I saw his face, his jaunty walk, his knapsack and his stick, -I knew him for a friend. - -I hailed him. He stopped, smiled pleasantly, and fell in with my stride. -We soon found a mutual bond of esteem. It appeared we were out in search -of adventures. - -He explained to me, quite simply, that he was not going anywhere, and -that he proposed to be some four months about it. - -“Just walking about looking at things,” he volunteered. - -“That is my case,” I replied. - -“I’m a tailor, sir,” said he. - -“Having a look at the cut of the country?” - -He gave a little friendly nod. - -“And do you tailor as you go along?” I asked, for I had never met a -travelling tailor before: tinkers galore; haberdashers aplenty; patent -medicine men a few; sailors; old soldiers (the worst); apothecaries I -have mentioned; gentlemen, many; ploughboys, purse thieves, one or two, -and ugly customers—they were in a dark lane—but a tailor, never. It -seemed all the world could tread the high road but a tailor. Then I -remembered my fairy tales—“Seven at a Blow”—and laughed aloud. - -“I’ve given up my trade,” he explained, as we began to mount the hill. -“No more sitting on a bench for me in the spring or summer. I do a bit -in the winter, but I’m a free man on two pounds ten a week.” - -And he was young—forty at the most. - -“Put by?” said I. - -He smiled again. “Not quite, sir. I had a little bit put by, but a -brother of mine went to Australia, and made a fortune—he died, poor Tom, -and left his money to me and my sister. Two pound ten a week for each of -us.” - -“And it has brought you—this,” I explained, pointing with my stick at -the expanse of country. “It’s like a romance.” - -“Isn’t it?” - -“Then you read romances?” I asked quickly. - -“I read all I can lay hands on,” he replied. “I’m living just as my -sister and I dreamed we’d live if ever something wonderful happened.” - -“And it has happened?” - -“You’re right, sir. My sister lives in the little cottage I bought with -my savings. She’s got all she wants—all anybody might want, you might -say. A cottage, six-roomed, all white, with a Pink Rose growing over the -porch, and a canary in a cage in the parlour. Then there’s a garden, and -a bit of orchard, and bees and a river at the bottom of the little -meadow, and a Catholic Church within a stone’s throw—so it’s all right. -She’s a rare good gardener, is my sister.” - -“I envy you both,” I said. - -He looked me up and down for a moment before speaking. “No cause for you -to do that, I expect, sir.” - -“Well, you know what you want, and you’ve got it.” - -We had reached the crest of the hill now after a longish climb. It was a -hot day and I proposed a rest. Besides, it was one o’clock and I was -hungry. - -I had four hard boiled eggs, and he had bread and cheese—we divided our -goods evenly, and ate comfortably under a hedge in a field. - -“I’ve often sat on my bench,” he said, “and looked out at the sun in the -dusty street and wondered if I should ever be able to sit out in it on -the grass and have nothing to do. We used to go for a day in the -country, I and my sister, whenever I could spare the money, and it was a -holiday. You wouldn’t believe what the sight of green fields and trees -meant to me and my sister: you see the hedgerows were the only garden we -could afford, and we could ill-afford that. My sister used to talk about -the Roses she’d have, and the Carnations, and the Sunflowers and Asters, -when our ship came home. It came home—think of that.” He stretched his -limbs luxuriously. “And here we are with everything, and more.” - -“And more?” I asked. - -“Well, you see, it is more, somehow. I’m ‘me’ now—do you follow the -idea? I never knew what it was to be on my own: just ‘me.’ I can lie -abed now as long as I want to, I can wear what I like, do what I like. -And I’ve a garden of my own.” - -“But you don’t stop there,” I said. - -“Well,” he said, “I wonder if you’d know what I meant if I said that a -garden and sitting about is a bit too much for me for the present. I -want to walk and walk in the open air, and see things, and stretch my -legs a bit to get rid of twenty odd years of the bench. I want to run up -the top of hills and shout because—well, because I feel as if I had a -right to shout when the sun is shining.” - -“I quite understand that,” I said. - -“And then,” he went on, and his face showed the joy he felt, “everything -is so wonderful. Look at that village we came through: those people -there feel the same as you and me. They’ve got to express themselves -somehow, so they grow flowers right out into the road, just as a gift to -you and me. A sort of something comes to them that they must have -flowers at the front door. Whenever I see a good garden, full of Pinks -and Roses and Larkspur, I get a bed at that cottage, if I can. I’ve -slept all over the place, all over England, you might say; and cheap, -too.” - -“That was a beautiful village, below there,” I said. - -He nodded wisely. “Seems as if they’d decorated the street on purpose to -make the cottages look as if they grew like the flowers. All the porches -covered with Honeysuckle and Roses, and everlasting Peas, and flowers up -against the windows. I’ve a perfect craze for flowers—can’t think where -I get it from.” - -“You are the real gardener,” said I. - -“I believe I am,” he said. “And why I took to tailoring beats me, now. -My father was a butcher.” - -I pointed over my shoulder towards the village. “Do you live in a place -like that?” I asked. - -“Better than that,” he answered proudly. “It took me nearly two years to -find the place my sister and I had dreamed of. We wanted a cottage in a -county as much like a garden as possible. I found it—in Devonshire; my -eye, it’s a wonderful place, all orchards. In the blossom time it looks -like—well, as if it was expecting somebody, it’s so beautiful.” - -“I know,” I said. “Sometimes the country dresses itself as if a lover -were coming.” - -“Do you ever read Browning?” he asked. “Because he answers a lot of -questions for me.” - -“For me too.” - -“Well,” he said, and reddened shyly as he said it; “do you remember the -poem that ends - - ‘What if that friend happened to be God?’” - -I understood perfectly. He was a man of soul, my tailor. - -“I expect you are surprised to find I read a lot,” he went on in his -artless way. “But when I was a boy I was in a book shop, before my -father lost all his money, and put me out to be a tailor. My mother was -a lady’s maid, and she encouraged me to read. There was a priest, Father -Brown, who helped me too; it was from him I first learned to love -flowers.” - -“Then, as you are a Catholic, you know what to-day is,” said I. - -“The twenty-ninth of August. No, sir, I’m afraid I don’t.” - -“It is dedicated to one of our patron Saints—there are two for -gardeners—Saint Phocas, a Greek, and Saint Fiacre, an Irishman. To-day -is the day of Saint Phocas.” - -The tailor crossed himself reverently. - -“I’ll tell you the story if you like.” And, as he lay on his back, I -told him the little legend of - - SAINT PHOCAS: PATRON SAINT OF GARDENERS. - -“At the end of the third century there lived a certain good man called -Phocas, who had a little dwelling outside the gates of the city of -Sinope, in Pontus. He had a small garden in which he grew flowers and -vegetables for the poor and for his own needs. Prayer, love of his -labour, and care for the things he grew filled his life.” - -My tailor interrupted here to ask, apologetically, what manner of garden -Saint Phocas would have. - -“Neat beds,” said I—for I had gone into the matter myself—“edged with -box. The flowers and vegetables growing together. Violets, Leeks, -Onions, with Crocuses, Narcissus, and Lilies. Then, in their season, -Gladiolus, Hyacinths, Iris, Poppies, and plenty of Roses. Melons, also, -and Gherkins, Peaches, Plums, Apples and Pomegranates, Olives, Almonds, -Medlars, Cherries, and Pears, of which quite thirty kinds were known. In -his house, on the window ledge, if he had one, he may have grown Violets -and Lilies in window pots, for they did that in those days.” - -“Now, isn’t that interesting?” said the tailor. “My sister will care to -know that. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to find her putting a statue -of Saint Phocas over the door. She’s all for figures.” - -“I’m afraid,” said I, “there will be some trouble over that. There is a -statue of him in Saint Mark’s in Venice, a great old man with a fine -beard, dressed like a gardener, and holding a spade in his hand. There’s -one of him, too, in the Cathedral at Palermo, but I have never seen them -copied. Now I must tell you the rest of the story. - -“There were days, you know, when Christians were hunted out and killed. -One evening there came to the house of the Saint, two strangers. It was -the habit of this good man to give of what he had to all travellers, -food, rest, water to bathe their feet, and a kindly welcome. On this -occasion the Saint performed his hospitable offices as usual—set the -strangers at his board, prepared a meal for them, and led them -afterwards to a place where they might sleep. Before going to rest they -told him their errand; they were searching for a certain man of the name -of Phocas, a Christian, and, having found him, they were to slay him. -When they were asleep, the Saint, after offering up his prayers, went -into his garden and dug a grave in the middle of the flower beds. - -“The morning came, and the strangers prepared to depart, but the Saint, -standing before them, told them he was the very man whom they sought. A -horror seized them that they should have eaten with the man they had set -out to kill, but Saint Phocas, leading them to the grave among the -flowers, bid them do their work. They cut off his head, and buried him -in his own garden, in the grave he had dug.” - -[Illustration: PORCHES GROWN OVER WITH HONEYSUCKLE AND ROSES AT BROADWAY -IN THE COTSWOLDS.] - -The little tailor was silent. I lit my pipe, and began to put my traps -together. - -Then he spoke. “I couldn’t do that, you know. Those martyrs—by gum!” - -“Death,” said I, “was life to them. Their life was only a preparation -for death.” - -The tailor sat up. “My sister’s like that,” he said. “She’s bought a -tombstone—think of that. Said she’d like to have it by her. She’s a one -for a bargain, if you like; saw this tombstone marked ‘Cheap,’ in a -stonemason’s yard down our way, and went in at once to ask the price. -She’d price anything, my sister would. You’ve only got to mark a thing -down ‘Cheap’ and she’s after the price in a minute.” - -“How did the tombstone come to be marked ‘cheap’?” I asked, laughing -with him. - -“It was this way,” said the tailor. Then he turned, in his inconsequent -way to me. “I wonder,” he said, “if, as you’re so kind as to take an -interest, you’d care to see our cottage. We’d be proud, my sister and I, -if you would come. If you are just walking about for pleasure, perhaps -you’d come down as far as that one day and—and, well, sir, it’s very -humble, but we’d do our best.” - -“When shall you be there?” I said. “Because I want to come very much.” - -“I’m going back; I’m on my way now,” he said; “I always go back two or -three times in the summer just to tell her the news. I tell her what’s -happened, and what flowers they grow where I’ve been. If you would -really come, sir, perhaps you’d come in three weeks from now, if you -have nothing better to do. I’d let her know.” - -“Then she could tell me the story of the tombstone herself?” I said. - -It ended at that. He wrote the address for me in my sketch-book, and -took his leave of me in characteristic fashion. - -“I hope I’m not taking a liberty,” he said, as he jerked his knapsack -into a comfortable place between his shoulders. - -“There’s nothing I should like better,” said I. - -“You’ll like the garden,” he said as an inducement. - -And this was how I came to hear the story of the “Tailor’s Sister’s -Tombstone.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - THE BLUEBELL WOOD AND THE CALM - STONE DOG - - -Man is an autobiographical animal, he speaks only from his thimbleful of -human experience, and the I, I, I, of his talk drops out like an -insistent drip of water. Even the knowledge we gain from books has to be -grafted on to the knowledge we have of life before it bears fruit in our -minds. Like patient clerks we are always adding up the columns of facts, -fancies, and ideas, and arriving at the very tiny total at the end of -the day. - -In order to give themselves scope when they wish to soliloquise, many -authors address their conversation to a cat, a grandfather clock, a dog, -a picture on the wall, or what-not. Cats, I think, have the preference. -I have often wondered what Crome, the painter, said to his cat when he -pulled hairs out of her to make paint-brushes; or what Doctor Johnson -said to his cat Hodge, about Boswell. Having explained this much, I may -easily be forgiven for repeating the conversation I had with a Stone Dog -who sat on his haunches outside the door of a woodman’s cottage. - -The cottage stood on the edge of a wood, and was, as I shall point out, -a remnant of departed glory, of which the dog was the most pertinent -reminder. - -A cottage on the borders of a wood is in itself one of the most valuable -pictures for a romance. A woodcutter may be in league with goodness -knows how many fairies, elves, and witches. It is a place where heroes -meet heroines; where kings in disguise eat humble pie; where dukes, lost -in hunting a white stag, meet enchanted princesses. - -The wood, of which I speak, was once, years ago—about three hundred -years—part of the park of Tanglewood Court, an extensive property, an -old house, a great family possession. - -Gone, like last winter’s snow, were the family of Bois; gone the pack; -gone the glories of the great family; gone the portraits, the armour, -the very windows of Tanglewood Court, of which but a fine ruin remained. -And the lane, a mere cart track, was all that was left of the fine sweep -of drive to the house; and a tangled undergrowth under ancient trees all -that stood for the grand avenue down which my Lord Bois had once ridden -so madly. They call the lane Purgatory Lane, and they tell a story of -wild doings and of a beautiful avenue, that cannot have its place here. - -The great gates that once swung open to admit the carriage of Perpetua -Bois (of the red hair, the full voluptuous figure, the smile Sir Peter -Lely painted) were now two stone stumps at the feet of which two slots, -green and worn, showed where the hinges had been. These fine gates once -boasted, on the top of stone pillars, the greyhounds of Bois in stone. -One of these dogs had been rescued from the undergrowth by the -woodcutter, the other lies broken and bramble-covered in the wood. I -wonder if they miss each other. - -So you see I was addressing myself to a high-born Jacobean dog. - -This dog, very calm and dignified, with a stone tail and a back worn -smooth by wind and weather, sat with his back to the cottage which had -been built out of the remains of the old stone lodge by a gentleman of -the name of Bellington, who was afterwards found drowned in the lake. -That lake held many secrets, indeed, some said (the woodcutter’s wife -told me this) it held Lady Perpetua’s jewels. That did not concern me, -for it held for me the finer jewels of Water Lilies that grew there in -profusion, though I will not deny that the idea of Lady Perpetua gave an -added touch of romance. How often had the clear water of the lake -reflected her satin-clad figure and the forms of her little toy -spaniels? - -It so happening, I sat by the Stone Dog, on a wooden seat, to eat my -lunch one day, and dropped into conversation with him, after a bite or -two, in the most natural way in the world. - -There was the wood in front of us, blue-purple with wild Hyacinths. -There was the old cottage behind clothed with rambling Creepers; a -carpet of smooth rabbit-worn grass at our feet; a profusion of -Primroses, Wind Flowers, and budding trees before our eyes. There was -also the enchanting hum of wild bees (like those wild bees Horace knew, -that sought the mountain of Matinus in Calabria, and there “laboriously -gathered the grateful thyme”) to soothe us in our solitude. - -I addressed him then, “Stone Dog,” I said, “this is a very beautiful -wood. Nature, laughing at the ghosts of the Bois family, steel-clad, -periwigged, or patched, has reclaimed her own.” - -The dog answered me never a word but kept his gaze fixed in front of him -as if he saw visions in the wood. - -“This was a Park once,” said I, “the pleasure-ground of great folk, -where they might sport in playful dalliance”—I thought that sounded -rather Jacobean. - -But, as I looked at him, it seemed, as though he listened for the sound -of wheels, and turned his sightless eyes to look for the figure of Lady -Perpetua. - -“She was very fair,” I said, understanding him, knowing that he had seen -many generations drive through the gates he sat to guard. “She would -come down to the lodge-keeper’s house to take her breakfast draught of -small ale. Poor Lady Perpetua, she was a good house wife, and saw to the -pickling of Nasturtium buds, and Lime Tree buds, and Elder roots; and -ordered the salting of the winter beef; and looked to it that plenty of -Parsnips were stored to eat with it. What sights you must have seen!” - -Even as I talked there emanated from the Stone Dog some atmosphere of -the past, and we were once more in a fair English park, with its -orangeries, and houses of exotic plants, and its maze, and leaden -statues, and cut yew trees, and lordly peacocks. The great trees had -been cut down, and the timber sold; acres of land, once grazing ground -for herds of deer, were ploughed; here, in front of us, was the tangled -wood, a corner of what was, once, a wild garden—a fancy of Lady -Perpetua’s, no doubt, who loved solitudes, and sentimental poetry: - - “I could not love thee, dear, so much; - Loved I not honour more.” - -Perhaps it was here she met young Hervey; perhaps it was here Lord Bois -found them, cutting initials on one of those very trees, G. H. and P. B. -and two hearts with an arrow through them. Ah! then the smile Sir Peter -Lely painted faded to a quiver of the lips. Lord Bois looked at the -trembling mouth and his glance flew to the initials on the tree. “So -this is why, madam,” I could hear him say, “you took to sylvan glades -like a timid deer; so this is why you coaxed me up to London, leaving -you alone—but, not unprotected.” I could see his sneering bow to young -Hervey—a bow that was a blow. - -And all the while I was only seeing with the Stone Dog’s eyes. There was -just the rippling sea of wild Hyacinths, the pale gold of the Primroses, -the innocent white of the wood Anemones—like fairies’ washing—and the -purple haze of bursting buds. - -Once the Stone Dog had looked along an avenue and had seen a vista of -Tanglewood Court, and smooth terraces, and bright beds of flowers, with -Lords and Ladies walking up and down, taking the air, discussing fruit -trees, and Dutch gardening, and glass hives for bees. Now, he saw -nothing but the woods all brimming with Spring flowers: a garden made by -Nature. - -And then I thought I saw one Bluebell detach itself from its fellows and -come wafting to us with a fairy’s message, but it was a bright blue -butterfly who sailed, rejoicing in the sun. Somehow the butterfly -reminded me of the Lady Perpetua, soft and smiling, and fluttering in -the sun: as if she had returned to her woods in that guise to hover near -the tree, the trysting-place, on which the initials were cut. - -I said as much to the Stone Dog, but received no answer. - -“Stone Dog,” I said, “England is a very wonderful place: every park, -every field, every little wood is full of stories. I cannot pass a park -gate without thinking of the men and women who have been through it. -What a Garden of History the whole place is! I’ll warrant a Roman has -kissed a Saxon girl in this very place, for there’s a camp not far -off—perhaps you have seen twinkling ghostly watch-fires gleaming in the -night. Young Hervey’s dead, but you never saw him die; they fought in -the garden on the smooth grass, and the story goes that he slipped, and -Bois ran him through as he lay on the grass. What flowers grow over his -head now? And Perpetua is dead. They say she ran out and saw her lover -dead, and bared her breast to her husband’s sword. The grass was wet -with her blood when you saw Lord Bois ride madly down the drive, through -the gates, and out into the open country. The smile Sir Peter Lely -painted is carved by the hand of Death. She was only a girl, after all. -Who places flowers on her grave?” - -Meanwhile the sun shone on the Bluebells, and struck odd leaves of the -trees, picking them out with a fanciful finger till they shone like -green fires. - -Then the idea came to me that this wood held the spirit of Lady Perpetua -fast for ever. The Bluebells were the satin sheen of her dress (blue -like the Lely portrait), the red-brown autumn leaves and the dead -Bracken were her hair; the Wind Flowers, like her body linen; the -Violets, her eyes; the Primroses, her breath; the Cowslips, her golden -ornaments; the Daisy petals like her pure white skin. A gentle breeze -stirred all the flowers together, and—behold! there she was, alive. The -wood was yielding up her secret, as woods and flowers will do to those -who love them. - -So the Stone Dog and I had a bond of sympathy between us, the bond of -old memories, and the wood united us with its store of romance and -beauty: and he who loves wild flowers and woods, as well as walled -gardens and trees clipped in images, may gather store of pictures for -his mind. - -So the afternoon passed in this pleasant manner, and I took opportunity -to speak once more to the Stone Dog before the woodcutter’s children -came home from school to spoil our peace. - -[Illustration: BLUEBELLS IN SURREY.] - -I said, “There is no man so poor but he can afford to take pleasure in -Bluebells, and, even if he live in a town, there are wild flowers for -sale in the streets, and a bunch of Spring to be bought for a penny. And -there is no man so rich that he can wall up the treasures of heaven, or -build his walls so high but a Rose will peep over the edge. Poor and -rich are free of their thoughts, and there are thoughts and enough to -spare, in a hedgerow or a wood. Uncaged birds sing best, and wild -flowers yield the purest scents. You and I are fellow dreamers, and this -wood is our garden, and these birds our orchestra, and this grass our -carpet; and even when I am underneath the brown earth I love so well, -you will sit here and listen for the sound of carriage wheels, and -wonder if you will catch a glimpse of red hair and a satin dress through -the long-silent avenue. There are mountains, Stone Dog, that still feel -the pressure of the foot of Moses; and hills under which Roman soldiers -lie; and there are woods growing where orchard gardens were; and gardens -planted where the wild boar once ravaged.” - -After I had said this came wild shouts, and the laughter of children, -and a great clatter as the four children of the woodcutter came running -from the village school. - -As I left that place, and turned, before a bend of the road shut out the -sight of the wood, I saw the sea of Bluebells, and the sky above, the -Primroses and the Wind Flowers and last year’s leaves all melt into one. -The figure they made was the figure of Lady Perpetua standing there -smiling. Then I heard the wheels of a carriage on the road, and I could -have sworn I saw the Stone Dog turn his head. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - THE TAILOR’S SISTER’S TOMBSTONE - - -I was on the hill over against the village where my friend the tailor -lived, and was preparing to descend into the valley to inquire the -whereabouts of his cottage, when one of those sharp summer storms came -on, the sky being darkened as if a hand had drawn a curtain across it, -and the entire village lit by a vivid, unnatural light, like limelight -in its intensity. - -Turning about, as the first great drops fell, to look for shelter, I -spied a rough shed by the wayside, shut in on three sides with gorse, -wattle and mud, and roofed over with heather thatch. Into this I -scuttled and found a comfortable seat on a sack placed on a pile of -hurdles. - -It was evidently a place used by a shepherd for a store-house of the -implements of his craft. At the back of a shed was one of those houses -on wheels shepherds use in the lambing season; besides this were -hurdles, sacks, several rusty tins, and a very rusty oil-stove. All very -primitive, and possessed of a nice earthy smell. It gave me a sudden -desire to be a shepherd. - -Looking down into the valley I saw men running for shelter, hastily -pulling their coats over their shoulders as they ran. In a field on the -far side of the valley they were carting Wheat, and I saw two men -quickly unhitch the cart horses, and lead them away to some place hidden -from me by trees. - -The village was buried in orchards, and lay along the bank of a quickly -running river that caught a glint of the weird light here and there -between the trees like a path of shining silver. A squat church tower -stuck up among the red roofs. - -For a moment the scene shone in the fierce light, then the low growling -thunder broke into a tremendous crash, and the light was gone in an -instant. Then the rain blotted out everything. - -The hiss of the rain on the dry heather thatch over my head was good -enough company, and it was added to, soon, by the entrance of seven -swallows that flew into my shelter and sat twittering on a beam just -inside the opening. Then came an inky darkness, broken violently by a -blare of lightning as if some hand had rent the dark curtain across in a -rage. A great torn jagged edge of blue-white light streamed across the -valley, showing everything in wet, glistening detail. - -Only that morning I had been reading by the wayside an account of a -storm in the Memoirs of Benvenuto Cellini. It came very pat for the day. -It was at the time when Cellini rode from Paris carrying two precious -vases on a mule of burden, lent him to go as far as Lyons, by the Bishop -of Pavia. When they were a day’s journey from Lyons, it being almost ten -o’clock at night, such a terrific storm burst upon them that Cellini -thought it was the day of judgment. The hailstones were the size of -Lemons; and the event caused him to sing psalms and wrap his clothes -about his head. All the trees were broken down, all the cattle deprived -of life, and a great many shepherds were killed. - -I was still engaged in picturing this when the sky above me grew -lighter, the rain fell less heavily, and, in a very short time, all that -was left of the storm was a distant sound as of a giant murmuring, a -dark blot of rain cloud on the distant hills, and the ceaseless patter -of dripping trees. The sun shone out and showed the village and -landscape all fresh and shining. Then, as I looked, against the dark -bank of distant clouds, a rainbow arched in glorious colours, one step -of the arch on the hills tailing into mist, and one in the corn field -below. The sight of the rainbow with its wonderful beauty, and its great -message of hope thrilled me, as it always does. I do not care what the -scientist tells me of its formation: he has not added one atom to my -feeling, with all his knowledge. It remains for me the sign of God’s -compact with man. - - “And God said, This is the token of the covenant which I make - between me and you, and every living creature that is with you, - for perpetual generations. - - “I set my bow in a cloud, and it shall be for a token of a - covenant between me and the earth. - - “And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, - that the bow shall be seen in the cloud. - - “And I will remember my covenant which is between me and you, - and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no - more become a flood to destroy all flesh. - - “And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, - that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and - every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.” - -I learnt to love that when I was a child, and being still, in many ways, -the same child, I look upon a rainbow and think of God remembering his -covenant: and it makes me very happy. - -Now as the storm was over, and I had no further excuse for stopping in -my shelter, I took my knapsack again on to my shoulder and walked down, -across two fields of grass, round the high hedges of two orchards, and -came out into the road in the valley, about two hundred yards distant -from the village church. It was about four of the afternoon. - -I was about to turn towards the village to ask my best way to the -tailor’s cottage, when who should turn the bend of the road but the -tailor himself with all the air of looking for some one. - -I grasped him warmly by the hand, and he held mine in a good grip like -the good fellow he was, saying, “I was looking about for you, sir, -thinking you might have forgotten my direction” (as indeed, I had), “and -knowing you would most likely go to the village to inquire, I was on my -way there.” - -As we turned to walk down the road away from the church, the tailor -informed me his sister was all agog to see me, but very nervous that I -might think theirs too poor a place to put up with, and she had, at the -last moment, implored him to take me to the inn instead. - -The affection I had gained for the little man in my few hours’ talk with -him made me certain I should be happy in his company, and I laughed at -his fears. - -“Why, man,” said I, “I have walked a good hundred miles to see you, do -you think it likely I shall turn away at the last minute?” - -“There,” cried the tailor, “I told her so. She’s a small body, you’ll -understand, sir, and gets worried at times.” - -We turned a corner and I saw before me one of the prettiest cottages I -have ever seen. A low, sloping roof of thatch, golden brown where it had -been mended, rich brown and green in the older part. The body of the -cottage was white, with a fine tree of Cluster Roses, the Seven Sisters, -I think it is called, growing over the porch and on the walls. The -garden was one mass of bloom, a wonderful garden—as artists say, “juicy” -with colour. Standard Roses, Sweet Williams, Hollyhocks, patches of -Violas, Red Hot Pokers, Japanese Anemones, a hedge of Sweet Peas “all -tip-toe for a flight” as Keats has it, clumps of Dahlias just coming -out, with red pots on sticks to catch the earwigs; an old Lavender -hedge, grey-green. A rain butt painted green; round a corner, three -blue-coloured beehives; and all about, such flowers—I could not mention -half of them. Bushes of Phlox, for instance; and great brown-eyed -Sunflowers cracked across with wealth of seed; and tall spikes of -Larkspur like the summer skies: and Carnations couched in their grey -grass or tied to sticks. A worn brick pathway leading through it all. - -The tailor watched the effect on me anxiously. - -I stood with one hand on the gate and drank in the beauty of it. Set, as -the place was, in a bower of orchards, it looked like a jewelled nest, a -place out of a fairy tale, everything complete. The diamond panes of the -windows with neat muslin curtains behind them, with fine Geraniums in -very red pots on the window-sill, were like friendly eyes beaming -pleasantly at the passing world. To a tired traveller making his way -upon that road, such a sight would bring delight to his eyes, and cause -him, most certainly, to pause before the glad garden. If he were a -romantic man he would take off his hat, as men do abroad to a wayside -Calvary, in honour of the peace that dwelt over all. - -Like a rich illuminated page the garden glowed among the trees—like a -jewel of many colours it shone in its velvet nest. - -The tailor could restrain himself no longer. He said, “As neat as -anything you’ve seen, sir?” - -“Perfect,” said I. “As much as a man could want.” - -He walked before me down the garden path and called, “Rose,” through the -open door. - -In another minute I was shaking hands with the tailor’s sister. - -In appearance she was as spotlessly clean as her muslin curtains. She -was a tiny woman of about forty-five, very quick in her movements, with -a little round red face and very bright blue eyes. She wore, in my -honour, a black silk dress, and a black silk apron and a large cornelian -brooch at her neck. - -“Pray step inside, sir,” she said throwing open the door of the parlour. - -When I was seated at tea with these people I kept wondering where they -had learnt the refinement and taste everywhere exhibited. For one thing -the few family possessions were good, and there was no tawdry rubbish. A -grandfather clock, its case shining with polishing, ticked comfortably -in one corner of the room. An old-fashioned sofa filled the window -space. We sat upon Windsor chairs with our feet on a rag carpet. Most of -the household gods were over or upon the mantelpiece, most prominent -among which was a really fine landscape, hung in the centre. I inquired -whose work this might be. - -One had only to look in the direction of any object to get its history -from the tailor. - -“I bought that, sir,” he said, when I was looking at the picture, “of a -man near Norwich. It cost me half a crown.” - -“Three shillings,” said the sister. Then to me, “He takes a sixpence -off, now and again, sir, because he’s jealous of my bargains; aren’t -you, Tom?” - -Tom smiled at her and winked at me. “She will have her bit of fun,” he -said. - -“But it’s a fine picture,” said I. - -“Proud to have you say so,” he answered; “I like it, and the man didn’t -seem to care about it. He was going to the Colonies and parting with a -lot of odds and ends. I bought the brass candlesticks off him at the -same time—a shilling.” - -I could see why the little man liked the picture, for the same reason I -liked it myself. It was of the Norwich School, a broad open landscape -painted with care and finish of detail, and with much of the charming -falsity of light common among certain pictures of that time. On the left -was a cottage whose garden gave on to the road, a cottage almost buried -under two great trees. The road wound past, out of the shadows of the -trees, and vanished over a hill. The middle distance showed a great -expanse of country dotted with trees with the continuation of the road -running through the vale until it was lost in a wood. A sky of banked up -clouds hung over all. Right across the middle of the picture was a -wonderfully painted gleam of sunlight, flicking trees, meadows, and the -road into bright colours; the rest of the picture being subdued to give -this effect. Up the road, coming towards the cottage, was a small man in -a three-cornered hat, knee breeches, and long skirted coat. This figure -dated the picture a little earlier than I had at first thought it. - -“That’s me,” said the tailor, pointing to the figure. “That’s what Rose -said as soon as I brought it home, ‘Why that’s you, Tom.’” - -“I did, sir, that’s just what I said. ‘Why Tom, that’s you,’ I said.” - -“And so it is,” said the tailor. - -Half a crown! Few of us are rich enough in taste to have bought it. - -After tea I begged leave to see the garden. “And, Miss Rose,” I said, -“to hear about the tombstone, please.” - -She put her small fat hands to her face and laughed and laughed. “He’s -been and told you that, sir? Well, I never did!” - -[Illustration: A COTTAGE GARDEN.] - -We went out of the back door and into a second flower garden rivalling -the one in front for a display of colour. There, sure enough, stood the -tombstone, grey and upright, planted in a bed of flowers. They seemed to -hurl themselves at the grim object, wave upon wave of coloured joy -washing the feet of the emblem of Death. - -“There she is,” said the tailor’s sister proudly. - -“Please tell me about it,” said I, wondering at her cheerfulness. - -“You see, sir,” she began, “before Tom and I came into our fortune, and -got rich——” - -Multi-millionaires, I thought, could you but hear that! But they were -rich—as rich as any one could be. The flowers in the garden were worth a -kingdom. - -“—We used to wonder what we’d do if we ever had a bit of money. Of -course, we never dreamed of anything like this.” Her eyes wandered -proudly over her possessions. - -“Yes,” said the tailor, joining in. “Our best dreams never came near -this. I’d seen such places, but never thought to live in one, much less -own one.” - -“Well, you see, sir,” said his sister taking up the thread of her story, -“there was one thing I’d always set my mind on—a nice place to lie in -when I was dead. I had a horror of cemeteries, great ugly places, as you -might say, with the tombstones sticking up like almonds in a tipsy cake -pudding, and a lot of dirty children playing about. I lived for ten -years in London, in a room that overlooked one, a most dingy place I -called it. I couldn’t bear to think I’d be popped in with a crowd, -anyhow. Now, a churchyard in the country—that’s quite different.” - -“I’d a great fancy for a spot I knew in Kent,” said the tailor. “Dark -Yew trees all round one side, and Daisies over everything, and a seat -near by for people to rest on, coming early to church.” - -“Go on, Tom,” said his sister lovingly. “Ar’n’t you satisfied with what -you’ve got?” - -He turned to me after putting his arm through his sister’s. “We’ve got -our piece of ground,” he said cheerfully. “I’m going to be planted next -to her, on the left of the church door—well, it’s as good a place as -you’d find anywhere, and people coming out of church will notice us -easily. I’d like to be thought of, after I’m gone.” - -Death held no terrors for these people, it seemed, they talked so -happily of it, made such delightful plans to welcome it; robbed it of -all its gloom and horror, its false trappings, its dingy grandeur. - -There was a flaunting Red Admiral sunning its wings on the tombstone. - -“I never thought,” said the sister, “I should find just what I wanted by -accident. Isn’t it lovely?” - -It certainly had a beauty of its own. It was a copy of an early -eighteenth century tombstone, the top in three arches, the centre arch -large, and round, ending in carved scroll work. In the centre of the -arch a cherub was carved, very fat and smiling, with wings on either -side of his head. Then, in good deep-cut lettering, were the words: - - SACRED TO THE MEMORY - OF - ROSE BRANDLE - -Both these curious people looked at me as I read the lettering. Arm in -arm they looked nice, cheerful, loving friends, a good deal like one -another in the face, very gay and homely, and with a certain sparkling -brightness, like the flowers they loved. To see them standing there -proudly, smiling at the grey tombstone, smiling at me, under the sun, in -the garden so full of life and of growing healthy things, gave me a -sensation that Death was present in friendly guise, a constant welcome -companion to my new friends, and a pleasant image even to myself. - -“Second-hand,” said the tailor’s sister, “all except the name, and he -put that in for me at a penny the letter: that came to elevenpence, so I -gave him a shilling to make an even sum.” - -“A guinea, as it stands,” said the tailor. - -“You like it, sir?” asked his sister anxiously. - -“On the contrary,” said I, “I admire it enormously.” - -“As soon as I saw it,” she said, “I fell in love with it. It was -standing at the back of the yard among a heap of stones. The sun was -shining on it, and I said to myself, ‘If that’s cheap, it’s as good as -mine.’ The man had cut it out years ago as an advertisement to put in -the front of the yard, and it had a bit of paper pasted on it with his -terms and what not—Funerals in the best style. Distance no object—and -that sort of thing. I asked the price of it and he told me ‘One pound.’ -‘Cheap,’ I said, and he told me how ’twas so, since people nowadays like -broken urns and pillars or something plainer, and had given up cherubs, -and death-heads and suchlike. So I put down the money, and he popped it -on a waggon that was coming back this way with a small load of Hay, and -Tom put it up for me in the garden. Now I can die happy, sir.” - -I asked her if she had no feelings about Death, and if the idea of -leaving her garden and her cottage was not strange to her. - -She replied, in the simplest way possible, being a cheerful religious -woman without a particle of sham in her nature, that when God called her -she was ready and glad to go, and as for the garden she would only go to -another one—far more beautiful. - -Her faith, I found afterwards, was of a sweet simple kind, and had been -with her as a child, and remained with her as a woman, untouched by the -least doubt. She heard Mass every morning of her life in the little -church half a mile away, and spoke in loving and familiar tones of her -favourite saints as being friends of hers, though in a higher station of -life. Included in her ideas of heaven was a very distinct belief that -there would be many beautiful flowers and birds, and the pleasure with -which she looked forward to seeing them—in a humble way, as if she might -be one of a crowd in a Public Garden—gave her a quiet dignity and charm, -the equal of which I have seldom met. Her brother, who was always -marvelling at her, had, also, some of her dignity, but a wider, freer -view of things, and the natural gaiety of a bird. - -The next morning, as soon as I woke in the fresh clean bedroom they had -made ready for me, I sprang from my bed and went to look out of the -window. The dew was sparkling on the flowers, and their scent came up -sweet and strong; a tubful of Mignonette, at which the bees were busy, -was especially fragrant. As I looked, the tailor’s sister came into the -garden, in a neat lavender-coloured print dress; she carried a missal in -one hand, and a rosary swung in the other. She stood opposite to her -tombstone for a minute, her lips moving softly, and then, after turning -her pleasant face towards the wealth of flowers about her, she bowed -deeply, as if saluting the morning. A little time later I heard the gate -of the front garden swing and shut, and I knew she had gone to hear -Mass. - -The garden was left alone, busy in its quiet way; growing, dying, -perpetuating its kind. The bees were industriously singing as they -worked; lordly butterflies danced rigadoons and ravanes over the -flowers; a thrush, after a long hearty tug at a fat worm, swallowed it, -and then, perching on the tombstone, poured out its joy in full clear -notes. And Death was cheated of his sting. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII - - THE COTTAGE GARDEN - - -For the same reason that your town man keeps a pot of Geraniums on his -window-sill, and a caged bird in his house, your countryman plants -bright-coloured flowers by his door, and regales his children with news -of the first cuckoo. They pull as much of Heaven down as will -accommodate itself to their plot of earth. - -Any man standing in the centre of however small a space of his personal -ownership—a piece of drugget in a garret, a patch of garden—makes it the -hub of the universe round which the stars spin, on which his world -revolves. Within a hand-stretch of him lie all he is, his intimate -possessions, his scraps of comfort scratched out of the hard earth: -books, pictures, photographs showing the faces of his small world of -friends and his tiny travels—how little difference there is between a -walk through Piccadilly and a journey across Asia: your great traveller -has little more to say than the man who has found Heaven in a penny -bunch of Violets, or heard the stars whisper over St. James’s -Park—within his reach are the things he has paid the price of life for, -and they are the cloak with which he covers his nakedness of soul -against the all-seeing eye he calls his Destiny. - -With all this, commenced perhaps in cowardice—for the earth’s brown -crust is too like a grave, the garret floor too like a shell of -wood—your man, town or country, grown to know love of little things, -nurses a seedling as if it were his conscience, patches his drugget as -if it were a verse he’d like to polish. Out of the vast dreary waste of -faces who pass by unheeding, and the unseeing world that does not care -whether he lives or dies, he makes his small hoard of treasures, as a -child hides marbles, thinking them precious stones—as, indeed, they are -to those who have eyes to see—and, be they books, or pictures, pots of -plants, or curious conceits in china, they all answer for flowers, for -the bright-coloured spots of comfort in a life of doubt. - -No man thinks this out carefully, and sets about to plan his garden in -this spirit: he feels a need, and meets it as he can. In this manner we -are all cottage gardeners. - -In days gone by—days of serfdom, oppression, battle, slavery, -poverty—the countryman passed his day waiting for the next blow, living -between pestilences, and praying in the dark for small sparks of -comfort. The monks kept the land sweet by growing herbs in sheltered -places; the countryman looked dully at Periwinkles and Roses and -Columbines, thought them pretty, and passed by. Even the meanest flower, -Shepherd’s-eye or Celandine, was too high for him to reach. (The poet -who keeps Jove’s Thunder on his mantelpiece would understand that.) -Roses were common enough even in the dark ages; the English hedgerow -threw out its fingers of Wild Rose and scented the air—but where was the -man with a nose for fragrance when a mailed hand was on his shoulder. -Those Roses on the Field of Tewkesbury—think of them stained with blood -and flowering over rotting corpses. - - “I sometimes think that never blows so red - The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; - That every Hyacinth the Garden wears - Dropt in its lap from some once lovely Head. - - And this delightful Herb whose tender Green - Fledges the River’s Lip on which we lean. - Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows - From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen.” - -Little did the dull ploughman think of Roses in the hedge, or Violets in -the bank, he’d little care except for a dish of Pulse. Yet, all the -time, curious men were studying botany, dredging the earth for secrets, -as the astronomer swept the sky. The Arviells, Gilbert and Hernicus, -were, one in Europe, the other in Asia, collecting good plants and herbs -to replenish the Jardins de Santé the monks kept—that in the thirteenth -century, too, with war clouds everywhere, and steel-clad knights wooing -maidens in castles by the secondhand means of luting troubadours. - -The Arts of Rome were dead, buried, and cut up by the plough. (How many -ploughmen, such as Chaucer knew, turned long brown furrows over Roman -vineyards, and black crows, following, pecked at bright coins, brought -by the plough to light.) - -All at once, it must have seemed, the culture of flowers, was in the -air: Carnations became the rage; then men spent heaven knows what on a -Tulip bulb; built orangeries; sent Emissaries abroad to cull flowers in -the East. The great men’s gardeners, great men themselves, kept flowers -in the plot of ground about their cottages; gave out a seed or so here -and there; talked garden gossip at the village ale-house. (Tradescant -steals Apricots from Morocco into England. A Carew imports Oranges. The -Cherry orchards at Sittingbourne are planted by one of Henry the -Eighth’s gardeners. Peiresc brings all manner of flowers to bloom under -our grey skies: great numbers of Jessamines, the clay-coloured Jessamine -from China; the crimson American kind; the Violet-coloured Persian.) - -[Illustration: A SURREY COTTAGE.] - -The grass piece by the cottage door begins to find itself cut into beds; -uncared for flowers, wild Gilly-flowers, Thyme, Violets and the like, -give colour to the cottage garden that has only just become a garden. -With that comes competition: one man outdoes another, begs plants and -seeds of all his friends; buds a Rose on to a Briar standard, and boasts -the scent of his new Clove Pinks, And so it grew that times were not so -strenuous: Queen Victoria comes to the throne, and with prosperity come -the pretty frillings of life, and cottage gardens ape their masters’ -Rose walks, and collections of this and that. To-day Africa and Asia nod -together in a sunny cottage border, and Lettuces from the Island of Cos -show their green faces next to Sir Walter Raleigh’s great gift to the -poor man, the Potato. Poplars from Lombardy grow beside the garden gate; -the Currant bush from Zante drips its jewel-like fruit tassels under a -Cherry tree given to us, indirectly, by Lucullus, lost by us in our -slumbering Saxon times, and here again, with Henry the Eighth’s -gardener, from Flanders. In some quite humble gardens the Cretan Quince -and Persian Peach grow; so that history, poetry, and romance peer over -Giles’s rustic hedge; and the wind blows scents of all the world through -the small latticed window. - -Ploughman Giles, sitting by his cottage door, smoking an American weed -in his pipe while his wife shells the Peas of ancient Rome into a basin, -does not realise that his little garden, gay with Indian Pinks and -African Geraniums, and all its small crowd of joyous-coloured flowers, -is an open book of the history of his native land spread at his feet. -Here’s the conquest of America, and the discovery of the Cape, and all -the gold of Greece for his bees to play with. Here’s his child making a -chain of Chaucer’s Daisies; and there’s a Chinese mandarin nodding at -him from the Chrysanthemums; and there’s a ghost in his cabbage patch of -Sir Anthony Ashley of Wimbourne St. Giles in Dorsetshire. - -Ploughman Giles is a fortunate man, and we, too, bless his enterprise -and his love of striking colours and good perfumes when we lean over the -gate of his cottage garden to give him good-day. - -I showed him once a photograph of a picture by Holbein—the Merchant of -the Steel Yard—and pointed out the vase of flowers on the table and the -very same flowers growing side by side in his garden, Carnations, the -old single kind, and single Gilly-flower. He looked at the picture with -his glasses cocked at the proper angle on his nose—he’s an oldish man -and short-sighted—and said in his husky voice, “Well, zur, I be -surprised to zee un.” And he called out his wife to look—which didn’t -please her much as she was cooking—but, when she saw the flowers, “In -that there queer gentleman’s room, and as true as life, so they do be,” -she became enthusiastic, wiped her hands many times on her apron, and -looked from the picture to the actual flowers growing in her garden with -a kind of awe and wonder. It was of far more interest to them to know -that they were hand in glove with the history of their own country than -it would have been to learn that chemists made a wonderful drug called -digitalis out of the Foxgloves by the fence. I gave them the photograph -and it hangs in a proud position next to a stuffed and bloated perch in -a glass-case; and, what is more, they have an added sense of dignity -from the dim, far away time the picture represents to them. - -“He might a plucked they flowers in this very garden,” she says; and -indeed, he might if he had happened that way. But the older flowers, -though they don’t realise it, are the people themselves. Ploughman Giles -and his wife, have been on the very spot far, far longer than the Pinks -and Gilly-flowers, blooming into ripe age, rearing countless families -back and back and back, until one can almost see a Giles sacrificing to -Thor and Odin at the stone on the hill behind the cottage. The Norman -Church throws its shadow over the graves of countless Gileses, and over -the graves, pleasant-eyed English Daisies shine on the grass. - -After all, when we see a cottage standing in its glowing garden, with a -neat hedge cutting it off from its fellows; with children playing -eternal games with dolls (Mr. Mould’s children following the ledger to -its long home in the safe—shall I ever forget that?), we see the whole -world, cares, joys, birth, death and marriage; the wealth of nations -scattered carelessly in flowers, spoils from every continent, surrounded -by a hedge, its own birds to sing, its hundred forms of life, feeding, -breeding, dying round the cottage door; and, at night, its little patch -of stars overhead. - -It was a fanciful child, perhaps, but children are full of quaint ideas, -who caught the moon in a bright tin spoon, and put it in a bottle, and -drew the cork at night to let the moon out to sail in the sky. The child -found the tin spoon, dropped by a passing tinware pedlar, in the road, -waited till night came, with his head full of a fairy story he had -heard, and when it was dark, except for the moon, he stepped into the -garden, held the bowl of the spoon to catch the moon’s reflection, and -when she showed her yellow face distorted in the bright spoon, he poured -the reflection, very solemnly, into a bottle and corked it fast and -tight. Then, with a whispered fairy spell, some nurse’s gibberish, he -took the precious bottle and hid it in a cupboard along with other -mysterious tokens. That’s a symbol of all our lives, bottling up moons -and letting them out at nights. Isn’t a garden just such a dream-treat -to some of us? There are golden Marigolds for the sun we live by, and -silver Daisies for the stars, and blue Forget-me-nots for summer skies. -Heaven at our feet, and angels singing from birds’ throats among the -trees. - -Sometimes we see one cottage garden, next to a Paradise of colour, -flaunting Geraniums, and all the summer garland, and in it a poor tree -or so, a few ill-kept weedy flowers, overgrown Stocks, a patch of -drunken-looking Poppies, a grass-grown waste of choked Pinks: the whole -place with a sullen air. What is the matter with the people living -there? A decent word will beg a plant or two, seeds and cuttings can be -had for the asking. Is it a poor or a proud spirit who refuses to join -the other displays of colour? Knock at the door, and your answer comes -quick-footed; it is the poor spirit answers you. Of course, there are -men who can coax blood out of a stone, and find big strawberries in the -bottom of the basket; and others who cannot grow anything, try as they -may. It is common enough to hear this or that will not grow for -so-and-so, or that man makes such a plant flourish where mine all die. -There’s something between man and his flowers, some sympathy, that makes -a Rose bloom its best for one, and Carnations wither under his touch, or -Asters show their magic purples for one, and give a weak display for -another. No one knows what speaks in the man to the Roses that bloom for -him, or what distaste Carnations feel for all his ministrations, but the -fact remains—any gardener will tell you that. So with your man of -greenhouses, so with your humble cottage gardener, and, looking along a -village street, the first glance will show you not who loves the flowers -but whom flowers love. - -This, of course, is not the reason of the weedy garden of the poor -spirit, the reason for that is obvious: the poor spirit never rejoices, -and to grow and care for flowers is a great way of rejoicing. There’s -many a man sows poems in the spring who never wrote a line of verse: his -flowers are his contribution to the world’s voice; united in expressions -of joy, the writer, the painter, the singer, the flower-grower are all -part of one great poem. - -The average person who passes a cottage garden is more moved by the -senses than the imagination; he or she drinks deep draughts of perfume, -takes long comfort to the eyes from the fragrant and coloured rood of -land. They do not cast this way and that for curious imaginings; it -might add to their pleasure if they did so. There are men who find the -whole of Heaven in a grain of mustard seed; and there are those who, in -all the pomp and circumstance of a hedge of Roses, find but a passing -pleasure to the eye. - -We, who take our pleasure in the Garden of England, who feast our eyes -on such rich schemes of colours she affords, have reason to be more than -grateful to those who encourage the cottage gardener in his work. It is -from the vicarage, rectory, or parsonage gardens that most encouragement -springs; it is the country clergyman and his wife who, in a large -measure, are responsible for the good cottage gardening we see nearly -everywhere. These, and the numberless societies, combine to keep up the -interest in gardening and bee-keeping, to which we owe one of our -chiefest English pleasures. The good garden is the purple and fine linen -of the poor man’s life; poets, philosophers, and kings have praised and -sung the simple flowers that he grows. Wordsworth for instance, sings of -a flower one finds in nearly every cottage garden: - - LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING. - - You call it “Love-lies-Bleeding”—so you may, - Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops - As we have seen it here from day to day, - From month to month, life passing not away: - A flower how rich in sadness! Even thus stoops, - (Sentient by Grecian sculpture’s marvellous power) - Thus leans, with hanging brow and body bent - Earthward in uncomplaining languishment, - The dying Gladiator. So, sad Flower! - (’Tis Fancy guides me, willing to be led, - Though by a slender thread,) - So drooped Adonis bathed in sanguine dew - Of his death-wound, when he from innocent air - The gentlest breath of resignation drew; - While Venus in a passion of despair - Rent, weeping over him, her golden hair - Spangled with drops of that celestial shower. - She suffered, as Immortals sometimes do; - But pangs more lasting far that Lover knew - Who first, weighed down by scorn, in some lone bower - Did press this semblance of unpitied smart - Into the service of his constant heart, - His own dejection, downcast Flower! could share - With thine, and gave the mournful name - Which thou wilt ever bear. - -Then again, Mrs. Browning, who loved Nature and England, and spoke her -love in such delicate fancies, writes of flowers in “Our Gardened -England,” in a poem called, - - A FLOWER IN A LETTER. - - Red Roses, used to praises long, - Contented with the poet’s song, - The nightingale’s being over; - And Lilies white, prepared to touch - The whitest thought, nor soil it much, - Of dreamer turned to lover. - - Deep Violets you liken to - The kindest eyes that look on you, - Without a thought disloyal! - And Cactuses a queen might don - If weary of her golden crown, - And still appear as royal! - - Pansies for ladies all! I wis - That none who wear such brooches miss - A jewel in the mirror: - And Tulips, children love to stretch - Their fingers down, to feel in each - Its beauty’s secret nearer. - - Love’s language may be talked with these! - To work out choicest sentences, - No blossoms can be neater— - And, such being used in Eastern bowers, - Young maids may wonder if the flowers - Or meanings be the sweeter. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX - - A FEAST OF WILD STRAWBERRIES - - -There’s many a child has crowned her head with Buttercups—no bad -substitute for gold—mirrored her face in a pool, and dreamed she was a -Queen. There’s many a boy has lain for hours in the Wild Thyme on a -cliff top and sent dream-fleets to Spain. The touch of imagination is -all that is required to make the world seem real, and not until that -wand is used is the world real. Only those moments when we hear the -stars, peer in through Heaven’s gates, or rub shoulders with a poet’s -vision, are real and substantial; the rest is only dreamland, vague, -unsatisfactory. Huddled rows of dingy houses, smoke, grime, roar of -traffic, scramble for the pence that make the difference, these things -are not abiding thoughts—“Here there is no abiding city”—but those great -moments when we grow as the flowers grow, sing as the birds sing, and -feel at ease with the furthest stars, those are the moments we live in -and remember. Our great garden may hold our thoughts if we wish. When we -own England with our eyes, when all the fields and woods, the mountain -streams, the pools and rills, rivers and ponds, are ours; when we are on -our own ground with Ling and Broom, Heather, Heath and Furze for our -carpet; when Harebells ring our matin’s bell and Speedwell close the day -for us; when the Water-lily is our cup, broad leaves of Dock our -platter, and King-cups our array—how vast!—of gold plate, then are we -kings indeed. - -[Illustration: PATCHES OF HEATHER.] - -I’ll give you joy of all your hot-house fruit, if you’ll leave me to my -Wild Strawberries. I’ll wish you pleasure of Signor What’s-his-name, the -violin player, if you’ll but listen to my choir of thrushes. What do you -care to eat? Here’s nothing over substantial, I’ll admit; but there’s -good wine in the brook, and food for a day in the fields and hedges. -Nuts, Blackberries, Wortleberries, Wild Raspberries, Mushrooms, Crabs -and Sloes, and Samphire for preserving; Elderberries to make into a -cordial; and Wild Strawberries, that’s my chiefest dish at this -season—food for princesses. - -Come to the cliffs with your leaf of Wild Strawberries, and I can show -you blue Flax, and Sea Pinks, yellow Sea-Cabbage, and Sea Convolvulus, -and Golden Samphire; you shall have Sandwort, and Viper’s Bugloss, and -Ploughman’s Spikenard, and Horned Poppies, and Thyme, in plenty. We will -choose a fanciful flower for the table, the yellow Elecampane that gave -a cosmetic to Helen of Troy. And the mention of her who set Olympus and -Earth in a blaze of discord makes me remember how Hermes, of the golden -wand, gave to Odysseus the plant he had plucked from the ground, black -at the root, and with a flower like to milk—“Moly the Gods call it, but -it is hard for mortal men to dig; howbeit with the Gods all things are -possible.” - -Any manner of imaginings may come to those who make a feast of Wild -Strawberries. We may follow our Classic idea and discuss the Hydromel, -or cider of the Greeks; the syrup of squills they drank to aid their -digestion, or the absinthe they took to promote appetite. We might even -try to make one of their sweet wines of Rose leaves and honey, such a -thing would go well with our Wild Strawberries. These things might all -come out of our country garden and give us a ghostly Greek flavour for -our pains. There were Wild Strawberries, I think, on Mount Ida where -Paris was shepherd, whence they fetched him when Discord threw the -Golden Apple. - -It is almost impossible to reach out a hand and pick a flower without -plucking a legend with it. - -I had taken, I thought, England for my garden, and Wild Strawberries for -my dish, but I find that I have taken the world for my flower patch, and -am sitting to eat with ancient Greeks. Let me but pick the Pansy by my -hand and I find that Spenser plucked its fellow years ago: - - “Strew me the ground with Daffe-down-dillies, - And Cowslips, and King-cups, and loved Lilies, - The pretty Paunce (that is my wild Pansy) - The Chevisaunce - Shall watch with the fayre Fleur de Luce.” - -And you may call it Phœbus’-paramour, or Herb-Trinity, or Three -Faces-under-a-Hood. - -To our forefathers the fields, lanes, and gardens were a newspaper far -more valuable than the modern sheet in which we read news of no -importance day by day. To them the blossoming of the Sloe meant the time -for sowing barley; the bursting of Alder buds that eels had left their -winter holes and might be caught. The Wood Sorrel and the cuckoo came -together; when Wild Wallflower is out bees are on the wing, and linnets -have learnt their spring songs. Water Plantain is supposed to cure a mad -dog, and is a remedy against the poison of a rattlesnake; ointment of -Cowslips removes sunburn and freckles; the Self-heal is good against -cuts, and so is called also, Carpenter’s Herb, Hook-heal, and -Sicklewort. Yellow Water-lilies will drive cockroaches and crickets from -a house. Most charming intelligence of all deals with the Wild -Canterbury Bell, in which the little wild bees go to sleep, loving their -silky comfort. These are but a few paragraphs from our news-sheet, but -they serve to show how pleasant a paper it is to know—and it costs -nothing but a pair of loving and careful eyes. - -If we choose to be more fanciful—and who is not, in a wild garden with a -dish of Wild Strawberries?—we shall find ourselves filling Acorn cups -with dew to drink to the fairies, and wondering how the thigh of a -honey-bee might taste. Herrick is the poet for such flights of thought. -His songs—“To Daisies, not to shut so soon.” “To Primroses filled with -Morning Dew,” and, for this instance, to - - THE BAG OF THE BEE - - About the sweet bag of a bee - Two Cupids fell at odds; - And whose the pretty prize should be - They vowed to ask the Gods. - - Which Venus hearing, thither came - And for their boldness stripped them; - And taking thence from each his flame - With rods of Myrtle whipped them. - - Which done, to still their wanton cries, - When quiet grown she’s seen them, - She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes, - And gave the bag between them. - -We can do no better than give thanks for all our garden, our house, and -our well-being in the words of the same poet. For we need to thank, -somehow, for all the joys Nature gives us. Though, in this poem, he -names no flowers, yet his poems are full of them: - - “—That I, poor I, - May think, thereby, - I live and die - ’Mongst Roses.” - -Every man who is a gardener at heart, whether he be in love with the -flowers of the open fields, the garden of the highways and the woods, or -with his protected patch of ground, will care to know this song of -Herrick’s if he has not already found it for himself: - - A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE - - Lord, thou hast given me a cell, - Wherein to dwell; - A little house, whose humble roof - Is waterproof; - Under the spars of which I lie - Both soft and dry; - Where thou, my chamber for to ward, - Hast set a guard - Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep - Me, while I sleep. - Low is my porch, as is my fate; - Both void of state; - And yet the threshold of my door - Is worn by th’ poor, - Who thither come, and freely get - Good words or meat. - Like as my parlour, so my hall - And kitchen’s small; - A little buttery, and therein - A little bin, - Which keeps my little loaf of bread - Unchipt, unflead; - Some brittle sticks of Thorn or Briar - Make me a fire - Close by whose living coal I sit, - And glow like it. - Lord, I confess too, when I dine, - The Pulse is thine. - And all those other bits that be - There placed by Thee; - The Worts, the Purslain, and the mess - Of Watercress, - Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; - And my content - Makes those, and my beloved Beet, - To be more sweet. - ’Tis thou that crown’st my glittering hearth, - With guiltless mirth, - And giv’st me wassail bowls to drink, - Spiced to the brink. - Lord, ’tis thy plenty-dropping hand - That soils my land, - And giv’st me, for my bushel sown, - Twice ten for one; - Thou mak’st my teeming hen to lay - Her egg each day; - Besides, my healthful ewes to bear - Me twins each year; - The while the conduits of my kine - Run cream, for wine; - All these, and better, thou dost send - Me, to this end— - That I should render, for my part, - A thankful heart; - Which, fired with incense, I resign, - As wholly thine; - —But the acceptance, that must be, - My Christ, by Thee. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - X - - THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE - - _TRANSLATED FROM HORACE_ - - BY CHRISTOPHER SMART - - -Happy the man, who, remote from business, after the manner of the -ancient race of mortals, cultivates his paternal lands with his own -oxen, disengaged from every kind of usury; his is neither alarmed with -the horrible trumpet, as a soldier, nor dreads he the angry sea; he -shuns both the bar, and the proud portals of men in power. - -Wherefore, he either weds the lofty Poplars to the mature branches of -the Vine; or lopping off the useless boughs with his pruning-knife, he -engrafts more fruitful ones; or takes a prospect of the herds of his -lowing cattle, wandering about in a lonely vale; or stores his honey, -pressed from the combs, in clean vessels; or shears his tender sheep. - -Or, when Autumn has lifted up in the field his head adorned with mellow -fruits, how glad is he while he gathers Pears grafted by himself, and -the Grape that vies with the purple, with which he may recompense thee, -O Priapus, and thee, father Sylvanus, the guardian, of his boundaries! - -Sometimes he delights to lie under an aged Holm, sometimes on the matted -grass: meanwhile the waters glide down from steep clefts; the birds -warble in the woods; and the fountains murmur with their purling -streams, which invites gentle slumbers. - -But when the wintry season of the tempestuous air prepares rains and -snows, he either drives the fierce boars, with dogs on every side, into -the intercepting toils; or spreads his thin nets with the smooth pole, -as a snare for the voracious thrushes; or catches in his gin the -timorous hare, or that stranger, the crane, pleasing rewards for his -labour. - -Amongst such joys as these, who does not forget those mischievous -anxieties, which are the property of love? But if a chaste wife, -assisting on her part in the management of the house and beloved -children, (such as is the Sabine, or the sunburnt spouse of the -industrious Apulian) piles up the sacred hearth with old wood, just at -the approach of her weary husband, and shutting up the fruitful cattle -in the woven hurdles milks dry their distended udders; and drawing this -year’s wine out of a well-seasoned cask, prepares the unbought -collation; not the Lucrine oysters could delight me more, nor the -turbot, nor the scar, should the tempestuous Winter drive any from the -Eastern floods to this sea: not the turkey, nor the Asiatic wild fowl, -can come into my stomach more agreeable than the Olive, gathered from -the richest branches of the trees, or the Sorrel that loves the meadows, -or Mallows salubrious for a sickly body, or a lamb slain at the feast of -the god Terminus, or a kid just rescued from a wolf. - -Amidst these dainties, how it pleases one to see the well-fed sheep -hastening home? To see the weary oxen, with drooping neck, dragging the -inverted ploughshare! and numerous slaves, the test of a rich family -ranged about the smiling household gods! - -[Illustration: A PERGOLA IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PART II - - GARDENS AND HISTORY - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - THE ROMAN GARDEN IN ENGLAND - - -It would appear, judging from the specimens one sees, that the building -of garden apartments, or summer-houses, is a lost art. But then leisure, -as an art, has also been lost; and no man unless he understand leisure -can possibly build an apartment to be entirely devoted to it. - -Imagine the man of the day who could write of his summer-house as the -younger Pliny wrote: “At the end of the terrace, adjoining to the -gallery, is a little garden-apartment, which I own is my delight. In -truth it is my mistress: I built it.” The younger Pliny, of to-day, is -scouring the countryside in a motorcar, his eyes half-blinded by dust, -his nose offended by the stink of petrol; his thoughts, like his toys, -purely mechanical. - -There are still a few quiet people, and some scholars, whom the -Socialist in his eager desire to benefit mankind at reckless speed, and -at ruthless expense of humanity, would like to blot out, who can enjoy -their gardens with that curious remoteness which is the privilege of the -person of leisure. - -The art of leisure lies, to me, in the power of absorbing without effort -the spirit of one’s surroundings; to look, without speculation, at the -sky and the sea; to become part of a green plain; to rejoice, with a -tranquil mind, in the feast of colour in a bed of flowers. To this end -is the good gardener born. The man, who, from a sudden love, stops in -his walk to look at a field of Buttercups has no idea of the spiritual -advancement he has made. - -All this ambles away from the main topic, but so closely does the peace -of gardens cling, that thoughts fly over the hedges like bees on the -wing and bring back honey from wider pastures and dreams from larger -tracts than those the garden itself covers. A man might write a romance -of Spain from looking at an Orange. - -The Romans, who left an indelible mark on England in their roadways and -by their laws, built in this country many villas whose pavements and -foundations remain to show us what manner of habitations they were. -Besides this we have ample records of the shapes and purposes of these -villas, with long accounts of baths, furniture and the like, such as -enable us to picture very completely the life of a Roman gentleman -exiled to these shores. - -Houses, parks, and fields now cover all traces of any gardens there were -attached to these Roman villas. Many a man lives over the spot where the -hedges and alleys, the flower beds and walks, once delighted those -gentlemen who sat drinking Falernian wine poured from old amphoræ dated -by the year of the consul. Where sheep now browse gentlemen have sat -after a feast of delicacies—Syrian Plums stewed with Pomegranate seeds; -roasted field-fares, fresh Asparagus; Dates sent from Thebes—and, having -eaten, have enjoyed the work of their topiarius, whose skill has cut -hedges of Laurel, Box, and Yew into the forms of ships, bears, beasts -and birds. - -Differing from the Greeks, who were not good gardeners, the Romans, with -a skill learnt partly from Oriental countries, made much of their -gardens, and laid them out with infinite care and arrangement. They -raised their flower-beds in terraces, and edged them with neat box -borders; they made walks for shade, and walks for sun; planted thickets, -alleys of fruit trees, orchards, and Vine pergolas. They had, as a rule, -in larger gardens, a gestatio, a broad pathway in which they were -carried about in litters. They had the hippodromus, a circus for -exercise, which had several entrances with paths leading to different -parts of the garden. - -It is not too much to presume that the Romans, who spent their lives in -our country, and build magnificent villas for themselves, and brought -over all the arts of their country, brought, also, their methods of -gardening, and planted here as they planted in their villas outside -Rome, all the flowers, fruits and vegetables that the country would -produce. - -Tacitus was of the opinion that “the soil and climate of England was -very fit for all kinds of fruit trees, except Vine and Olive; and for -all kinds of edible vegetables.” In this he was right but for the Vine, -which was planted here in the Third Century, and we know of vineyards -and wine made from them in the Eighth Century. - -Of gardeners there was the topiarius, a fancy gardener, whose main -business it was to be expert on growing, cutting and clipping trees. The -villicus, or viridarius, who was the real villa gardener, with much the -same duties as our gardener of to-day. The hortulanus is a later term. -And there was the aquarius, a slave whose duty it was to see that all -the garden was provided with proper aqueducts, and who managed the -fountains which, without doubt, formed a great part in garden ornament. -I imagine, also, that the aquarius would have control over the supply of -hot water which must flow through the green-houses where early fruits -and flowers were forced; such fruits as Winter Grapes, Melons, and -Gherkins; and of flowers, the Rose in particular, for use in garlands -and crowns. - -Violets and Roses were the principal flowers, being often grown as -borders to the beds of vegetables, so that one might find Violets, -Onions, Turnips, and Kidney Beans flourishing together. - -Besides these flowers there were also the Crocus, Narcissus, Lily, Iris, -Hyacinth (the Greek emblem of the dead in memory of the youth killed by -Apollo by mistake with a quoit), Poppy, and the bright red Damask Rose -and Lupias. - -In the orchards of Rome were Cherries, Plums, Quinces, Pomegranates, -Peaches, Almonds, Medlars, and Mulberries; and in the vineyards were -thirty varieties of Grapes. Those kinds of fruits which were hardy -enough to stand our climate were grown here, and to judge from all -account only the Olive failed to meet the test. - -Not only were flowers and fruit grown in profusion but Herbs, Asparagus, -and Radishes had their place. - -Honey, which took a great place in Roman cookery, and in making possets, -and in thickening wine, was provided by bees kept especially in apiaries -built in sheltered places, with beds of Cytisus, and Thyme and Apiastrum -by them. The hives were built of brick or baked dung, and were placed in -tiers, the lowest on stone parapets about three feet above the ground; -these parapets being covered with smooth stucco to prevent lizards and -insects from entering the hives. - -The descriptions by the younger Pliny of his villas and gardens are so -delightful in themselves, besides being of great value, that I am going -to quote largely from them. - -The village of Laurentium where Pliny built his villa was on the shores -of the Tuscan Sea, and not far from the mouth of the Tiber. The villa -was built as a refuge after a hard day’s work in Rome, which was only -seventeen miles away. “A distance,” he says, “which allows us, after we -have finished the business of the day, to return thither from town, with -the setting sun.” - -There were two roads from Rome to this villa, the one the Laurentine -road—“if you go the Laurentine you must quit the high road at the -fourteenth stone”—and the Ostian road, where the branch took place at -the eleventh. - -After a description of the house and the baths he writes of the garden: - -“At no great distance is the tennis-court, so situated, as never to be -annoyed by the heat, and to be visited only by the setting sun. At the -end of the tennis-court rises a tower, containing two rooms at the top -of it, and two again under them; besides a banqueting room, from whence -there is a view of very wide ocean, a very extensive continent, and -numberless beautiful villas interspersed upon the shore. Answerable to -this is another turret containing, on the top, one single room where we -enjoy both the rising and the setting sun. Underneath is a very large -store-room for fruit, and a granary, and under these again a dining-room -from whence, even when the sea is most tempestuous, we only hear the -roaring of it, and that but languidly and at a distance. It looks upon -the garden, and the place for exercise which encludes my garden. The -whole is encompassed with Box; and where that is wanting with Rosemary; -for Box, when sheltered by buildings, will flourish very well, but -wither immediately if exposed to wind and weather, or ever so distantly -affected by the moist dews from the sea. The place for exercise -surrounds a delicate shady vineyard, the paths of which are easy and -soft even to the naked feet. - -“The garden is filled with Mulberry and Fig trees; the soil being -propitious to both those kinds of trees, but scarce to any other. - -“A dining-room, too remote to view the ocean, commands an object no less -agreeable, the prospect of the garden: and at the back of the -dining-room are two apartments, whose windows look upon the vestibule of -the house; and upon a fruitery and a kitchen garden. From hence you -enter into a covered gallery, large enough to appear a public work. The -gallery has a double row of windows on both sides; in the lower row are -several which look towards the sea; and one on each side towards the -garden; in the upper row there are fewer; in calm days when there is not -a breath of air stirring we open all the windows, but in windy weather -we take the advantage of opening that side only which is entirely free -from the hurricane. Before the gallery lies a terrace perfumed with -Violets. The building not only retains the heat of the sun, and -increases it by reflexion, but defends and protects us from the northern -blasts.” - -[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE GARDENS, AYSCOUGH FEE HALL, SPALDING.] - -After a further description of this gallery written with some care, -Pliny begins his praise of his garden apartment. No man but a man of -true leisure could have dwelt so lovingly on a description of a -summer-house. Herrick loved his simple things as much, and sang them -tenderly. The small things that come close to us, to keep us warm from -all life’s disappointments, these are the things our hearts sing out to, -these are the things we think of when we are from home. “At the end of -the terrace, adjoining to the gallery, is a little garden-apartment, -which I own is my delight. In truth it is my mistress: I built it; and -in it is a particular kind of sun-trap which looks on one side towards -the terrace, on the other towards the sea, but on both sides has the -advantage of the sun. A double door opens into another room, and one of -the windows has a full view of the gallery. On the side next the sea, -over against the middle wall, is an elegant little closet; separated -only by transparent windows, and a curtain which can be opened or shut -at pleasure, from the room just mentioned. It holds a bed and two -chairs; the feet of the bed stand towards the sea, the back towards the -house, and one side of it towards some distant woods. So many different -views, seen from so many different windows diversify and yet blend the -prospect. - -“Adjoining to this cabinet is my own constant bedchamber, where I am -never disturbed by the discourse of my servants, the murmurs of the sea, -nor the violence of a storm. Neither lightning nor daylight can break in -upon me till my own windows are opened. The reason of so perfect and -undisturbed a calm here arises from a large void space which is left -between the walls of the bedchamber and of the garden; so that all sound -is drowned in the intervening space. - -“Close to the bedchamber is a little stove, placed so near a small -window of communication that it lets out, or retains, the heat just as -we think fit. - -“From hence we pass through a lobby into another room, which stands in -such a position as to receive the sun, though obliquely, from daybreak -till past noon.” - -There is one thing in this description that is very noteworthy, the -absolute content with everything, the lack of any note of grumbling. -After all, the pleasures of that garden apartment were very simple; he -took his joy of the sun, the wind, and the distant sound of the sea. -Heat, light, and the pleasant music of nature; the bank of Violets near -by, the prospect of the villas on the shore glimmering amidst their -greenery in the sun; the songs of birds in the thickets of Myrtle and -Rosemary, there made up the fine moments of his life. - -Such little houses were copied from the Eastern idea, such as is pointed -to several times in the Bible. The Shunamite gives such a house to -Elisha: - - “Let us make him a little chamber, I pray thee, with walls; and - let us set him there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a - candlestick, that he may turn in thither when he cometh to us.” - -Whether a Roman living in England ever built himself such a house it is -difficult to prove, since, so far as I can find, no remains of such a -place are to be seen. But, when one considers the actual evidence of the -Roman Occupation, the yields given by the neighbourhoods of Roman -cities, the statues, vases, toys, the amphitheatres for cock-fighting, -wrestling, and gladiatoral combat, then surely there were gardens of -great wonder near to these cities where men like Pliny went to sit in -their garden houses and enjoyed the cool of the evening after a day’s -work. - -I have always made it a fancy of mine to suppose such an apartment to -have stood on the spot where a garden house I know now stands. I have -sat in this little house, a tiny place compared to Pliny’s, and pictured -to myself the surrounding country as it might have looked under the eyes -of our Roman conquerors. Not far distant is a Roman town, outside which -is a huge amphitheatre; the Roman road, via Iceniana, cutting through -the western downs and forests. Over this very countryside were villas -scattered here and there, bridges, walls, moats and camps. Even to-day, -not far away from my summer-house, are two small Roman bridges, over -which, in my day-dreams, the previous occupier of the site has often -passed. - -Here, from this summer-house, I look upon an apiary, a bed of Violets, a -little wood that gives shelter to the birds, a running stream where -trout leap in the pools. My Roman friend, had he built his house here, -would have looked, as I look, at green meadows, and across them to a -wild heath on which rise the very mounds he must have known, British -earthworks, and the heap-up burial places of great British chiefs. Round -about the house grow many flowers that would seem homely to my ghostly -friend, Roses, Lilies, Narcissi, Violets, Poppies. Here he might have -sat and contemplated, as Pliny did, and taken his pleasure of the sun, -the wind, the birds. The sea he could not have heard, since it is eight -miles away, but he could well have seen storms come up over the western -downs, known that the Roman galleys were seeking shelter in the coves -and harbours, and noticed how the gulls flew screaming inland, and the -Egyptian swallows flew low before the coming tempest. - -This house that I know is a simple affair, compared to the elaborate -design of Pliny’s; it is a small thatched single apartment built in the -elbow of the garden wall. It is not tuned to trap the sun, or dull the -sounds of the violence of the winds, but its solitary window opens wide -to let in the sound of the bees at work, the thrush singing in the Lilac -tree, or tapping his snails on a big stone by the side of the garden -path. It has a shelf for books, two chairs, a writing table, and an -infinity of those odds and ends a person collects who deals with bees. -Withal it is pervaded by a very sweet smell of honey. - -Then there are ghosts for company if the books, the birds, and the bees -fail. There is my Roman to speak for his villa, for the glories of the -town near by. There is the British chieftain whose mound is not two -miles away, a mound where his charred ashes lie, but the urn that held -them is on a shelf overhead. There are Saxons who have trod this very -ground, and Danes and Normans, men also from Anjou, Gascony, and Maine, -and a host of others. Then there are the flowers themselves with -romances every one. - -If I have a mind to following fancy and turn this into a veritable Roman -garden, I can link my fancy with Pliny’s facts and see how it would have -been ordered and arranged. I can see the villa portico with its terrace -in front of it adorned with statues and edged with Box. Below here is a -gravel walk on each side of which are figures of animals cut in Box. -Then there is the circus at the end of a broad path, where my Roman -friend could exercise himself on horseback. Round about the circus are -sheared dwarf trees, and clipped Box hedges. On the outside of this is a -lawn, smooth and green. Then comes my summer-house shaded with Plane -trees, with a marble fountain that plays on the roots of the trees and -the grass round them. There would be a walk near by covered with Vines, -and ended by an Ivy-covered wall. Several alleys (my imagination has -traced their courses) wind in and out to meet in the end of a series of -straight walks divided by grass plots, or Box trees cut into a thousand -shapes; some of letters forming my Roman’s name; others the name of his -gardener. In these are mixed small pyramid Apple trees; “and now and -then (to follow Pliny’s plan) you met, on a sudden, with a spot of -ground, wild and uncultivated, as if transplanted hither on purpose.” -Everywhere are marble or stone seats, little fountains, arbours covered -with Vines, and facing beds of Roses, or Violets, or Herbs, and always -is to be heard the pleasant murmur of water “conveyed through pipes by -the hand of the artificer.” - -The more I think of it the more I see how exactly the garden I know -fulfils this purpose. Except for a greater, a far greater display of -flowers, Pliny would be quite at home here. There is an abundance of -water; the very site for the horse course; winding alleys, straight -paths, and several pergolas for Roses. - -A noticeable thing in the planning of a Roman garden, and one that is -too often absent from our own, is the great attention paid to the value -of water. In many places where there is an abundant supply of water, -with streams running close by, or even through the garden, we find no -attempt made to use the value of water either decoratively or for useful -purposes. We are apt to dispose our gardens for the purposes of large -collections of flowers, whereas the Roman with his small store of them -was forced to bring every aid to bear on varying his garden, such as -seats, fountains, and little artificial brooks. The cost, even in small -gardens, of arranging a decorative effect of water, where water is -plentiful, would not amount to so very much, and in many cases would be -a great saving of labour. We use wells to some extent, and, to my mind, -a properly-built well-head, with a roof and posts, and seats, is one of -the most beautiful garden ornaments we can have. - -The well-head itself should be built of brick raised about eighteen -inches above the ground, and should be at least fourteen inches broad in -the shelf, so that the buckets have ample room in which to stand. The -coil and windlass are better if they are both simple, and of good -timber. Round this a brick path, two feet broad, should be laid. Over -all a roof of red tiles supported on square wooden posts or brick -pillars, would give shade to the well, and to a seat of plain design -that should be placed against the outer edge of the brick path. And if -beds of flowers were set about it all, as I have seen done, and well -done, in a cottage garden in Kent, the effect is quaint and beautiful. - -I have no doubt that in Roman England such wells were built where the -supply of water was not equal to great distribution. But it is amazing -to think that such a tiny village as Laurentium, where Pliny had one of -his villas outside Rome, held three Inns, in each of which were baths -always heated and ready for travellers, and that it has taken us until -the present day to bring the bath into the ordinary house. - -Naturally, when one casts one’s eyes over a picture of a Roman garden in -England, and compares it with a garden of to-day, the very first thing -we find missing is that mass of colour and that wonderful variety of -bloom that constitutes the apex of modern gardening. Where they were -surprised, or gave themselves sudden shocks to the eye, it was by means -of little grottos, fountains, vistas at the ends of long alleys, statues -in a wild part of a garden, or unexpected seats commanding a prospect -opened out by an arrangement of the trees. We prepare for ourselves -wildernesses in which the Spring shall paint her wonderful picture of -Anemones, Daffodils, Crocuses, and such flowers; where Blue Bells and -Primroses, Ragged Robin, and Foxgloves hold us by their vivid colour. -Our scarlet armies of Geranium, our banks of purple Asters, or the -flaming panoplies of Roses with which we illuminate our gardens would -seem to the Roman something wonderful and strange. Yet, in a sense, his -taste was more subtle. He held green against green, a bed of Herbs, the -occasional jewel of a clump of Violets, more to his manner of liking. -And he arranged his garden so as to contain as many varieties of walks -as possible. - -In the evenings now, when I am, by chance, staying in the house whose -garden holds that summer-house I love, I can see my old Roman of my -dreams wandering over his estate, and I almost feel his presence near me -as his ghost sits on the wooden seat by the lawn and his eyes seem to -peer across the meadows back to where Rome herself lies over the eastern -hills. An exile, buried far from Rome, his spirit seems to hover here as -if he could not sleep in peace away from the warm, sweet Italy of his -birth. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - ST. FIACRE, PATRON SAINT OF GARDENERS - AND CAB-DRIVERS - - -Gardeners who, to a man, are dedicated to peaceful and meditative -pursuits, should care to know of the story of Saint Fiacre, the Irish -Prince who turned hermit, and after his death was hailed Patron of -Gardeners. - -He left Ireland, says the story, at that time when a missionary zeal was -sending Irish monks the length and breadth of Europe. As Saint Pol left -Britain and slew the Dragon on the Isle of Batz; Saint Gall drove the -spirits of flood across the Lake of Constance; Saint Columban founded -monasteries in Burgundy and the Apennines, so did Saint Fiacre leave his -native land and take himself to France, and there by a miracle enlarge -the space of his garden. - -At Meaux, on the river Marne, near Paris, the Bishop Saint Faron had -founded a new monastery in the woods and called it the Monastery of -Saint Croix. To this monastery came the son of the Irish King, and made -his vows. It was early days in Europe, for Saint Fiacre died in or about -the year 670, and it is almost impossible to imagine the perils and -discomforts of his journey, for in Britain and Gaul fighting was going -on, roads were bad and unsafe, the sea had to be crossed in an open -boat. - -[Illustration: A CAB-DRIVER IN PICCADILLY.] - -But these Celts, driven west by war, now began to make their own war on -Europe, not with sword and shield and battle-cry, but with pilgrim’s -staff, and reed pen, and the device of Christ on their hearts. -Illumination, one of the marvels of monkish accomplishment, was spread -throughout Europe by bands of Irish monks, who, taking the wonderful -traditions of such work as “The Book of Kells,” and those works written -and illuminated at Lindisfarne, went their ways from country to country -spreading their culture as well as their message. - -Saint Fiacre stayed a certain time in the monastery until, indeed, the -voice within him calling for more solitude and for another mode of life, -forced him to go to the Bishop. To him he spoke of his vocation, of -those feelings within him that prompted him to become a hermit. - -The good Bishop seeing in Fiacre a good intention, and perceiving -doubtless the holy nature of the monk, granted him a space on his own -domain, some way from the monastery, on the edge of the woods and the -plain of Brie. To this place the monk repaired and began the great work -of his life. - -Now it is not easy for the best of men at the best of times to live -solitary in a wood without becoming something of a self-conscious or -morbid person. Not so with these old hermits. They seemed to have the -grace of such excessive spirituality as to have been uplifted above -ordinary men, and to have lost all sense of loneliness in conversation -with the Saints, and in communion with God. - -What finer means of reaching this exalted condition than by labouring to -make a garden in the wilderness? Saint Fiacre cleared a space in the -woods with his own hands, and in this space he built an oratory to Our -Lady, and a hut by it wherein he dwelt. All must have been of the most -primitive order; one of those beehive shaped buildings, such as still -remain in Ireland, for the oratory, fashioned out of stones and mud in -what is called rag-work, and most probably roofed with turf. - -After the work of building he began to make his garden. It is evident -that his clearing was not near the river as the fountain or well from -which he drew his water is still to be seen and it is a considerable -distance away. - -Imagine the solitary life of this priest gardener, whose food depended -entirely on the produce of the ground. To any man the silence of the -woods holds a mysterious calm, a weird, haunting uneasiness. To dwellers -in woods, after a time, the silence becomes full of friendly voices; the -fall of Acorns; the crackling of twigs as a wild animal forces a passage -through the undergrowth; the snap of trees in the frost; the shuffling -of birds getting ready for the night. But here, in the wild woods of -Meaux in those early times, wolves, bears, wild boars lived. - -It is possible to imagine the Saint on his knees at night, the trees, -dark masses round his garden, a heaven above him pitted with stars, the -smoke of his breath as he prays rising like incense. And, as has been -known to be the case, all wild animals fearless of him, and friendly to -him in whom they see, by instinct, one who will do them no harm. As -Saint Jerome laid down with the lions, as Saint Francis spoke with -Brother Wolf, and Sister Lark, so Saint Fiacre must have spoken with his -friends, the beasts. In the heart of a gardener lies something to which -all wild nature responds. - -But consider a man of that time alone in the wood, at that time when men -knew so little and whose lives were full of superstitious guesses at -scientific facts. And think how much more full of dread Fiacre must have -been than an ordinary man, since he was one of a nation to whom fairies -and goblins of every kind are daily actualities. Think of the Saint -seeing his own face daily reflected in the well as he drew his water; -think of the mysterious quality of water in lonely wells when it seems -now to be troubled by unseen hands, now to lift a clear smiling face to -the sky. He must be a mystic and a man filled with a simple goodness who -can garden in a wilderness like this. - -One can picture him seated at the door of his hut eating his Acorn mash -or Herb soup after a day’s work and prayer. A stout wooden spade rests -by his side, the shaft of Oak worn smooth by his hands. In front of him -what labours show in the ground! Huge stumps of trees that have been -uprooted and dragged away; herbs he has tried to grow showing green in -the heavy soil; wild flowers sweeting the air; here the beginnings of a -vineyard; there the first blades of a patch of Wheat, or Oats. - -In various parts of Europe were other Irish people at work sweetening -the soil. Saint Gobhan near Laon, Saint Etto, at Dompierre, Saint Caidoc -and Saint Fricor in Picardy, and Saint Judoc also there, Saint Fursey, -at Lagny, six miles north of Paris; and a daughter of an Irish king, -Saint Dympna, at Gheel, in Belgium. These are but a few of the Irish who -ventured forth to save the world. Beyond all of these does Saint Fiacre -appeal to us who love our gardens. - -Self-denial has been called the luxury of the Saints, yet the -phrase-maker would seem to such denials of unessentials as rich foods -and wines, and mortifications of the flesh which a man may choose to do -without any suggestion of Saintship. Here, in Saint Fiacre, we have a -man whose process of purification was symbolised by his work. The -uprooting of trees, the uprooting of a thousand superstitious ideas; the -purifying of the soil, the cleansing of his heart; the growing of food, -the sustenance for his spirit besides his body. - -He leaves his native land, he becomes monk, hermit, gardener. He dwells -in the wilds of a forest, one man, alone, doing no great deed one might -imagine that would cause his fame to travel, living his quiet simple -life shut right away from the world by leagues of forest, more buried -than a man in the wilderness. For cathedral, the depth of his woods, the -aisles of great trees, the tracery and windows made by boughs and -leaves. For choir, the birds. He was, one would think, so utterly alone, -that no step but his own ever broke the silence of the woodland glades; -so isolated that no human voice but his own ever penetrated the brakes -and thickets. Yet he became known. - -Doubtless some hunter, a wild man, to whom the tracks in the forest were -as roads, coming one day through the woods after game, burst into the -clearing, and stood amazed, paused suspicious, wondering to see the -little oratory, the hut, the garden all about. The hunter casts his keen -eyes about, here and there, alert, scenting danger, eyeing the new place -with anxious wonder, holding his spear in readiness. Then comes the -Saint from his hut and calls him brother, bids him put down his spear, -sit and eat. - -The hunter goes; a swineherd, seeking lost droves of pigs turned loose -to fatten on the acorns, comes across the place. The news filters -through the country, reaches the huddled villages by the river, reaches -the dwellers in the hills, the people of the forest. They come to look, -to stare, to be amazed. To each Saint Fiacre offers his hospitality. - -As men, drawn irresistibly by a strong personality, will throng towards -a well whose water is supposed to contain some virtue, or a stone to -touch which restores lost friends, so they came to test the holiness of -this man of the woods, and found him good, and true, and full of peace. -And they marvelled to find a garden in the wood, and, being entreated, -eat of its produce, and heard the holy man preach, and saw him heal. -Then the Saint was forced to build another hut for those of his visitors -who came from far to consult him, and, as the crowds grew greater he was -forced to go to the Bishop to ask for more land. - -Saint Faron, the Bishop of Meaux, to whom all the forest belonged, knew -his man. One can imagine two such men leading lofty and spiritual lives -meeting in the monastery. I like to think of the Bishop as one of those -thin men full of years, with a skin like parchment, his holiness shining -out of his eyes, a man whose quiet voice, tuned to the silence of the -monastery, breathes peace. And Fiacre, bronzed with the open air, rough -with labour, with the curious eyes of the mystic, eyes that looked as if -they had pierced the veil of a mystery, standing before his Bishop -asking for his grant of land. - -Coming from the depths of the heavy wood into the town, leaving the -silence of his forest for the noise of the place, he must have felt -strange. Those who met him were, I am sure, conscious of the atmosphere -he carried with him, the envelope all lonely men wear, the curious -reserve common to all dwellers in woods, and wilds. - -The Bishop consented to the demand, and gave him his desire after a -curious manner. Perhaps to test this hermit whose fame had already -spread so far, perhaps to see how real were the stories he must have -heard of his spiritual son, this holy gardener, he granted him as much -land as he could enclose with his spade in one day. - -Back went Saint Fiacre to his forest clearing, to his friends the birds, -his bubbling wells, his aisles of trees, his garden, now well grown, -and, breaking a stick he marked out far and wide the space of land he -needed, more than any man could in one day enclose with any spade. And -after that into the little oratory he went and prayed for help. - -You may be sure every movement of this was carefully observed. A woman -envied him and spied on these proceedings. I take it she was some woman -to whom, before the Saint grew famous, the peasants came for spells and -simples, a wise woman, a witch, whose reputation was at stake. - -The Saint’s prayer was answered. The woman, evil report on her tongue, -made her journey to the Bishop of Meaux, and accused Fiacre of magic, of -dealings with the Devil. Roused by the report, the Bishop came to see -the Saint and saw all that had happened. In one day all the wide space -Fiacre had marked out had been enclosed. After that the oratory was -denied to all women. Even as late as 1641, nearly a thousand years after -his death, when Anne of Austria visited his shrine in the Cathedral of -Meaux she did not enter the Chapel but remained outside the grating. It -was the legend, handed down all that time, that any woman who entered -there would go blind or mad. - -Where the Saint had dug his solitary garden, and on the site of his cell -a great Benedictine Priory was built in after years, where his body was -kept and did many wonders of healing, especially in the cure of a -certain fleshy tumour, which they called “le fie de St. Fiacre.” After -many years, in the beginning of the seventeenth century, his body was -removed to the Cathedral at Meaux. - -So it may be seen for how good a cause he became known as Patron of -Gardeners, and it must now be shown why he is called the Patron of Cab -Drivers. In 1640 a man of the name of Sauvage started an establishment -in Paris from which he let out carriages for hire. He took a house for -this business in the Rue St. Martin, and the house was known as the -Hotel de St. Fiacre, and there was a figure of the Saint over the -doorway. - -All the coaches plying from here began to be called, for short, fiacres, -and the drivers placed images of the Saint on their carriages, and -claimed him as their patron. - -There is a Pardon of St. Fiacre in Brittany; and there are churches and -altars to him all over France. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - EVELYN’S “SYLVA” - - -On my table, as I write, is the copy of “Sylva” that John Evelyn himself -gave to Sir Robert Morray, and in which he wrote in ink that is now -faded and brown, as are his own autograph corrections in the text, - - “—from his most humble servant, Evelyn.” - -The title page runs thus: - - SYLVA, - or a Discourse of - FOREST-TREES, - AND THE - Propagation of Timber - In His MAJESTIES Dominions - By J. E. Esq; - - As it was Delivered in the Royal Society the XVth of - October CIϽIϽCLXII. upon Occasion of certain Quaeries - Propounded to that Illustrious Assembly, by the Honorable - the Principal Officers, and Commissioners of the Navy. - - To which is annexed - - POMONA or, An Appendix concerning Fruit-Trees in - relation to CIDER; - - The Making and several ways of Ordering it. - - Published by the express Order of the ROYAL SOCIETY - - ALSO - - KALENDARIUM HORTENSE; Or, ye Gard’ners Almanac; - Directing what he is to do Monethly throughout the year. - - —Tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis - Ingredior, tantos ausus recludere fonteis. _Virg._ - - LONDON: Printed by Jo. Martyn, and Ja. Allestry, Printers - to the Royal Society, and are to be sold at their Shop at the - Bell in S. Paul’s Church-yard; - - MDCLXIV. - -[Illustration: A WOOD AT WOTTON, THE HOME OF JOHN EVELYN.] - -This book was the first ever printed for the Royal Society, and -contains, as may be seen, a practically complete record of seventeenth -century planting and gardening, thus having an unique interest for all -who follow the craft. - -John Evelyn, from the day he began his lessons under the Friar in the -porch of Wotton Church, was a curious observer of men and things, but -especially was he devoted to all manners and styles of gardening. - -Nothing was too small, too trivial to escape his notice; from the -weather-cocks on the trees near Margate—put there on the days the -farmers feasted their servants, to the interest he found in watching the -first man he ever saw drink coffee. - -The positions he held under Charles II. and James II. were many and -varied, yet he found time to collect samples in Venice, and travel -extensively, to write a Play, a treatise called: “Mundus Muliebris, or -the Ladies’ Dressing Room, Unlocked,” and a pamphlet, called “Tyrannus, -or the Mode,” in which he sought to make Charles II. dress like a -Persian, and succeeded in so doing. - -But above all these things he held his chiefest pleasure in seeing and -talking of the arrangement of gardens, passing on this love to his son -John, who, when a boy of fifteen, at Trinity College, Oxford, translated -“Rapin, or Gardens,” the second book of which his father included in his -second edition of “Sylva.” - -His Majesty Charles II., to whom the “Sylva” is dedicated, was a monarch -to whom justice has never been properly done. He is represented by pious -but inaccurate historians, those men who for many years gave a false -character of jovial good nature to that gross thief and sacrilegious -monster, Henry VIII., as a King who spent most of his time in the -Playhouse, or in talking trivialities with gay ladies, and in making -witty remarks to all and sundry in his Court. The side of him that took -interest in shipbuilding, navigation, astronomy, in the founding of the -Royal Society, in the advancement of Art, in the minor matters of flower -gardening and bee-keeping is nearly always suppressed. It was largely -through his interest in this volume of Evelyn’s that the Royal forests -were properly replanted; and it was in a great measure due to Royal -interest that the parks and estates of the noblemen of England became -famous in after years for their beautiful timber. - -In that part of the “Sylva” dealing with forest trees, there were a -hundred hints to all lovers of nature and of gardens, for your good -gardener is a man very near in his nature to a good strong tree, and -loves to observe the play of light and shade in the branches of those -that give shade to his garden walks. - -Evelyn tells us how the Ash is the sweetest of forest fuelling, and the -fittest for Ladies’ Chambers, also for the building of Arbours, the -staking of Espaliers, and the making of Poles. The white rot of it makes -a ground for the Sweet-powder used by gallants. He tries to introduce -the Chestnut as food, saying how it is a good, lusty and masculine food -for Rustics; and commenting on the fact that the best tables in France -and Italy make them a service. He tells us how the water in which Walnut -husks and leaves are boiled poured on the carpet of walks and -bowling-greens infallibly kills the worms without hurting the grass. -That, by the way, is a matter for discussion among gardeners, seeing -that some say that the movements of worms from below the surface to -their cast on the lawn lets air among the grass roots and is good for -them. - -He tells us how the Horn-beam makes the stateliest hedge for long garden -walks. He advises us how to make wine of the Birch, Ash, Elder, Oak, -Crab and Bramble. He praises the Service-Tree, and the Eugh, and the -Jasmine, saying of this last how one sorry tree in Paris where they grow -“has been worth to a poor woman, near twenty shillings a year.” - -All this and much besides of diverting and instructive reading, varied -with remarks on the gardens of his friends and acquaintances, as when he -“cannot but applaud the worthy Industry of old _Sir Harbotle Grimstone_, -who (I am told) from a very small _Nursery of Acorns_ which he sowed in -the neglected corners of his ground, did draw forth such numbers of -_Oaks_ of competent growth; as being planted about his _Fields_ in even -and uniform rows, about one hundred foot from the _Hedges_; bush’d and -well water’d till they had sufficiently fix’d themselves, did -wonderfully improve both the beauty, and the value of his _Demeasnes_,” -for the honour and glory of filling England with fine trees and gardens -to improve, what he calls—the Landskip. - -The exigencies of the present moment when Imperial Finance threatens to -tax all good parks and orchards out of existence, and to make all fine -flower gardens out of use, except to the enormously wealthy, makes the -“Gard’ners Calendar” all the more interesting as showing what manner of -flowers, fruits, and vegetables were in use in the Seventeenth Century, -and the means employed to grow and preserve them. - -Then, as now, there was a danger of over cultivation of certain plants -and flowers, so that a man might have more pride in the number and -curiosity of his flowers, than in the beauty and colour of them. It is a -certain fault in modern gardeners that they do not study the grouping -and massing of colours, but do, more generally, take pride in over-large -specimens, great collections, and rare varieties. But this age and that -are times of collecting, of connoisseurship, ages that produce us great -art of their own but have an extraordinary knowledge of the arts and -devices of the past. Not that I would decry the friendly competitions of -this and that man to grow rare rock plants, or bloom exotics the one -against another, but I do most certainly prefer a rivalry in producing -beautiful effects of colour; and love better to see a great mass of -Roses growing free than to see one poor tree twisted into the semblance -of a flowering parasol as men now use in many of the small climbing -Roses. - -To the end that gardeners and lovers of gardens may know how those past -gardeners treated their fruits and flowers, I give the whole of Evelyn’s -“Gard’ners Calendar,” than which no more complete account of gardens of -that time exists. - -It would be as well to note, before arriving at our Seventeenth Century -Calendar, how the art of gardening had grown in England after the time -of the Romans. - -From the time that every sign of the Roman occupation had been wiped out -to the beginning of the thirteenth century, gardens as we know them -to-day did not exist. The first attempts at gardens within castle walls -were little plots of herbs and shrubs with a few trees of Costard -Apples. It appears that all those plants and flowers the Romans -cultivated had been lost, and that with the sterner conditions of living -all such arrangements as arbours of cut Yew trees, or elaborate -Box-edged paths had completely vanished. Certainly they did have arbours -for shade, but of a simple kind and quite unlike the elaborate garden -houses the Romans built. - -There were vineyards and wine made from them as early as the Eighth -Century, and in the reign of Edward the Third wine was made at Windsor -Castle by Stephen of Bourdeaux. The Cherry trees brought here by the -Romans had quite died out and were not recovered until Harris, Henry the -Eighth’s Irish fruiterer, grew them again at Sittingbourne. In the -Twelfth Century flower gardening again came in, and within the castle -walls pleasant gardens were laid out with little avenues of fruit trees, -and neat beds of flowers. Of the fruit trees there was the Costard -Apple, the only Apple of that time, from which great quantities of -cider—that “good-natured and potable liquor”—was made. There was the -great Wardon Pear, from which the celebrated Wardon pies were made; they -were Winter Pears from a stock originally cultivated by those great -horticulturists the Cistercian monks of Wardon in Bedfordshire. Then -there was also the Quince, called a Coyne, the Medlar, and I believe the -Mulberry, or More tree. In the borders, Strawberries, Raspberries, -Barberries and Currants were grown, that is in a well-stocked garden -such as the Earl of Lincoln had in Holborn in 1290. Then there was a -plot set aside as a Physic garden where herbs grew and salads of Rocket, -Lettuce, Mustard, Watercress, and Hops. In one place, probably -overlooking the pond or fountain which was the centre of such gardens, -was an arbour, and walks and smaller gardens were screened off by wattle -hedges. In that part of the garden devoted to flowers were Roses, -Lilies, Sunflowers, Violets, Poppies, Narcissi, Pervinkes or -Periwinkles. Lastly, and most important was the Clove Pink, or -Gilly-flower, a variety of Wallflower then called Bee-flower. Add to -this an apiary and you have a complete idea of the mediæval garden. - -Later, in the Fifteenth Century came a new feature into the garden, a -mound built in the centre for the view, made sometimes of earth, but -very often of wood raised up as a platform, and having gaily carved and -painted stairways. These, with butts for archery, and bowling-greens, -and a larger variety of the old kinds of flowers, showed the principal -difference. - -We come now to the gardens of the Sixteen Century, when flower gardening -was extremely popular. Spenser and the other poets are always describing -the beauties of flowers, and from these and old Herbals, from Bacon, -Shakespeare and other writers of that time, we are able to see how, -slowly but surely, the art of flower growing had advanced. The gardens -were very exact and formal, and were divided in geometrical patterns, -and grew large “seats” of Violets, Penny Royal, and Mint as well as -other herbs. Above all, a new addition to the mounds, archery butts and -bowling-greens, was the maze which had a place in every proper garden of -the Elizabethans. - -The first garden where flower growing was taken really seriously -belonged to John Parkinson, a London apothecary who had a garden in Long -Acre. Great importance was given to smell, as is highly proper, and -flower gardens were bordered with Thyme, Marjoram and Lavender. -Highly-scented flowers were the most prized, and for this reason the -prime favourite the Carnation, was more grown than any other flower. Of -this there were fifty distinct varieties of every shape and size, -including the famous large Clove Pink, the golden coloured Sops-in-Wine. - -With the increase in the variety of the Rose, of which about thirty -kinds were known, came the fashion, quickly universal, of keeping -potpourri of dried Rose leaves, many of which were imported from the -East, from whence, years before, had come quantities of Roses to supply -the demand in Winter in Rome. - -As the fashion for growing flowers increased so, also, did the efforts -of gardeners to procure new and rare flowers from foreign countries, and -soon the Fritillary, Tulip and Iris were extensively cultivated, and -were treated with extraordinary care. - -Following this came the rage for Anemones and Ranunculi, in which people -endeavoured to excel over their friends. And after that came in small -Chrysanthemums, Lilac or Blue Pipe tree, Lobelia, and the Acacia tree. - -It will be seen that within quite a short space of time the old garden -containing few flowers, and only those as a rule that had some medicinal -properties, vanished before a perfect orgy of colour and wealth of -varieties; and that gardening for pleasure gave the people a new and -fascinating occupation. The rage for Anemones and for the different -kinds of Ranunculus developed until in the late Seventeenth Century the -madness, for it was nothing else, for Tulip collecting came in, to give -place still later to the Rose, and in our day only to be equalled by the -collection of Chrysanthemums and Orchids. - -The best books previous to Evelyn’s “Sylva” are Gervase Markham’s -“Country House-Wife’s Garden,” (1617), and John Parkinson’s “Paradisus -in Sole” (1629). - -One word more on the subject of flower mania. The rage for the Tulip -that attacked both English and Dutch in the late Seventeenth Century is -one of the most peculiar things in the history of gardening. The Tulip -is really a Persian flower, the shape of it suggesting the name, -thoulyban, a Persian turban. It was introduced into England about 1577, -by way of Germany, having been brought there by the German Ambassador -from Constantinople. By the Seventeenth Century there had developed such -a passion for this flower that it led to wreck and ruin of rich men who -paid fabulous sums for the bulbs, a single bulb being sold for a -fortune. One bulb of the Semper Augustus was sold for four thousand six -hundred florins, a new carriage, a pair of grey horses, and complete -harness. So great did the business in Tulips become that every Dutch -town had special Tulip exchanges, and there speculators assembled and -bid away vast sums to acquire rare kinds. The mania lasted about three -years, and was only finally stopped by the Government. - -[Illustration: TULIPS IN “THE GARDEN OF PEACE.”] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PART III - - KALENDARIUM HORTENSE - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - KALENDARIUM HORTENSE: - OR THE - GARD’NERS ALMANAC; - - - DIRECTING WHAT HE IS TO DO - MONETHLY - THROUGHOUT THE - YEAR - - - 1664 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - JANUARY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Trench the ground, and make it ready for the Spring: prepare also soil, -and use it where you have occasion: Dig Borders, &c., uncover as yet -Roots of Trees, where Ablaqueation is requisite. - -Plant Quick-Sets, and Transplant Fruit-trees, if not finished: Set -Vines; and begin to prune the old: Prune the branches of -Orchard-fruit-trees; Nail, and trim your Wall-fruit, and Espaliers. - -Cleanse Trees of Moss, &c., the weather moist. - -Gather Cyons for graffs before the buds sprout; and about the later end, -Graff them in the Stock: Set Beans, Pease, etc. - -Sow also (if you please) for early Colly-flowers. - -Sow Chevril, Lettuce, Radish, and other (more delicate) Saleting; if you -will raise in the Hot-bed. - -In over wet, or hard weather, cleanse, mend, sharpen and prepare -garden-tools. - -Turn up your Bee-hives, and sprinkle them with a little warm and sweet -Wort; do it dextrously. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Kentish-pepin, Russet-pepin, Golden-pepin, French pepin, Kirton-pepin, -Holland-pepin, John-apple, Winter-queening, Mari-gold, Harvey-apple, -Pome-water, Pomeroy, Golden-Doucet, Reineting, Loues-pearmain, -Winter-Pearmain, etc. - - - PEARS. - -Winter-husk (bakes well), Winter-Norwich (excellently baked), -Winter-Bergamot, Winter-Bon-crestien, both Mural: the great Surrein, -etc. - - - JANUARY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Set up your Traps for Vermin; especially in your Nurseries of Kernels -and Stones, and amongst your Bulbous-roots: About the middle of this -month, plant your Anemony-roots, which will be secure of, without -covering, or farther trouble: Preserve from too great and continuing -Rains (if they happen), Snow and Frost, your choicest Anemonies, and -Ranunculus’s sow’d in September, or October for earlier Flowers: Also -your Carnations, and such seeds as are in peril of being wash’d out, or -over chill’d and frozen; covering them with Mats and shelter, and -striking off the Snow where it lies too weighty; for it certainly rots, -and bursts your early-set Anemonies and Ranunculus’s, etc., unless -planted now in the Hot-bed; for now is the Season, and they will flower -even in London. Towards the end, earth-up, with fresh and light mould, -the Roots of those Auriculas which the frosts may have uncovered; -filling up the chinks about the sides of the Pots where your choicest -are set: but they need not be hous’d; it is a hardy Plant. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Winter Aconite, some Anemonies, Winter Cyclamen, Black Hellebor, -Beumal-Hyacinth, Oriental-Jacynth, Levantine-Narcissus, Hepatica, -Prime-Roses, Laurustinus, Mezereon, Praecoce Tulips, etc., especially if -raised in the (Hot-bed). - - - NOTE. - -That both these Fruits and Flowers are more early, or tardy, both as to -their prime Seasons of eating, and perfection of blowing, according as -the soil, and situation, are qualified by Nature or Accident. - - - NOTE ALSO - -That in this Recension of Monethly Flowers, it is to be understood for -the whole period that any flower continues, from its first appearing, to -its final withering. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - FEBRUARY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Prime Fruit-trees, and Vines, as yet. Remove graffs of former year -graffing. Cut and lay Quick-sets. Yet you may Prune some Wall-fruit (not -finish’d before) the most tender and delicate: But be exceedingly -careful of the now turgid buds and bearers; and trim up your Palisade -Hedges, and Espaliers. Plant Vines as yet, and the Shrubs, Hops, etc. - -Set all sorts of kernels and stony seeds. Also sow Beans, Pease, Radish, -Parsnips, Carrots, Onions, Garlick, etc., and Plant Potatoes in your -worst ground. - -Now is your Season for Circumposition by Tubs, Baskets of Earth, and for -laying of Branches to take Root. You may plant forth your -Cabbage-plants. - -Rub Moss off your Trees after a soaking Rain, and scrape and cleanse -them of Cankers, etc., draining away the wet (if need require) from the -too much moistened Roots, and earth up those Roots of your Fruit-trees, -if any were uncover’d. Cut off the webs of Caterpillars, etc. (from the -Tops of Twigs and Trees) to burn. Gather Worms in the evenings after -Rain. - -Kitchen-Garden herbs may now be planted, as Parsly, Spinage, and other -hardy Pot-herbs. Towards the middle of later end of this Moneth, till -the Sap rises briskly, Graff in the Cleft, and so continue till the last -of March; they will hold Apples, Pears, Cherries, Plums, etc. Now also -plant out your Colly-flowers to have early; and begin to make your -Hot-bed for the first Melons and Cucumbers; but trust not altogether to -them. Sow Asparagus. Lastly, - -Half open your passages for the Bees, or a little before (if weather -invite); but continue to feed weak Stocks, etc. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Kentish, Kirton, Russet, Holland Pepins; Deuxans, Winter Queening, -Harvey, Pome-water, Pomeroy, Golden Doucet, Reineting, Loues Pearmain, -Winter Pearmain, etc. - - - PEARS. - -Bon-crestien of Winter, Winter Poppering, Little Dagobert, etc. - - - FEBRUARY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Continue Vermine Trapps, etc. - -Sow Alaternus seeds in Cases, or open beds; cover them with thorns, that -the Poultry scratch them not out. - -Now and then air your Carnations, in warm days especially, and mild -showers. - -Furnish (now towards the end) your Aviarys with Birds before they -couple, etc. - -[Illustration: APPLE TREES.] - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Winter Aconite, single Anemonies, and some double, Tulips praecoce, -Vernal Crocus, Black Hellebore, single Hepatica, Persian Iris, Leucoium, -Dens Caninus, three leav’d, Vernal Cyclamen, white and red. Yellow -Violets with large leaves, early Daffodils, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - MARCH. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Yet Stercoration is seasonable, and you may plant what trees are left, -though it be something of the latest, unless in very backward or moist -places. - -Now is your chiefest and best time for raising on the Hot-bed Melons, -Cucumbers, Gourds, etc., which about the sixth, eighth or tenth day will -be ready for the seeds; and eight days after prick them forth at -distances, according to the method, etc. - -If you have them later, begin again in ten or twelve days after the -first, and so a third time, to make Experiments. - -Graff all this Moneth, unless the Spring prove extraordinary forwards. - -You may as yet cut Quick-sets, and cover such Tree-roots as you laid -bare in Autumn. - -Slip and set Sage, Rosemary, Lavender, Thyme, etc. - -Sow in the beginning Endive, Succory, Leeks, Radish, Beets, Chard-Beet, -Scorzonera, Parsnips, Skirrets, Parsley, Sorrel, Buglos, Borrage, -Chevril, Sellery, Smalladge, Alisanders, etc. Several of which continue -many years without renewing, and are most of them to be blanch’d by -laying them under litter and earthing up. - -Sow also Lettuce, Onions, Garlick, Okach, Parslan, Turneps (to have -early) monethly, Pease, etc. these annually. - -Transplant the Beet-chard which you sow’d in August to have most ample -Chards. Sow also Carrots, Cabbages, Cresses, Fennel, Marjoram, Basil, -Tobacco, etc. And transplant any sort of Medicinal Hearbs. - -Mid-March dress up and string your Strawberry-beds, and uncover your -Asparagus, spreading and loosening the Mould about them, for their more -easy penetrating. Also you may transplant Asparagus roots to make new -Beds. - -By this time your Bees sit; keep them close Night and Morning, if the -weather prove ill. Turn your Fruit in the Room where it lies, but open -not yet the windows. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Golden Duchess (Doucet), Pepins, Reineting, Loues Pearmain, Winter -Pearmain, John-Apple, etc. - - - PEARS. - -Later Bon-crestien, Double Blossom Pear, etc. - - - MARCH. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Stake and binde up your weakest Plants and Flowers against the Windes, -before they come too fiercely, and in a moment prostrate a whole year’s -labour. - -Plant Box, etc, in Parterres. Sow Pinks, Sweet Williams, and Carnations, -from the middle to the end of this Moneth. Sow Pine kernels, Firr-seeds, -Bays, Alatirnus, Phillyrea, and most perennial Greens, etc. Or you may -stay till somewhat later in the Moneth. Sow Auricula seeds in pots or -cases, in fine willow earth, a little loamy; and place what you sow’d in -October now in the shade and water it. - -Plant some Anemony roots to bear late, and successively: especially in, -and about London, where the Smoak is anything tolerable; and if the -Season be very dry, water them well once in two or three days. Fibrous -roots may be transplanted about the middle of this Moneth; such as -Hepatica’s, Primeroses, Auricula’s, Camomile, Hyacinth, Tuberose, -Matricaria, Hellebor, and other Summer Flowers; and towards the end -Convolvulus, Spanish or ordinary Jasmine. - -Towards the middle or latter end of March sow on the Hot-bed such Plants -as are late-bearing Flowers or Fruit in our Climate; as Balsamine, and -Balsamummas, Pomum Onions, Datura, Aethispic Apples, some choice -Amaranthmus, Dactyls, Geraniums, Hedysarum Clipeatum, Humble, and -Sensitive Plants, Lenticus, Myrtleberries (steep’d awhile), Capsicum -Indicum, Canna Indica, Flos Africanus, Mirabile Peruvian, Nasturtium -Ind., Indian Phaseoli, Volubilis, Myrrh, Carrots, Manacoe, fine flos -Passionis and the like rare and exotic plants which are brought us from -hot countries. - -Note.—That the Nasturtium Ind., African Marygolds, Volubilis and some -others, will come (though not altogether so forwards) in the Cold-bed -without Art. But the rest require much and constant heat, and therefore -several Hot-beds, till the common earth be very warm by the advance of -the Sun, to bring them to a due stature, and perfect their Seeds. - -About the expiration of this Moneth carry into the shade such Auriculas, -Seedlings or Plants as are for their choiceness reserv’d in Pots. - -Transplant also Carnation seedlings, giving your layers fresh earth, and -setting them in the shade for a week, then likewise cut off all the sick -and infected leaves. - -Now do the farewell-frosts, and Easterly-winds prejudice your choicest -Tulips, and spot them; therefore cover such with Mats or Canvass to -prevent freckles, and sometimes destruction. The same care have of your -most precious Anemonies, Auricula’s, Chamae-iris, Brumal Jacynths, Early -Cyclamen, etc. Wrap your shorn Cypress Tops with Straw wisps, if the -Eastern blasts prove very tedious. About the end uncover some Plants, -but with Caution; for the tail of the Frosts yet continuing, and sharp -winds, with the sudden darting heat of the Sun, scorch and destroy them -in a moment; and in such weather neither sow nor transplant. - -Sow Stock-gilly-flower seeds in the Fall to produce double flowers. - -Now may you set your Oranges, Lemons, Myrtils, Oleanders, Lentises, -Dates, Aloes, Amonumus, and like tender trees and Plants in the Portico, -or with the windows and doors of the Green-houses and Conservatories -open for eight or ten days before April, or earlier, if the Season -invite, to acquaint them gradually with the Air; but trust not the -Nights, unless the weather be thoroughly settled. - -Lastly, bring in materials for the Birds in the Aviary to build their -nests withal. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Anemonies, Spring Cyclamen, Winter Aconite, Crocus, Bellis, white and -black Hellebor, single and double Hepatica, Leucoion, Chamae-iris of all -colours, Dens Caninus, Violets, Fritillaria, Chelidonium, small with -double Flower, Hermodactyls, Tuberous Iris, Hyacinth, Zenboin, Brumal, -Oriental, etc. Junquils, great Chalic’d, Dutch Mezereon, Persian Iris, -Curialas, Narcissus with large tufts, common, double, and single, Prime -Roses, Praecoce Tulips, Spanish Trumpets or Junquilles; Violets, yellow -Dutch Violets, Crown Imperial, Grape Flowers, Almonds and -Peach-blossoms, Rubus odoratus, Arbour Judae, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - APRIL. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Sow Sweet Marjoram, Hyssop, Basile, Thyme, Winter-Savoury, -Scurvey-grass, and all fine and tender Seeds that require the Hot-bed. - -Sow also Lettuce, Purslan, Caully-flower, Radish, etc. - -Plant Artichoke-slips, etc. - -Set French-beans, etc. - -You may yet slip Lavender, Thyme, Rose-mary, etc. - -Towards the middle of this moneth begin to plant forth your Melons and -Cucumbers, and to the late end; your Ridges well prepared. - -Gather up Worms and Snails, after evening showers, continue this also -after all Summer rains. - -Open now your Bee-hives, for now they hatch; look carefully to them, and -prepare your Hives, etc. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, AND YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Pepins, Deuxans, West-berry Apples, Russeting, Gilly-flowers, flat -Reinet, etc. - - - PEARS. - -Late Bon-crestien, Oak-pear, etc., double Blossom, etc. - - - APRIL. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Sow divers Annuals to have Flowers all the Summer; as double Mari-golds, -Cyanus of all sorts, Candy-tufts, Garden-Pansy, Muscipula, Scabious, -etc. - -Continue new, and fresh Hot-beds to entertain such exotic plants as -arrive not to their perfection without them, till the Air and common -earth be qualified with sufficient warmth to preserve them abroad. A -Catalogue of these you have in the former Moneth. - -Transplant such Fibrous roots as you had not finished in March; as -Violets, Hepatica, Prim-roses, Hellebor, Matricaria, etc. - -Sow Pinks, Carnations, Sweet-Williams, etc., to flower next year; this -after rain. - -Set Lupines, etc. - -Sow also yet Pine-kernels, Firr-seeds, Phillyrea, Alaternus, and most -perennial greens. - -Now take out your Indian Tuberoses, parting the offsets (but with care, -lest you break their fangs), then pot them in natural (not forc’d) -Earth; a layer of rich mould beneath, and about this natural earth to -nourish the fibers, but not so as to touch the Bulbs; then plunge your -pots in a Hot-bed temperately warm, and give them no water till they -spring, and then set them under a South-wall. In dry weather water them -freely, and expect an incomparable flower in August. Thus likewise treat -the Narcissus of Japan, or Garnsey-Lilly, for a late flower, and make -much of this precious Direction. - -[Illustration: DAFFODILS IN A MIDDLESEX GARDEN.] - -Water Anemonies, Ranunculus’s, and Plants in Pots and Cases once in two -or three days, if drouth require it. But carefully protect from violent -Storms of Rain and Hail, and the too parching darts of the Sun, your -Pennach’d Tulips, Ranunculus’s, Anemonies, Auricula’s, covering them -with Mattresses supported on cradles of hoops, which have now in -readiness. - -Now is the season for you to bring the choice and tender shrubs, etc., -out of the Conservatory; such as you durst not adventure forth in March. -Let it be in a fair day; only your Orange-trees may remain in the house -till May, to prevent all danger. - -Now, towards the end of April, you may Transplant and Remove your tender -shrubs, etc., as Spanish Jasmines, Myrtils, Oleanders, young Oranges, -Cyclamen, Pomegranats, etc., but first let them begin to sprout; placing -them a fort-night in the shade; but about London it may be better to -defer this work till August, vide also May. Prune now your Spanish -Jasmine within an inch or two of the stock; but first see it begin to -shoot. Mow Carpet-walks, and ply Weeding, etc. - -Towards the end (if the cold winds are past) and especially after -showers, clip Philyrea, Alaternus, Cypress, Box, Myrtils, Barba Jovis, -and other tonsile shrubs, etc. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Anemonies, Ranunculus’s, Auriculalirri, Chamae-Iris, Crown Imperial, -Caprisolium, Cyclamen, Dens Caninus, Fritillaria, double Hepaticas, -Jacynth starry, double Daisies, Florence-Iris, tufted Narcissus, white, -double and common, English Double, Prime-rose, Cow-slips, Pulsatilla, -Ladies-Smock, Tulips Medias, Ranunculus’s of Tripoly, white Violets, -Musk, Grape-flower, Parietaria Lutea, Leucoium, Lillies, Paeonies, -double Jonquils, Muscaria revers’d, Cochlearia, Periclymenum, Aicanthus, -Lilac, Rose-mary, Cherries, Wall-pears, Almonds, Abricots, White-Thorn, -Arbour Judae blossoming, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - MAY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Sow Sweet-Marjoram, Basil, Thyme, hot and Aromatic Herbs, and Plants -which are the most tender. - -Sow Parslan, to have young; Lettuce, large-sided Cabbage, painted Beans, -etc. - -Look carefully to your Mellons; and towards the end of this moneth, -forbear to cover them any longer on the Ridges, either with straw or -mattresses, etc. - -Ply the Laboratory, and distill Plants for Waters, Spirits, etc. - -Continue Weeding before they run to Seeds. - -Now set your Bees at full Liberty, look out often, and expect Swarms, -etc. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Pepins, Deuxans or John-Apples, West-berry-apples, Russeting, -Gilly-flower Apples, the Maligan, etc., Codling. - - - PEARS. - -Great Kainville, Winter-Bon-cretienne, Double Blossom-pear, etc. - - - CHERRIES, ETC. - -The May-Cherry, Straw-berries, etc. - - - MAY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Now bring your Oranges, etc., boldly out of the Conservatory; ’tis your -only Season to Transplant, and Remove them; let the Cases be fill’d with -natural-earth (such as is taken the first half spit, from just under the -Turf of the best Pasture ground), mixing it with one part of rotten -Cow-dung, or very mellow Soil screen’d and prepar’d some time before; if -this be too stiff, sift a little Lime discreetly with it. Then cutting -the Roots a little, especially at bottom, set your Plant; but not too -deep; rather let some of the Roots appear. Lastly, settle it with -temperate water (not too much) having put some rubbish of Brick-bats, -Lime-stones, Shells, or the like at the bottom of the Cases, to make the -moisture passage, and keep the earth loose. Then set them in the shade -for a fort-night, and afterwards expose them to the Sun. - -Give now also all your hous’d-plants fresh earth at the surface, in -place of some of the old earth (a hand-depth or so) and loos’ning the -rest with a fork without wounding the Roots. Let this be of excellent -rich soil, such as is thoroughly consumed and with sift, that it may -wash in the vertue, and comfort the Plant. Brush, and cleanse them -likewise from the dust contracted during their Enclosure. These two last -directions have till now been kept as considerable secrets amongst our -gard’ners; vide August and September. - -Shade your Carnations and Gilly-flowers after midday about this season. -Plant also your Stock Gilly-flowers in beds, full Moon. - -Gather what Anemony-seed you find ripe, and that is worth saving, -preserving it very dry. - -Cut likewise the stalks of such Bulbous-flowers as you find dry. - -Towards the end, take up those Tulips which are dried in the stalk; -covering what you find to be bare from the Sun and showers. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Late set Anemonies and Ranunculus nom. gen. Anapodophylon, Chamae-iris, -Angustifol, Cyanus, Columbines, Caltha Palustris, double Cotyledon, -Digitalis, Fraxinella, Gladiolus, Geranium, Horminum Creticum, yellow -Hemerocallis, strip’d Jacynth, early Bulbous Iris, Asphodel, Yellow -Lilies, Lychnis, Jacca, Bellis double, white and red, Millefolium -Liteum, Lilium Convalium, Span. Pinkes, Deptford-pinke, Rosa common, -Cinnamon, Guelder and Centifol, etc. Syringa’s, Sedunis, Tulips, -Serotin, etc. Valerian, Veronica double and single, Musk Violets, Ladies -Slipper, Stock-gilly-flowers, Spanish Nut, Star-flower, Chalcedons, -ordinary Crow-foot, red Martagon, Bee-flowers, Campanula’s white and -bleu, Persian Lilly, Honey-suckles, Buglosse, Homers Moly, and the white -of Dioscorides, Pansys, Prunella, purple Thalictrum, Sisymbrium, double -and single, Leucoium bulbosum serstinum, Rose-mary Stacchas, Barba -Jovis, Laurus, Satyrion, Oxyacanthus, Tamariscus, Apple-blossoms, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - JUNE. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Sow Lettuce, Chevril, Radish, etc., to have young and tender Salleting. - -About the midst of June you may inoculate Peaches Abricots, Cherries, -Plums, Apples, Pears, etc. - -You may now also (or before) cleanse Vines of exuberant branches and -tendrils, cropping (not cutting) and stopping the joynt immediately -before the Blossoms, and some of the under branches which bear no fruit; -especially in young Vineyards when they first begin to bear, and thence -forwards. - -Gather Herbs in the Fall, to keep dry; they keep and retain their -virtue, and smell sweet, better dry’d in the shade than in the Sun, -whatever some pretend. - -Now is your season to distill Aromatic Plants, etc. - -Water lately planted Trees, and put moist and half-rotten Fearn, etc, -about the pot of their Stems. - -Look to your Bees for Swarms, and Casts; and begin to destroy Insects -with Hooses, Canes, and tempting baits, etc. Gather Snails after rain, -etc. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Juniting (first ripe), Pepins, John-apples, Robillard, Red-Fennouil, -etc., French. - -The Maudlin (first ripe), Madera, Green-Royal, St. Laurence Pear, etc. - - - CHERRIES, ETC. - - Black. - Duke, Flanders, Heart Red. - White. - -Luke-ward, early Flanders, the Common-cherry, Spanish-black, -Naples-Cherries, etc. Rasberries, Corinths, Straw-berries, Melons, etc. - - - JUNE. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Transplant Autumnal Cyclamens now if you would change their place, -otherwise let them stand. - -Gather ripe seeds of Flowers worth the saving, as of choicest Oriental -Jacynth, Narcissus (the two lesser, pale spurious Daffodels of a whitish -green often produce varieties), Auriculas, Ranunculus’s, etc., and -preserve them dry. Shade your Carnations from the afternoons Sun. Take -up your rarest Anemonies, and Ranunculus’s after rain (if it come -seasonable) the stalk wither’d, and dry the roots well. This about the -end of the moneth. In mid June inoculate Jasmine, Roses, and some other -rare shrubs. Sow now also some Anemony seeds. Take up your Tulip-bulbs, -burying such immediately as you find naked upon your beds; or else plant -them in some cooler place; and refresh over parched beds with water. -Plant your Narcissus of Japan (that rare flower) in Pots, etc. Also you -may now take up all such Plants and Flower-roots as endure not well out -of the ground, and replant them again immediately: such as the Early -Cyclamen, Jacynth Oriental, and other bulbous Jacynths, Iris, -Fritillaria, Crown-Imperial, Martagon, Muscario, Dens Caninus, etc. The -slips of Myrtil set in some cool and moist place do now frequently take -root. Also Cytisus lunatus will be multiplied by slips, such as are an -handful long that Spring. Look now to your Aviary; for now the Birds -grow sick of their feathers; therefore assist them with Emulsions of the -cooler seeds bruised water, as Melons, Cucumbers, etc. Also give them -Succory, Beets, Groundsel, Chickweed, etc. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Amaranthus, Antirrhinum, Campanula, Clematis Pannonica, Cyanus, -Digitalis, Geranium, Horminum Creticum, Hieracium, bulbous Iris, and -divers others, Lychnis, var. generum, Martagon white and red, -Millefolium, white and yellow, Nasturtium Indicum, Carnations, Pinks, -Ornithogalum, Pansy, Phalangium Virginianum, darks-heel early. -Pilosella, Roses, Thalaspi Creticum, etc. Veronica, Viola pentaphyl, -Campions or Sultans, Mountain Lilies white and red; double Poppies, -Stock-jelly flowers, Jasmines, Corn-flag, Hollyhoc, Muscaria, serpyllum -Citratum, Phalangium Allobrogicum, Oranges, Rose-mary, Leuticus, -Pome-Granade, the Lime-tree, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - JULY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Sow Lettuce, Radish, etc., to have tender salleting. - -Sow later Pease to be ripe six weeks after Michaelmas. - -Water young planted Trees, and Layers, etc., and prune now Abricots, and -Peaches, saving as many of the young likeliest shoots as are well -placed; for the new Bearers commonly perish, the new ones succeeding: -Cut close and even. - -Let such Olitory-herbs run to seed as you would save. - -Towards the later end, visit your Vineyards again, etc., and stop the -exuberant shoots at the second joint above the fruit; but not so as to -expose it to the Sun. - -Now begin to straighten the entrance of your Bees a little; and help -them to kill their Drones if you observe too many; setting Glasses of -Beer mingled with Hony to entice the Wasps, Flyes, etc., which waste -your store: also hang Bottles of the same Mixture near your Red-Roman -Nectarines, and other tempting fruits for their destruction; else they -many times invade your best Fruit. - -Look now also diligently under the leaves of Mural-Trees for the Snails; -they stick commonly somewhat above the fruit: pull not off what is -bitten; for then they will certainly begin afresh. - -[Illustration: A POET’S ORCHARD IN KENT.] - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Deuxans, Pepins, Winter-Russeting, Andrew-apples, Cinnamon-apple, red -and white Juiniting, the Margaret-apple, etc. - - - PEARS. - -The Primat, Russet-pears, Summer-pears, green Chesil-pears, Pearl-pear, -etc. - - - CHERRIES. - -Carnations, Morella, Great-bearer, Morocco-cherry, the Egriot, -Bigarreaux, etc. - - - PEACHES. - -Nutmeg, Isabella, Persian, Newington, Violet-muscat, Rambouillet. - - - PLUMS, ETC. - -Primordial, Myrobalan, the red, bleu, and amber Violet, Damax, Deuny -Damax, Pear-plum, Damax, Violet or Cheson-plum, Abricot-plum, -Cinnamon-plum, the Kings-plum, Spanish, Morocco-plum, Lady Eliz. Plum, -Tawny, Damascene, etc. - -Rasberries, Goose-berries, Corinths, Straw-berries, Melons, etc. - - - JULY. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Slip Stocks and other lignous Plants and Flowers: From henceforth to -Michaelmas you may also lay Gilly-flowers and Carnations for Increase, -leaving not above two, or three spindles for flowers, with supports, -cradles, and hooses, to establish them against winds, and destroy -Earwigs. - -The Layers will (in a moneth or six weeks) strike root, being planted in -a light loamy earth mix’d with excellent rotten soil and seifted: plant -six or eight in a pot to save room in Winter: keep them well from too -much Rains: but shade those which blow from the afternoons Sun, as in -the former Moneths. - -Yet also you may lay Myrtils, and other curious Greens. - -Water young planted Shrubs and Layers, etc., as Orange-trees, Myrtils, -Granades, Amomum, etc. - -Clip Box, etc., in Parterres, knots, and Compartiments, if need be, and -that it grow out of order; do it after Rain. - -Graff by Approach, Trench, or Innoculate Jasmines, Oranges, and your -other choicest shrubs. Take up your early autumnal Cyclamen, Tulips and -Bulbs (if you will Remove them, etc.) before mention’d; Transplanting -them immediately, or a Moneth after if you please, and then cutting off, -and trimming the fibres, spread them to Air in some dry place. - -Gather now also your early Cyclamen-seeds, and sow it presently in Pots. - -Likewise you may now take up some Anemonies, Ranunculus’s, Crocus, Crown -Imperial, Persian Iris, Fritillaria, and Colchicums, but plant the three -last as soon as you have taken them up, as you did the Cyclamens. - -Remove now your Dens Canivus, etc. - -Latter end of July seift your Beds for Off-sets of Tulips, and all -Bulbous-roots, also for Anemonies—Ranunculus’s, etc, which will prepare -it for replanting with such things as you have ready in pots to plunge, -or set in naked earth till the next season; as Amaranths, Canna Ind., -Mirabile Peruv., Capsicum Ind., Nasturt. Ind., etc., that they may not -be empty and disfurnished. - -Continue to cut off the wither’d stalks of your lower flowers, etc., and -all others, covering with earth the bared roots, etc. - -Now (in the driest season) with Brine, Pot-ashes, and water, or a -decoction of Tobacco refuse, water your gravel-walks, etc., to destroy -both worms and weeds, of which it will cure them for some years. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Amanauthus, Campanula, Clematis, Sultana, Veronica purple and -odoriferous; Digitalis, Eryugium, Planum, Ind. Phaseolus, Geranium -triste, and Creticum, Lychnis Chalcaedon Jacea white and double, -Nasturt. Ind. Multefolium, Musk-rose, Flos Africanus, Thlaspi Creticum, -etc. Veronica mag. and parva, Volubilis, Balsam-apple, Hollyhock, -Snapdragon, Cornflo, Alkekengi, Lupius, Scorpion-grass, Caryophlata om. -gen. Stock-gilly-flo, Indian Tuberous Jacynth, Limonium, Linaria -Cretica, Pansies, Prunella, Delphinium, Phalangium, Perploca Virgin, -Flos Passionis, Flos Cardinalis, Oranges, Amomum Plinii, Oleanders red -and white, Agnus Castus, Arbutus, Yucca, Olive, Lignateum, Tilia, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - AUGUST. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Inoculate now early, if before you began not. - -Prune off yet also superfluous Branches, and shoots of this second -spring; but be careful not to expose the fruit, without leaves -sufficient to skreen it from the Sun, furnishing, and nailing up what -you will spare to cover the defects of your Walls. Pull up the suckers. - -Sow Raddish, tender Cabages, Cauly-flowers for Winter Plants, -Corn-sallet, Marygolds, Lettuce, Carrots, Parnseps, Turneps, Spinage, -Onions; also curl’d Endive, Angelica, Scurvy-grass, etc. Likewise now -pull up ripe Onions and Garlic, etc. - -Towards the end sow Purslan, Chard-Beet, Chervile, etc. - -Transplant such Letuce as you will have abide all Winter. - -Gather your Olitory-Seeds, and clip and cut all such Herbs and Plants -within a handful of the ground before the fall. Lastley: - -Unbind and release the buds you inoculated if taken, etc. - -Now vindemiate and take your Bees towards the expiration of this Moneth; -unless you see cause (by reason of the Weather and Season) to defer it -till mid-September: But if your Stocks be very light and weak begin the -earlier. - -Make your Summer Perry and Cider. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -The Ladies Longing, the Kirkham Apple, John Apple; the Seaming Apple, -Cushion Apple, Spicing, May-flower, Sheeps-snout. - - - PEARS. - -Windsor, Soveraign, Orange, Bergamot, Slipper Pearl, Red Catherine, King -Catherine, Denny Pear, Prussia Pear, Summer Poppering, Sugar Pear, -Lording Pea, etc. - - - PEACHES. - -Roman Peach, Man Peach, Quince Peach, Rambouillet, Musk Peach, Grand -Carnation, Portugal Peach, Crown Peach, Bourdeaux Peach, Lavar Peach, -the Peach de-lepot, Savoy Malacoton, which lasts till Michaelmas, etc. - - - NECTARINES. - -The Muroy Nectarine, Tawny, Red-Roman, little Green Nectarine, Chester -Nectarine, Yellow Nectarine. - - - PLUMS. - -Imperial, Bleu, White Dates, Yellow Pear-plum, Black Pear-plum, White -Nut-meg, late Pear-plum, Great Anthony, Turkey Plum, the Jane Plum. - - - OTHER FRUIT. - -Cluster Grape, Muscadine, Corinths, Cornelians, Mulberries, Figs, -Filberts, Melons, etc. - - - AUGUST. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Now (and not till now if you expect success) is the just Season for the -budding of the Orange Tree: Inoculate therefore at the commencement of -this Moneth. - -Now likewise take up your bulbous Iris’s; or you may sow their seeds, as -also those of Larks-heel, Candy-tufts, Iron-colour’d Fox-gloves, -Holly-hocks, and such plants as Endive Winter, and the approaching -Seasons. - -Plant some Anemony roots to have flowers all Winter, if the roots -escape. - -You may now sow Narcissus, and Oriental Jacynths, and replant such as -will not do well out of the Earth, as Fritillaria, Iris, Hyacinths, -Martagon, Dens Canivus. - -Gilly-flowers may yet be slipp’d. - -Continue your taking of Bulbs, Lilies, etc., of which before. - -Gather from day to day your Alaternus seed as it grows black and ripe, -and spread it to sweat and dry before you put it up; therefore move it -sometimes with a broom that the seeds may not clog together. - -Most other seeds may now likewise be gathered from Shrubs, which you -find ripe. - -About mid-Aug. transplant Auricula’s, dividing old and lusty roots; also -prick out your Seedlings: They best like a loamy sand or light moist -Earth. - -Now you may sow Anemony seeds, Ranunculus’s, etc., lightly covered with -fit mould in Cases, shaded, and frequently refresh’d: Also Cyclamen, -Jacynths, Iris, Hepatica, Primroses, Fritillaria, Martagon, Fraxinella, -Tulips, etc., but with patience; for some of them because they flower -not till three, four, five, six or seven years after, especially the -Tulips, therefore disturb not their beds, and let them be under some -warm place shaded yet, till the heats are past, lest the seeds dry; only -the Hepaticas, and Primeroses may be sow’d in some less expos’d Beds. - -Now, about Bartholomew-tide, is the only secure season for removing and -laying your perenial Greens, Oranges, Lemmons, Myrtils, Phillyreas, -Oleanders, Jasmines, Arbutus, and other rare Shrubs, as Pome-granads, -Roses, and whatever is most obnoxious to frosts, taking the shoots and -branches of the past Spring and pegging them down in a very rich earth -and soil perfectly consum’d, water them upon all occasions during the -Summer; and by this time twelve-moneth they will be ready to remove, -Transplanted in fit earth, set in the shade, and kept moderately moist, -not over wet, lest the young fibers rot; after three weeks set them in -some more airy place, but not in the Sun till fifteen days more; vide -our Observation in April, and May, for the rest of these choice -Directions. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Amaranthus, Anagallis Lusitanica, Aster Atticus, Blattaria, Spanish -Bells, Bellevedere, Campanula, Clematis, Cyclamen Vernum, Datura -Turtica, Eliochryson, Eryngium planum, Amethystium, Geranium Creticum -and Triste, Yellow Stocks, Hieracion minus Alpestre, Tube-rose Hyacinth, -Limonium, Linaria Cretica, Lychnis, Nimabile Peruvian, Yellow Millefoil, -Nasturt: Ind. Yellow mountain Hearts-ease, Manacoc, Africanus Flos, -Convolvulus’s, Scabious, Asphodels, Lupines, Colchicum, Lencoion, -Autumnal Hyacinth, Holly-hoc, Star-wort, Heliotrop, French Mary-gold, -Daisies, Geranium nocte oleus, Common Pansies, Larks-heels of all -colours, Nigella, Lobello, Catch-fly, Thalaspi Creticum, Rosemary, -Musk-rose, Monethly Rose, Oleanders, Spanish Jasmine, Yellow Indian -Jasmine, Myrtils, Oranges, Pome-granads double and single flowers, Agnus -Cactus, etc. - -[Illustration: A KENTISH GARDEN IN AUTUMN.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - SEPTEMBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Gather now (if ripe) your Winter Fruits, as Apples, Pears, Plums, etc., -to prevent their falling by the great Winds: Also gather your Wind-falls -from day to day; do this work in dry weather. - -Sow Lettuce, Radish, Spinage, Parsneps, Skirrets, etc. Cauly-flowers, -Cabbage, Onions, etc. Scurvy-grass, Anis-seeds, etc. - -Now you may Transplant most sorts of Esculent, or Physical plants, etc. - -Also Artichocks, and Asparagus-roots. - -Sow also Winter Herbs and Roots, and plant Strawberries out of the -Woods. - -Towards the end, earth up your Winter plants and Sallad herbs; and plant -forth your Cauly-flowers and Cabbages which were sown in August. - -No longer now defer the taking of your Bees, streightening the entrances -of such Hives as you leave to a small passage, and continue still your -hostility against Wasps, and other robbing Insects. - -Cider-making continues. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -The Belle-bonne, the William, Summer Pearmain, Lordling-apple, -Pear-apple, Quince-apple, Red-greening ribbed, Bloody-Pepin, Harvey, -Violet-apple, etc. - - - PEARS. - -Hamdens, Bergamot (first ripe), Summer Bon-crestien, Norwich, Black -Worcester (baking), Green-field, Orange, Bergamot, the Queen hedge-pear, -Lewes-pear (to dry excellent), Frith-pear, Arundel-pear (also to bake), -Brunswick-pear, Winter Poppering, Bings-pear, Bishops-pear (baking), -Diego, Emperours-pear, Cluster-pear, Messire Jean, Rowling-pear, -Balsam-pear, Bezy d’Hery, etc. - - - PEACHES, ETC. - -Malacoton, and some others, if the year prove backwards, almonds, etc. - -Quinces. - -Little Bleu-grape, Muscadine-grape, Frontiniac, Parsley, great -Bleu-grape, the Verjuyce-grape, excellent for sauce, etc. - -Bexberries, etc. - - - SEPTEMBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Plant some of all the sorts of Anemonies after the first rains, if you -will have flowers very forwards; but it is surer to attend till October, -or the Moneth after, lest the over moisture of the Autumnal seasons give -you cause to repent. - -Begin now also to plant some Tulips, unless you will stay until the -later end of October, to prevent all hazard of rotting the Bulbs. - -All Fibrous Plants, such as Hepatica, Hellebor, Cammomile, etc. Also the -Capillaries; Matricaria, Violets, Prim-roses, etc., may now be -transplanted. - -Now you may also continue to grow Alaternus, Philyrea (or you may -forbear till the Spring), Iris, Crown Imper; Martagon, Tulips, -Delphinium, Nigella, Candy-tufts, Poppy; and generally all the Annuals -which are not impair’d by the Frosts. - -Your Tuberoses will not endure the wet of this Season; therefore set the -Pots into your Conserve, and keep them very dry. - -Bind up now your Autumnal Flowers, and Plants to stakes, to prevent -sudden gusts which will else prostrate all you have so industriously -rais’d. - -About Michaelmas (sooner, or later, as the Season directs) the weather -fair, and by no means foggy, retire your choice Greens, and rarest -Plants (being dry) as Oranges, Lemmons, Indian and Span. Jasmine, -Oleanders, Barba-Jovis, Amomum Plin. Citysus Lunatus, Chamalaca -tricoccos, Cistus Ledon Clussii, Dates, Aloes, Seduns, etc., into your -Conservatory; ordering them with fresh mould, as you were taught in May, -viz. taking away some of the utmost exhausted earth, and stirring up the -rest, fill the Cases with rich, and well consumed soil, to wash in, and -nourish the roots during Winter; but as yet leaving the doors and -windows open, and giving them much Air, so the Winds be not sharp, nor -weather foggy; do thus till the cold being more intense advertise you to -enclose them altogether: Myrtils will endure abroad neer a Moneth -longer. - -The cold now advancing, set such plants as will not endure the House -into the earth; the pots two or three inches lower than the surface of -some bed under a Southern exposure: then cover them with glasses, having -cloath’d them first with sweet and dry Moss; but upon all warm, and -benigne emissions of the Sun and sweet showers, giving them air, by -taking off all that covers them: Thus you shall preserve all your costly -and precious Marum Syriacum, Cistus’s, Geranium nocte olens, Flos -Cardinalis, Maracoco, seedling Arbutus’s (a very hardy plant when -greater), choicest Ranunculus’s, and Anemonies, Acacia Aegypt, etc. Thus -governing them till April. - -Secrets not till now divulg’d. - -Note that Cats will eat, and destroy your Marum Syriac, if they can come -at it. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Amaranthus tricolor, and others; Anagallis of Portugal, Antirrhinum, -African flo. Amomum, Plinii, Aster Atticus, Belvedere, Bellies, -Campanula’s, Colchicum, Autumnal Cyclamen, Chrysanthemum angustifol, -Eupatorium of Canada, Sun-flower, Stock-gill-flo. Geranium Creticum and -nocte olens, Gentianella annual, Hieracion minus Alpestre, Tuberous -Indian Jacynth, Linaria Cretica, Lychnis Constant. single and double; -Limonium, Indian Lilly Narciss. Pomum Aureum, and Amoris, etc., Spinosum -Ind. Marvel of Peru, Mille-folium, yellow, Nasturtium Indicum, Persian -Autumnal Narcissus, Virgianium Phalagium, Indian Phaseolus, Scarlet -Beans, Convolvulus divers. gen., Candy Tufts, Veronica, purple -Volubilis, Asphodil, Crocus, Garnsey Lily, or Narcissus of Japan, Poppy -of all colours, single and double, Malva arborescens, Indian Pinks, -Aethiopic Apples, Capsicum Ind. Gilly-flowers, Passion-flower, Dature -double and single, Portugal Ranunculus’s, Spanish Jasmine, yellow -Virginian Jasmine, Rhododendron, white and red, Oranges, Myrtils, Muske -Rose, and Monethly Rose, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - OCTOBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Trench Grounds for Orcharding, and the Kitchin-garden, to lye for a -Winter mellowing. - -Plant dry Trees (i) Fruit of all sorts, Standard, Mural or Shrubs, which -lose their lease; and that so soon as it falls: But be sure you chuse no -Trees for the Wall of above two years Graffing at the most. - -Now is the time for Ablaqueation, and laying bare the Roots of old -unthriving, or over hasty blooming trees. - -Moon now decreasing, gather Winter-fruit that remains, weather dry; take -heed of bruising; lay them up clean lest they Taint, Cut and prune Roses -yearly. - -Plant and Plash Quick-sets. - -Sow all stony, and hard kernels and seeds, such as Cherry, Pear-plum, -Peach, Almond-stones, etc. Also Nuts, Haws, Ashen, Sycomor and Maple -keys; Acorns, Beech-mast, Apple, Pear and Crab Kernel, for Stocks; or -you may defer it till the next Moneth towards the later end. You may yet -sow Letuce. - -Make Winter Cider, and Perry. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, AND YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Belle-et-Bonne, William, Costard, Lordling, Parsley-apples, Pearmain, -Pear-apple, Honey-meal, Apis, etc. - - - PEARS. - -The Caw-pear (baking), Green-butter-pear, Thorn-pear, Clove-pear, -Roussel-pear, Lombart-pear, Russet-pear, Suffron-pear, and some of the -former Moneth. - -Bullis, and divers of the September Plums and Grapes, Pines, etc. - - - OCTOBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Now your Hyacinthus Tuberose not enduring the wet, must be set into the -house, and preserved very dry till April. - -Continue sowing what you did in September, if you please: Also, - -You may plant some Anemonies, and Ranunculus’s, in fresh sandish earth, -taken from under the turf; but lay richer mould at the bottom of the -bed, which the fibres may reach, but not to touch the main roots, which -are to be covered with the natural earth two inches deep: and so soon as -they appear, secure them with Mats, or Straw, from the winds and frosts, -giving them air in all benigne intervals; if possible once a day. - -Plant also Ranunculus’s of Tripoly, etc. - -Plant now your choice Tulips, etc., which you feared to interre at the -beginning of September; they will be more secure and forward enough: but -plant them in natural earth somewhat impoverish’d with very fine sand; -else they will soon lose their variegations; some more rich earth may -lye at the bottom, within reach of the fibres: Now have a care your -Carnations catch not too much wet; therefore retire them to covert, -where they may be kept from the rain, not the air, Trimming them with -fresh mould. - -All sorts of Bulbous roots may now be safely buried; likewise Iris’s, -etc. - -You may yet sow Alaternus, and Phillyrea seeds; it will now be good to -Beat, Roll, and Mow Carpet-walks, and Camomile; for now the ground is -supple, and it will even all inequalities: Finish your last weeding, -etc. - -Sweep and cleanse your Walks, and all other places, of Autumnal leaves -fallen, lest the worms draw them into their holes, and foul your -Gardens, etc. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Amaranthus tricolor, etc. Aster Atticus, Amomum, Antirrhinum, Colchicum, -Heliotrope, Stock-gilly-flo., Geranium triste, Ind. Tuberose Jacynth, -Limonium, Lychnis white and double, Pomum Amoris and Aethiop., Marvel of -Peru, Millefol. luteum, Autumnal Narciss., Pansies, Aleppo Narciss., -Sphaerical Narciss., Nasturt., Persicum, Gilly-flo., Virgin Phalangium, -Pilosella, Violets, Veronica, Arbutus, Span. Jasmine Oranges. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - NOVEMBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Carry Comfort out of your Melon-ground, or turn and mingle it with the -earth, and lay it in ridges ready for the Spring: Also trench and fit -ground for Artichocks, etc. - -Continue your Setting and Transplanting of Trees; lose no time, hard -frosts come on apace; yet you may lay bare old Roots. - -Plant young Trees, Standards or Mural. - -Furnish your Nursery with Stocks to graff on the following year. - -Sow and set early Beans and Pease till Shrove-tide; and now lay up in -your Cellars for Seed, to be Transplanted at Spring, Carrots, Parsneps, -Turneps, Cabbages, Cauly-flowers, etc. - -Cut off the tops of Asparagus, and cover it with long-dung, or make Beds -to plant in Spring, etc. - -Now, in a dry day, gather your last Orchard-fruits. - -Take up your Potatoes for Winter spending, there will be enough remain -for stock, though never so exactly gather’d. - -[Illustration: A HAMPSTEAD GARDEN IN WINTER.] - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -The Belle-bonne, the William, Summer Pearmain, Lordling-apple, -Pear-apple, Cardinal, Winter Chessnut, Short-start, etc., and some -others of the former two last Moneths, etc. - - - PEARS. - -Messire Jean, Lord-pear, long Bergamot, Warden (to bake), Burnt Cat, -Sugar-pear, Lady-pear, Ice-pear, Dove-pear, Deadmans-pear, Winter -Bergamot, Belle-pear, etc. - -Bullis, Medlars, Services. - - - NOVEMBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -Sow Auricula seeds thus: prepare very rich earth more than half dung, -upon that seift some very light sandy mould; and then sow; set your -Cases or Pans in the Sun till March. Cover your peeping Ranunculus’s, -etc. - -Now is your best season (the weather open) to plant your fairest Tulips -in place of shelter, and under Espaliers; but let not your earth be too -rich, vide Octob. Transplant ordinary Jasmine, etc. About the middle of -this Moneth (or sooner, if weather require) quite enclose your tender -Plants, and perennial Greens, Shrubs, etc., in your Conservatory, -secluding all entrance of cold, and especially sharp winds; and if the -Plants become exceeding dry, and that it do not actually freeze, refresh -them sparingly with qualified water mingled with a little sheeps or -Cow-dung: If the Season prove exceeding piercing (which you may know by -the freezing of a dish of water set for that purpose in your -Green-house) kindle some Charcoal, and then put them in a hole sunk a -little into the floor about the middle of it: This is the safest stove: -at all other times when the air is warmed by the beams of a fine day, -and that the Sun darts full upon the house shew them the light; but -enclose them again before the sun be gone off: Note that you must never -give your Aloes, or Sedums one drop of water during the whole Winter. - -Prepare also Mattresses, Boxes, Cases, Pots, etc., for shelter to your -tender Plants and Seedlings newly sown, if the weather prove very -bitter. - -Plant Roses, Althæa Frutex, Lilac, Syringas, Cytisus, Peonies, etc. - -Plant also Fibrous roots, specified in the precedent Moneth. - -Sow also stony-seeds mentioned in Octob. - -Plant all Forest-trees for Walks, Avenues, and Groves. - -Sweep and cleanse your Garden-walks, and all other places, of Autumnal -leaves. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Anemonies, Meadow Saffron, Antirrhinum, Stock-gilly-flo., Bellis, -Pansies, some Carnations, double Violets, Veronica, Spanish Jasmine, -Musk Rose, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - DECEMBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE ORCHARD, AND OLITORY GARDEN. - -Prune, and Nail Wall-fruit, and Standard-trees. - -You may now plant Vines, etc. - -Also Stocks for Graffing, etc. - -Sow, as yet, Pomace of Cider-pressings to raise Nurseries; and set all -sorts of Kernels, Stones, etc. - -Sow for early Beans, and Pease, but take heed of the Frosts; therefore -surest to defer it till after Christmas, unless the Winter promise very -moderate. - -All this Moneth you may continue to Trench Ground and dung it, to be -ready for Bordures, or the planting of Fruit-trees, etc. - -Now seed your weak Stocks. - -Turn and refresh your Autumnal Fruit, lest it taint and open the Windows -where it lyes, in a clear and Serene day. - - - FRUITS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - - APPLES. - -Rousseting, Leather-coat, Winter-reed, Chest-nut Apple, Great-belly, the -Go-no-further, or Cats-head, with some of the precedent Moneth. - - - PEARS. - -The Squib-pear, Spindle-pear, Virgin, Gascoyne-Bergomot, Scarlet-pear, -Stopple-pear, white, red, and French Wardens (to bake or roast), etc. - - - DECEMBER. - - _To be done_ - - IN THE PARTERRE, AND FLOWER GARDEN. - -As in January, continue your hostility against Vermine. - -Preserve from too much Rain and Frost your choicest Anemonies, -Ranunculus’s, Carnations, etc. - -Be careful now to keep the Doors and Windows of your Conservatories well -matted, and guarded from the piercing Air: for your Oranges, etc., are -now put to the test: Temper the cold with a few Char-coal govern’d as -directed in November, etc. - -Set Bay-berries, etc., dropping ripe. - -Look to your Fountain-pipes, and cover them with fresh and warm litter -out of the stable, a good thickness lest the frosts crack them; remember -it in time, and the Advice will save far both trouble and charge. - - - FLOWERS IN PRIME, OR YET LASTING. - -Anemonies some, Persian, and Common Winter Cyclamen, Antirrhinum, Black -Hellebor, Laurus tinus, single Prim-roses, Stock-gilly-flo., Iris -Clusii, Snowflowers, or drops, Yucca, etc. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PART IV - - GARDEN MOODS - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - TOWN GARDENS - - -Few people will deny the peace of mind a sheet of green grass can give, -but few people, one imagines, trouble to think how they are preserved in -large Towns and Cities. If it were not for Societies many little open -spaces would years ago have been covered with streets of houses, many -fair trees have fallen, none have been planted, and those growing have -been neglected and allowed to die. Of the many Societies whose work has -been to preserve for the Public pleasure grounds, good trees, parks, and -flower gardens, not one deserves such praise as the Metropolitan Public -Gardens Association, whose great work has been carried on since 1882. - -When one considers that in Hampstead over six hundred acres have been -preserved by energetic Committees from the hands of builders it is easy -to see how great is the debt of London to those who voluntarily work for -this and other Open Space Societies. - -It is not, however, by these large tracts of open country that the towns -and cities alone benefit. Seats, fountains, flower beds, and pavements -have been placed in old church-yards and disused burial-grounds opened -for the benefit of the public. One has only to look at the map of the -Metropolitan Public Gardens Association to see how wonderful their work -has been and still is. - -To dwellers in Towns the sight of flowers in the streets is like a -breath of the country. The long line of flower-sellers in the High -Street, Kensington, one group of women in Piccadilly Circus, in Oxford -Circus, in other spots where the place of their flower baskets brightens -all the neighbourhood, are doctors, though they do not know it, of high -degree. They bring the message of the changing year. They are a -perpetual flower calendar, people to whom a reverence is due. One looks -in Piccadilly Circus for the first Snowdrops, the little knots of their -delicate white faces peering over the edge of the flower baskets. From -the tops of omnibuses the first Violets are seen. Anemones have their -turn, and Mimosa, and Cowslips, and Roses soon glow in the midst of the -traffic, and elegant Carnations in their silver grass, and great piles -of Asters. So we may read the year. All through the grey and desolate -Winter these flower women hold their own, through cold and rain, and -pale Winter sun they keep the day alive with the glowing colours of -flowers. I often wonder, as I see them sit there so patiently, if they -know the joy they give the passer-by, or if they are more like the rocks -on whom flowers grow by nature. They are a curious race, these -flower-women, untidy, with a screw of hair twisted up under a battered -hat of black straw, with faded shawls wrapped round them, and the -weapons of their craft arranged about them—jam jars of water, wire, -bass, rows of little sticks on the end of which buttonholes are stuck. -And they have wonderful contrivances for keeping their money, ancient -purses rusty like many of themselves, in which greasy pennies and wet -sixpences wallow in litters of dirty paper. I would not vouch for the -truth of all they say, for it would appear from their words that every -flower in their baskets is but just picked, or only that second from the -market. And they regard such evidence as withered and wet flower stalks -with half-humorous scorn. For all they may not be well favoured, and a -pretty flower-woman is as rare as a dead donkey, still, for me, they -have a certain dingy dignity, or rather a natural picturesque quality as -of lichen on the pavements. - -[Illustration: AZALEAS IN BLOOM, ROTTEN ROW.] - -These people are the town’s gardens of odd corners, while another tribe -of them are perambulating gardens bringing sudden colour into the -soberest of streets. There are those who carry enormous baskets on their -heads, and cry in some incomprehensible tongue words intended to convey -a message such as “All fresh.” To see a gorgeous glowing mass of -Daffodils sway down the street borne triumphantly aloft like the litter -of some Princess is one of those sights to repay many grey days. Then -the brothers to this tribe are those who carry from street to street -Ferns and Lilies on carts, drawn often by a patient ass. I own feeling a -distrust for these men, they do not dispense their goods with much love. -They are not eloquent, as are many flower women in praise of the -beauties of the India plant, or the Shuttle-cock Ferns. I feel that they -are interlopers in the business, and have failed at the hardware trade, -or have no capacity for the selling of rush baskets, or the grinding of -scissors. At the heels of all those who sell flowers in the streets are -the out-cast members of the tribe, men with brutal faces who follow -lonely women in unfrequented streets trying to thrust dead plants upon -them, and cursing if they are not bought. And there are the aged crones -who sit by the railings of little squares and hold out a tray of boot -laces, matches, a few very suspicious-looking Apples, and, in the -corner, a bunch of dead flowers—a kind of æsthetic appeal. - -Your true flower-lover will search as carefully among their baskets for -the object of his desire as will the collector the musty curiosity shops -for prizes for his collection. There comes the time when the first -Snowdrops, their stalks tied with wool, appear here and there and may be -brought home as rare prizes. A word here of flower vases. Clear glass is -the only form of vessel for any kind of flower. I feel certain of that. -No crock, no form of pottery gives out greater the real value to your -cut flowers. The stalks are part of the beauty of the flower, the -submerged leaf as lovely as the leaf above. And, above and beyond all -things, glass shows at once if your water is pure, and if your vase is -full. Nowadays beautiful striped glass vases are made and sold so -cheaply that there is no excuse for the old, and often ugly, pot vases -so many people use. I own to a certain liking to seeing roses in old -China bowls, but have a lurking suspicion that I am Philistine in this. - -There is, of course, a distinction between Town Gardens and gardens in -Towns. The one being the open free spaces dedicated to the pleasure of -Duke and tramp alike: the other the hidden and hallowed spots where the -town dweller fights soot, grime, smoke, and lack of sun, and fights them -in many cases wonderfully well. One finds, though, that many people -fancy that only Ivy, cats, and dustbins will flourish in the heart of a -smoky City. This is not the case. Broom, Lilac, Trumpet Flower, -Traveller’s Joy, many kinds of Honeysuckle, Passion Flower, Tulip Tree, -many kinds of Cherry and Plum Trees bearing beautiful blossoms, -Barberry, and Almond Trees—all these will grow well and strongly even in -the worst parts of London. Five kinds of Honeysuckle will flourish; they -are: - - Lonicera Lepebouri - „ Flexuosam - „ Brachypoda aurea - „ Serotinum - „ Belgicum - -Besides these, pink and white Brambles, Meadowsweet, Weigela, and -Rhododendrons all grow fairly easily. - -One of the first sights the traveller notices on approaching any large -town is the numerous and gay back gardens of the little houses. The -contents of these gardens are a true index to the inhabitants of the -houses. Where one garden boasts little but old packing-cases, drying -linen, a few stalks of hollyhocks, and one or two giant sunflowers, the -very next will show borders full of all varieties of flowers in season, -an eloquent picture of what may be done with a little trouble. The -consolation and pleasure these little town gardens give is out of all -proportion to their size. The man who can come home to a villa, however -badly built and hideous, and it often appears that some competition in -ugliness has won suburban prizes, can find a delight all good gardeners -know in working his plot of land. - -One thing we can see at a glance, that the good influence of one -well-kept garden in a row will very soon have its effect. There is one -street I know within the bounds of London, a street of new houses with -little gardens in front of them running down to the pavement. I watched -this street with interest from its very beginning. At first it was a -thing of beauty, the men at work on the buildings, the scaffolding -against the sky, the horses and carts waiting with loads of brick, the -gradual growth of the houses from foundation to roof. Even the ugliest -building is beautiful in the course of construction, the poles and -ladders hiding the coarse design. Then there came a day when the street -was finished. It is not an entire street, but about half, being a row of -twenty or so houses built in flats, three flats in each house. When the -men left and the houses stood naked, after the plan of the builder, -looking pitiful and commonplace, the new red brick was raw, the little -balconies very white and staring, the windows like blind eyes. Every -ground-floor flat had the disadvantage of less light and air than the -others, but it was the possessor of about nine feet of land between the -door and the pavement. For a long time I waited to see what would become -of this tenant-less row of houses. I gained a kind of affection for -them, and walked past the white signboards once or twice a week reading -always “To Let” written on the windows, painted on the notice board, -pasted on papers across the doors. The melancholy aspect of these houses -appealed to me; they had a look of dumb anxiety as if they longed to -hear the sound of voices in their empty rooms. At last I saw one day -three huge furniture vans drawn up in front of the houses, and during -the next two weeks more vans arrived and there was a sound of hammering -in the street, and a smell of unpacking. Men came there with boxes and -parcels, and tradesmen began to drive up in carts and motor-cars. I felt -that those houses still standing empty had a jealous look in their -windows, like little girls who had been left to sit out at a dance. The -notice boards were all shifted to their front gardens, their bell wires -still hung unconnected from holes by the front door. - -The thing I was really waiting to see happened at Number Two. The -builder, after finishing the houses had, I suppose, come to the -conclusion that a little help from Nature would do no harm. Some good -fairy prompted him to plant Almond and May Trees alternately in the -front gardens. To each house an Almond and a May. I had waited eagerly, -determining by some fantastic twist that the spirit of the new houses -would first make her appearance in one of these trees. So far the street -had possessed no character except that vague rawness that all new places -wear. The great event occurred at Number Two. Very delicately an Almond -tree put out the first blossom. The life of the street began. I did not -wonder about the favoured owners of the ground floor of Number Two. I -knew. - -Not long after the Almond tree had bloomed a cart drew up before Number -Two, and three men began to wheel barrow loads of earth into the front -garden. They were directed by a gentleman of some age, but of cheerful -countenance. He smiled as each load of earth was neatly placed. He -looked at the earth as if he already saw it covered with flowers. In his -mind’s eye he was arranging a surprise for the street. - -The next event of notice in the street was the appearance of Number Two -garden, a blaze of flowers set in a desert of red brick. A balcony of -Number Sixteen, far down the road, entered into friendly competition. -Numbers Five and Nine worked like slaves. Three followed suit with -carpet-bedding on a tiny scale. A Laburnam and a Lilac sprang like magic -from the soil of Number Ten. Then, one day, the whole of Number One -burst into flower from top to toe. The tenant of each floor having -apparently been secretly at work to surprise the rest. Two, who had -started, and was indeed the father of the street, put forth more -strenuous efforts. - -To-day I am certain of a pleasant walk, and can come out of a wilderness -of bricks and mortar to my charming oasis flowering in the land. I -wonder if the people who live in those flats and who compete with each -other in a friendly rivalry of blossom realise what they are doing for -the hundreds who pass by in the day and are cheered. - -The Association I have named before, the Metropolitan Public Gardens -Association, give in their statement for 1907 a list of their window -garden competitions for that year. One sees that many of the poorer -parts of London have taken the idea, and this note I quote from South -Hackney shows the result: “Twelve entries. Eight prizes of the total -amount of One Pound, Ten Shillings. Remarks: Clean, fresh-looking, more -creepers than last year; example set is improving character of roads, as -others, not competitors, have started gardens.” - -Any one who knows the dreary and desolate appearance of town streets, -especially in those parts where life is lived at the hardest, and -surroundings are of the most sordid, will encourage a work which induced -in one year over five hundred people in London slums to take an interest -in growing flowers. - -The _Spectator_, of September 6, 1712, contains a charming essay upon -the English Garden, and the writer draws attention to Kensington Gardens -in the following words: - - “I shall take notice of that part in the upper gardens at - Kensington, which was at first nothing but a Gravel Pit. It must - have been a fine Genius for gardening, that could have thought - of forming such an unsightly Hollow into so beautiful an Area, - and to have hit the eye with so uncommon and agreeable a Scene - as that which it is now wrought into. To give this peculiar spot - of ground the greater effect, they have made a very pleasing - contrast; for as on one side of the Walk you see this hollow - Bason, with its several little Plantations lying so conveniently - under the Eye of the Beholder; on the other side of it there - appears a seeming Mound, made up of trees rising one higher than - another in proportion as they approach the Centre. A Spectator - who has not heard this account of it, would think this Circular - Mount was not only a real one, but that it had been actually - scooped out of that hollow space which I have before mentioned. - I never yet met with anyone who has walked in this Garden, who - was not struck with that Part of it which I have mentioned.” - -The writer finishes his essay with a simple and rather delightful -passage: - - “You must know, Sir, that I look upon the Pleasure which we take - in a Garden, as one of the innocent Delights in human Life. A - Garden was the Habitation of our first Parents before the Fall. - It is naturally apt to fill the mind with Calmness and - Tranquillity, and to lay all its turbulent Passions at rest. It - gives us a great Insight into the Contrivance and Wisdom of - Providence, and suggests innumerable subjects for Meditation. I - cannot but think the very Complacency and Satisfaction which a - man takes in these Works of Nature, to be a laudable, if not a - virtuous Habit of Mind.” - -Our opinion has not altered in these two hundred years. The enjoyment of -a garden is certainly one of the most innocent delights in human life, -the enjoyment of the garden he mentions in particular is one of the most -innocent pleasures in London. Kensington Gardens have inspired many -people, the classic of them is undoubtedly Mr. J. M. Barrie’s “Little -White Bird.” The patron Saint of them is, and I think ever will be, -“Peter Pan.” One has only to walk down the Babies Mile to hear games -from Peter Pan going on in all directions. This peculiar spirit haunted -the Gardens long before the days of Mr. Barrie, and whispered much of -his charming story in the ears of a bewigged gentleman—Mr. Tickell, by -name—who, in a poem of some considerable length, sang Kensington’s -praises. Those tiny fairy trumpets sounding in the walks of Kensington -sounded a tune which has never left the air, and one fancies the creator -of Peter Pan catching sight of a dim ghost now and again, the ghost of -Mr. Tickell, Joseph Addison’s friend, as he walks in full-bottomed wig, -his wide skirted coat, and sees the fairies too. He begins: - - Where Kensington high o’er the neighb’ring lands - ’Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabric stands, - And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, - A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers, - The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair - To groves and lawns, and unpolluted air. - Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, - They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies; - Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, - Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed, - Where rich biscades and glossy damasks glow, - And chints, the rival of the show’ry bow. - - * * * * * - - Their midnight pranks the sprightly fairies play’d - On every hill, and danced in every shade. - But, foes to sunshine, most they took delight - In dells and dales conceal’d from human sight: - There hew’d their houses in the arching rock; - Or scoop’d the bosom of the blasted oak; - -There is no doubt about it that these are the very same fairies who are -still at work in the Gardens, and who have admitted Mr. Barrie into -their confidence. All gardens have ghosts, and Kensington Gardens, I -think, more ghosts than any other. What a club it must be to belong to, -to visit when all London is asleep. Here’s Mr. Tickell with his version -of the Peter Pan story: - - No mortal enter’d, those alone who came - Stolen from the couch of some terrestrial dame - For oft of babes they robb’d the matron’s bed. - -But beyond these, the vaguest hints, Mr. Tickell does not carry. His -story has no likeness to the immortal tale of Peter Pan, but has, in -common with it, the same knowledge that there are fairies in the Gardens -living just as both he and Mr. Barrie know so well under the roots of -trees. And then there are the children. It is they who are the sweetest -flowers of the town gardens. - -[Illustration: IN HYDE PARK.] - -If any man wants an argument in favour of keeping every available space -open in towns and cities let him go into some crowded neighbourhood and -watch the children playing in the gutters of the streets. Then let him -find one of those places, a disused burial ground, or the garden of an -old square, which has been preserved, and kept open, and laid out for -the benefit of the children, and he will see the difference at once. -There are two such places easy for the Londoner to visit, the one -Browning Hall Garden, now a garden, once the York Road Burial Ground, -Walworth, the other Meath Gardens, eleven acres of public garden, once -The Victoria Park Cemetery, Bethnal Green. - -They say that one half of London doesn’t know how the other half lives. -They do not know, but worse still they don’t care. It is equally true -that half the people who profess to care for flowers are ignorant of the -wonderful flower-beds carefully grown for their pleasure within a -two-penny ’bus ride of most parts of London. The row of beds facing Park -Lane; the flower walk (where the babies walk, too) in Kensington -Gardens; the flower walk in Regent’s Park, the Houses at Kew, are sights -as well worth an afternoon’s excursion as any other form of amusement. -Most people almost unconsciously absorb the colour of cities, vaguely -realising grey streets, red streets, white streets, spaces of grass and -trees, big blots of colour—like the huge beds of scarlet geraniums in -front of Buckingham Palace, but they do not trouble to get the value of -their impressions. People look on the way from Hyde Park Corner to the -Marble Arch as a convenient means of crossing London instead of one of -the most interesting and delightful experiences to be had. They go crazy -over trees and sky in the country, when they have at their doors sights -the country can never equal. The sun in late autumn setting behind the -trees of Hyde Park and glowing over the murky smoke-laden skies is a -sight for the gods. Smoke has its disadvantages, but it certainly gives -one æsthetic joys unknown in clear skies, for instance alone the -reflection of the lights of Piccadilly on the evening sky. - -After all, the time to see the wonder of town gardens is at night. The -streets are empty of people. Here and there a few night workers walk the -lonely streets, a policeman tramps his beat, the huge carts bringing the -provisions for the city lumber along with sleepy carters swaddled in -sacks perched high among the heaps of baskets. Here and there men with -long hoses are washing down the roads. The Parks and Gardens lie bathed -in peace, mysterious shadows make velvet caves sheltered by leaves. -Those trees standing close to the road are lit by the electric lamps and -fringe the street with vivid green. Only the flowers seem really awake, -alive, in a tremendous dream city. Along the lines of houses, blinds -down, shutters closed, a window box here and there breaks the monotony -and seems to be the only real thing there. If it is Spring, then from -Hyde Park Corner to the Kensington High Street, all along the side of -the Park, behind the railings are regiments of Crocus flowers, spikes of -Narcissus, and of Daffodil. Their sweetness fills the air, their very -presence fills the town with gentleness, and purifies and softens its -grimness. Far above, in some citadel of flats, a solitary light burns, -some one is at work, or ill, or watching. Above all hang the blazing -stars. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - THE EFFECT OF TREES - - -Of the pleasure and affect of trees no one speaks so wisely as Bacon. -Although those who have a feeling for garden literature know his essay -on Gardens as the classic of its kind, still many do not recall his -thoughts when the planning of a garden is on hand. Too much, I think, is -given by the man who is about to make a garden, to his own particular -hobby, and many a man wonders why his garden gives him not all the -pleasure he expected. You will hear of a man talk of his new Rose beds, -of the nursery for Carnations he is in the process of making, of the -placing of his Violet frames, of his ideas for a rock garden (I think -the distressful feeling for a rockery of clinkers is dead), but you will -seldom hear of a man who deliberates quietly for effects of trees, or -who thinks of planting fruit trees as ornaments, but always he places -them in his kitchen garden, and ignores their value in their other -proper places. - -Bacon rejoices in his arrangement of gardens for every month of the -year, and dwells, rightly, just as much on the pleasure of his trees as -in the ordering of his flower beds. Naturally he had not such a large -selection of flowers from which to choose as we have to-day, but to-day -we neglect the beauty of many trees, and especially the beauty of -hedges. - -Are there sights in any garden more beautiful than the Almond tree and -the Peach tree in blossom, or the sweet trailing Sweetbriar? Bacon would -have us notice these, make a feast of these. Also he recommends the -beauty of the White Thorn in leaf, the Cherry and the Plum trees in -blossom, the Cherry tree in fruit, the Lilac tree, the wonder of the -Apple tree, and the Medlar. - -Then, again, Bacon touches on a point all too little counted: the -perfume of the garden. He says: “And because the breath of flowers is -far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes like the warbling of -musick) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight -than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the -air. - -“Roses, damask and red, are fast flowers of their smells; so that you -may walk by a whole row of them and find nothing of their sweetness; -yea, though it be in a morning’s dew. Bays likewise yield no smell as -they grow; Rosemary little; nor Sweet Marjoram. - -“That which above all others yield the sweetest smell in the air is the -Violet, especially the White Double Violet which comes twice a year; -about the middle of April, and about Bartholomew-tide. Next to that is -the Musk Rose; then the Strawberry leaves dying, which yield a most -excellent cordial smell. Then the flowers of the Vines; it is a little -dust, like the dust of a Bent, which grows upon the cluster, in the -first coming forth: then the Sweet Briar, then Wallflowers, which are -very delightful to be set under a parlour or lower chamber window. Then -Pinks and Gilly-flowers, especially the matted Pink and Clove -Gilly-flower: then the flowers of the Lime tree; then the Honeysuckles, -so they be somewhat afar off. - -“Of Bean flowers I speak not, because they are field flowers. - -“But those which perfume the air most delightfully, not passed by as the -rest, but being trodden upon and crushed, are three, that is Burnet, -Wild Thyme, and Water Mints. Therefore, you are to set whole alleys of -them to have the pleasure when you walk or tread. I would add to these -one or two more flowers whose perfume is easily yielded. The Heliotrope, -which at night will scent a garden; and Stocks, very rich and sweet -scented; Tobacco Plant, a heavy sensuous smell; Madonna Lilies, seeming -almost to breathe; Evening Primroses; and, after rain when the sun is -warm, the leaves of Geraniums, a faint musky smell, very attractive. But -of all these the garden holds one perfume more delicious, a scent that, -to me at least, is the Queen of Garden scents since it is the breath of -the whole garden herself. After a Summer’s day when it has been hot and -the lawn has been cut, and the Sun has well baked the earth, if there -should come rain in the evening, a soft warm rain pattering at first so -that it seems each leaf of flower and tree becomes a drum sounding with -rain beats, then it seems the garden breathes deep and draws in great -draughts of the delicious coolness. Then after the rain the night comes -warm again, and all warm earth smells, and the new cut grass smells -also, and every tree and flower join force upon force until the air is -filled with a perfume which for want of better names I would call the -Odour of Gratitude.” - -Furthermore, Bacon speaks of the garden—“The garden is best to be -square, encompassed on all four sides with a stately arched hedge.” One -rich hedge is there at Bishopsbourne, which it is traditionally supposed -was planted by Richard Hooker, of whom Walton writes: “It is a hedge of -over one hundred feet in length, from twelve to fourteen feet in height, -and some ten feet thick. It is one of the finest Yew hedges in England, -a wonderful colour, an amazing strength and beautiful, when it is -clipped and trimmed, to look upon.” Of the pleasure and comfort of such -hedges, of the health to be gained by regarding them, many people have -spoken. There is, surely, something in the tough green life of the Yew, -something in its staunchness that conveys a feeling of strength to the -mind. I feel this in different degree with every kind of tree, partly no -doubt from moments of particular association, from memories that become -attached to scenes as they will (curious how scents, arrangements of -colour, outlines against a sky, will call up things and thoughts which -for the moment have no connection with them. I never see Oranges but I -think of a dark passage lined with books, and a cupboard built round -with books in shelves. In the cupboard are dishes of fruit, and shapes, -all tied up in linen, of fruit cheeses, as damson cheese, and crab-apple -cheese, and a cheese made of Quinces and Medlars). - -I remember a graveyard in a little Swiss village where every grave had a -tiny weeping willow bending over it. It had, for us, infinitely more -pathos than the sombreness of many English graveyards. There was a -rushing torrent below, for the church and its graveyard was on a height -over a river, and the voice of the river sang in the quiet graveyard, -like a strong spirit singing in the pride of vigour to those asleep. The -little willows bent and shivered in the breeze, looking small and -pathetic against the strong small church. Outside the church, all along -one wall was a seat very smooth and worn, it faced the graves and the -tiny trees, and behind it, on the wall of the church, was a great -Wisteria with clusters of pale purple flowers. There were no other trees -there, or to be seen from the seat, but these little bending weeping -trees. And close by, a hundred yards from the church gate, was the -undertaker’s shop, part farm, part garden, part stocked with elm planks. -As I passed by the son was making a coffin out in the middle of the road -on trestles. Looking back one could see the young man bending earnestly -over his work, the sound of his saw ripping the air. Behind him was the -grey stone of the church and the forest of little shivering trees over -the graves. A little below, just across the river over a covered bridge, -was a beer-garden where a family was sitting drinking beer out of tall -mugs. They sat, father, mother, sons and daughters, all dressed in -black, under Chestnut trees cut down very close and clipped to make -alleys of shade. And a little behind them was a forest rising on a hill -with great masses of trees all shades of green, and glowing in the light -of an afternoon sun. But of all this I carry mostly the memory of those -little trees, quiet weeping sentinels, very pathetic. - - * * * * * - -Trees, especially isolated groups of trees, in towns and cities have a -wonderful fascination. The very idea that they burst into bud and leaf -in the midst of all the smoke and grime, and the noise and hurry, is -health-giving. It brings repose, it brings hope. I believe the trees in -town squares get more love than any country trees. They mean so much. It -seems so good of them to fight, and to come out year by year clean and -fresh and green, and in Winter when they are bare they make a delicate -webwork of twigs against the background of soot-covered houses. Then in -the Spring when they turn faintly purple there is a haze across the -square, and it seems that even the pigeons and the horses on the cab -rank feel it, but cannot scarcely believe it. Then, perhaps there is an -Almond tree in the square and it will suddenly break out into the most -exquisite finery, like the daintiest of women, making the square gay and -full of joy. The Spring has come. It is almost unbelievable. And people -passing through the square who have forgotten all about the Spring look -up suddenly and smile, and say: “Look at the Almond tree. Spring is -here.” Those who know the country turn their minds inwards and remember -that the brown owls have begun to hoot, that the gossamer is floating, -that, here and there yellow and white butterflies are flitting, looking -strangely out of season, that the raven is building, and the rooks too, -and that all sorts of birds they had forgotten are seen in the land. - -After that the big trees in the square become hazy with bursting bud, -and one morning, as if some message had been whispered overnight, the -far side of the square is only to be seen through a screen of the -tenderest green. Bit by bit the leaves comes out, get bright, clean -washed by showers, get dingy with the soot. Then comes the fall of the -leaf and the crisp curl of it as it changes colour, and the far side of -the square begins to show again through bronze-coloured leaves. At last -the Winter comes and all that is left is the tracery of boughs and -twigs, and heaps of dead, beautiful-coloured leaves beneath the trees. -These still provide an interest, for the wind comes and picks them up -and whirls them right up into the air in all sorts of amazing dances and -games. - -[Illustration: THE SEAT BENEATH THE OAK IN THE POET LAUREATE’S GARDEN.] - -In the Winter one last beauty comes. The day has been leaden, -sad-coloured, bitterly cold. All the cabmen on the rank stamp with their -feet, and swing their arms to keep themselves warm, and there is a -little mist where all the horses breathe. And people coming through the -square have forgotten the Almond tree, and the look of the big trees -when the hot sun splashed gold on their leaves, and they say, looking at -the sky, “See how dark it is, it is going to snow.” The snow comes; the -sky is darker; the trees stick up looking black, like drawings in pen -and ink. Flakes, white flakes, twenty, forty, then a rush—a thousand; -the sky full of tiny white flakes, the air full of them whirling down. -All sounds begin to be muffled. Horses hoofs beat with a thud on the -ground. The sound of voices in the air is deadened. The voices of men -encouraging horses sound sharp now and again, or a whip cracks like a -shot. The square is covered with snow, every twig is outlined in white, -black patches of bark show here and there, and emphasise the dead -whiteness. When it has stopped snowing and a watery light comes from the -sun all the trees gleam wonderfully, looking like fairy trees. And -people passing through the square making beaten tracks in the snow -saying, “It is Winter.” - - * * * * * - -In a country garden there is a tree stands on the end of a lawn. It is -an Acacia tree, old, gnarled, and twisted, with Ivy round it, deep Ivy -in which thrushes build year after year; there is a stone near by on -which the thrushes break the shells of snails, the “tap, tap,” of the -birds at work is one of the peaceful sounds that break the silence of -the garden. - -Under the tree is an oblong mark of pressed grass greener than the rest -of the lawn, where the garden-roller rests. And there is a seat under -the tree, and a wooden foot-rest by it. - -Touch the tree and you go back at once to a picture of a boy, the boy -who helped to plant it over a hundred and fifty years before. If you -look from the tree across the lawn to the house you will see the very -door by which he came out with his father to plant the tree. - -The house and the tree have grown old together, both of them have -mellowed with the garden and wear a look of old security and calm, and -have an air of wise old age. - -Up and down the five white steps from the garden path to the house more -than five generations have passed, men in wide-skirted coats and full -wigs hanging about their ears in great corkscrew curls, men in powdered -wigs, rolled stockings, square buckled shoes, men in stocks and immense -collars, and big frills to their shirts making them look like -gentlemanly fish, down to the man who comes out to day who looks a -little old-fashioned, and is square-built like the house, and who parts -his hair like the men in Leech’s pictures, and who wears a rim of -whisker round his face. And troops of ladies have passed out by that -door into the garden in hoops, and sacques, and towers of hair, and -crinolines. But no lady comes out now to cut the Lavender hedge, or snip -at the Roses. The man is alone. But when he sits alone under the tree, -with a spud by his side ready to uproot Plantains from his lawn, he can -see troops of the garden ghosts sitting round him under the Acacia tree. - -Sometimes there seems to be a sound of the ghostly click of bowls on the -lawn, for it is a bowling-green banked up on three sides (the fourth -bank has been done away with long ago), and there is a company of -gentlemen in their wide shirt sleeves playing bowls. Above them, on the -raised terrace next to the house where there is a broad path, a group of -old people sit by little tables and drink wine, and smoke, and gossip. -And behind them are tall Hollyhocks, and Roses and a tangle of -old-fashioned flowers such as Periwinkles and Sweet Williams, and Pinks. -The Acacia tree, which grows on the lawn beyond the bowling green, is -quite small. - -The old man who dreams of these ghosts in his garden recognises them -readily because they have stepped out of pictures on his walls, and when -they are not haunting the garden are demurely hanging on the oak panels -in the old rooms. - -Then he can see, if he chooses, a picture of the garden when the acacia -tree is quite tall, but still elegant and slender, and in this picture -an old, old lady walks down the garden paths. She is dressed in a large -hooped skirt with panniers, and has high-heeled shoes, and a perfect -tower of hair on her head, and over that a calash hood like the hood -over a waggon except that it is black. She carries an ebony stick in a -silk-mittened hand, a hand knotted with gout and covered with the -mourning rings of her friends. She it was who added largely to the -garden, and took in two acres more of land, and planted a row of Elms -and Beech trees. She kept the garden as bright and gay as the samplers -she worked herself. She had a mania for set beds, and her Tulips were -the talk of the county. A long bed of them ran from the house along one -bank of the bowling-green to the orchard, and it was arranged in pattern -of colours, lines, squares, interlaced geometrical designs of flaming -red and scarlet, pink and yellow and white and dull purple. She it was -who caused the sundial to be placed in the garden and who found the -motto for it, and designed the four triangular beds to go round it, and -placed a hedge of Lavender and Rosemary all about it in a square. - -The tap of her stick on the paths is one of the ghostly sounds that -haunt the place, and sometimes it is difficult to know whether it is a -woodpecker, or a thrush breaking open a snail, or her stick that makes -such a sharp crisp sound on the Summer air. - -There is another sound, too, that the Acacia tree knows well. It is the -click of glasses under its boughs. On a table placed under the tree is -an array of beautiful cut-glass decanters and a number of glasses which -reflect in the polished mahogany surface. Round the table four gentlemen -sit with white wigs and elegant lace falls at their throats, and ruffles -at their wrists. It is a hot Summer afternoon, and so still that not a -Rose leaf of those spread on the lawn stirs. A large white sheet lies on -the lawn covered with thousands of rose petals left to dry in the sun, -and when they are dry, and have undergone a careful mixture with spices, -and have herbs added to them by the mistress of the house, they will be -placed in china bowls in all the rooms, and will give out a subtle -delicious odour. - -The man who is dreaming in his garden can see the four gentlemen as -plain as life raising their glasses and touch them before drinking the -silent toast. And it is difficult to tell whether it is the gardener -striking on his frames by accident, or the chink of glasses that sounds -so clearly under the Acacia tree. - -Now, in another picture the garden holds, things are somewhat altered. -Instead of the big Tulip bed on the lawn there are a number of small cut -beds with long beds behind them on either side of a new gravel walk. -Instead of the older fashioned borders there are startling colour -schemes of carpet-bedding in which the flowers are made to look more -like coloured earths than anything. In the long beds, instead of the -profusion of Hollyhocks, Sunflowers and bushes of Roses, a primness -reigns. A row of blue Lobelia backed by a row of white Lobelia, then -scarlet Geraniums, then Calceolarias, then crimson Beet plants, every -ten yards a Marguerite Daisy sticks up out of the middle of the bed. -Only one rambling border remains, and that is hidden from the view of -the house windows, but can just be seen from the seat under the Acacia -tree. In it Phlox and Red-hot Pokers, Asters, Anemonies, Moss Rose, and -French Marigolds grow profusely, and some merciful sentiment has allowed -an old twisted Apple tree to remain there. - -The old bowling-green is still beautifully kept, the grass is smooth and -fair, not a Daisy or Plantain is there to mar the splendour of the turf. -The Acacia tree, now grown old and venerable, spreads out fine branches, -and gives delightful shade. Here and there new arches of rustic -woodwork, in horrible designs, stretch over the paths, their ugliness -partly hidden by climbing Roses of the Seven Sisters kind, or Clematis, -or Honeysuckle, or Jasmine. Many trees in the garden are old enough to -exchange memories of a hundred years ago; the orchard alone boasts a -venerable congregation of old trees, some grey with lichen, some bowed -down with the result of full crops. - -New ghosts walk the garden paths in crinolines and Leghorn hats, and -side curls, talking to gentlemen with glossy side whiskers, peg-top -trousers, and tartan waistcoats. - -On the bowling-green the new game is laid out, and ladies and gentlemen -talk learnedly of bisques, and the correct weight of croquet mallets. -There is a fresh sound for the garden, the smack of croquet balls. - -And now nearly all the ghosts vanish, and the old man who is sitting -under the Acacia tree looks around and sees his garden as it is to-day, -fuller of flowers than ever it was, with the hideous set borders done -away with, with the little rustic arches pulled down and a pergola, -properly built, in their place, and all of the horrors of Early -Victorian gardening gone for good, the plaster nymphs and cupids, the -tree called a “Monkey Puzzler,” the terrible rockery of clinkers and bad -bricks. Here, as in the house, taste has triumphed over fashion. Inside -the oak panels that had been covered over with hideous wallpapers are -brought to light. The wool mats have vanished, the glass domes over -clocks, the worsted bell-pulls, the druggets and the rep curtains all -gone for good. - -Outside, wonders have been worked in the garden. New beds filled with -the choicest Roses and Carnations. Water is now properly conveyed by a -sprinkler. The old water-butt, slimy and falling to pieces, gone to give -place to a well filled concrete tank of water, kept clean and sweet. - -One more ghostly sound left, a sound the lonely man unconsciously -listens for as he sits under the tree. On one bough, low growing and -strong, shows the marks deep cut where once depended the ropes of a -swing. In his ears he can sometimes hear the shouts of children and the -creak of the swing ropes, sounds he used to hear in his childhood. And -mingled with the children’s laughter he can hear, very faintly, a boy’s -voice, his own. - -Such is the story of an hundred English Gardens, where trees will tell -secrets, and the lawn holds memories, and the paths echo with footsteps -out of the past. - - * * * * * - -The influence literature has on the mind is nowhere more traceable than -in a garden. A dozen thoughts spring to the mind gathered out of the -store cupboards of remembered reading at the sight of flowers, trees, -sunlit walks, dark alleys. Trees call up romantic meetings, hollow -trunks where lovers have posted their letters, dark shades where vows -have been made, smooth trunks on which are carven twin hearts pierced by -a single arrow and crowned with initials cut into the bark. Gloomy -recesses under spreading boughs remind one of the hiding places of -conspirators, of fugitives. - -Sometimes, on a winter’s night, to look into the garden and see the -trees toss and shake with an angry wind, or stand bare, bleak, and black -against the sparkle of a frosty sky, some written thing comes quickly -into the brain almost as if the printed letters stood out clear. There -is one scene of winter and trees comes often to me very full and clear. -It is from the beginning of “Martin Chuzzlewit,” and heralds the -entrance in the story of the immortal Mr. Pecksniff. - -“The fallen leaves, with which the ground was strewn, gave forth a -pleasant fragrance, and, subduing all harsh sounds of distant feet and -wheels, created a repose in gentle unison with the light scattering of -seed hither and thither by the distant husbandman, and with the -noiseless passage of the plough as it turned up the rich brown earth and -wrought a graceful pattern in the stubbled fields. On the motionless -branches of some trees autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, -as in those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels; others, -stripped of all their garniture, stood, each the centre of its little -heap of bright red leaves, watching their slow decay; others again still -wearing theirs, had them all crunched and crackled up, as though they -had been burnt. About the stems of some were piled, in ruddy mounds, the -apples they had borne that year; while others (hardy evergreens this -class) showed somewhat stern and gloomy in their vigour, as charged by -nature with the admonition that it is not to her more sensitive and -joyous favourites she grants the longest term of life. Still athwart -their darker boughs the sunbeams struck out paths of deeper gold; and -the red light, mantling in among their swarthy branches, used them as -foils to set its brightness off, and aid the lustre of the dying day. - -“A moment, and its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath the long -dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy city, -wall heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement; the light was all -withdrawn; the shining church turned cold and dark; the stream forgot to -smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of winter dwelt in -everything. - -“An evening wind uprose too, and the slighter branches cracked and -rattled as they moved, in skeleton dances, to its moaning music. The -withering leaves, no longer quiet, hurried to and fro in search of -shelter from its chill pursuit; the labourer unyoked the horses, and, -with head bent down, trudged briskly home beside them; and from the -cottage windows lights began to glance and wink upon the darkening -fields. - - * * * * * - -“It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to go wreaking its -vengeance on such poor creatures as the fallen leaves; but this wind, -happening to come up with a great heap of them just after venting its -humour on the insulted Dragon, did so disperse and scatter them that -they fled away, pell-mell, some here, some there, rolling over each -other, whirling round and round upon their thin edges, taking frantic -flights into the air, and playing all manner of extraordinary gambols in -the extremity of their distress. Nor was this good enough for its -malicious fury; for not content with driving them abroad, it charged -small parties of them, and hunted them into the wheelwright’s saw-pit, -and below the planks and timbers in the yard, and, scattering the -sawdust in the air it looked for them underneath, and when it did meet -with any, whew! how it drove them on and followed on their heels! - -[Illustration: IN THE BOTANIC GARDEN, OXFORD.] - -“The scared leaves only flew the faster for all this, and a giddy chase -it was; for they got into unfrequented places, where there was no -outlet, and where their pursuer kept them eddying round and round at his -pleasure; and they crept under the eaves of houses, and clung tightly to -the sides of hayricks like bats; and tore in at open chamber windows, -and cowered close to hedges; and, in short, went anywhere for safety. -But the oddest feat they achieved was, to take advantage of the sudden -opening of Mr. Pecksniff’s front door, to dash wildly down his passage, -with the wind following close upon them, and finding the back door open, -incontinently blew out the lighted candle held by Miss Pecksniff, and -slammed the front door against Mr. Pecksniff, who was at that moment -entering, with such violence, that in the twinkling of an eye, he lay on -his back at the bottom of the steps. Being by this time weary of such -trifling performances, the boisterous rover hurried away rejoicing, -roaring over moor and meadow, hill and flat, until it got out to sea, -where it met with other winds similarly disposed, and made a night of -it.” - - * * * * * - -Is not this wonderful and immortal passage as much a part of the Charm -of Gardens as the most delectable poetry on the perfumed air of a summer -night? - -Often, when the logs are crackling on the hearth, one hears those hunted -leaves come banging on the window panes, those gaunt trees tossing in -the wind. When all the garden lies cold and bare and stripped of green, -the trees roar out an answer to the wind, an hundred garden voices swell -the storm, and you sit happy by your fireside and dream new colours for -the garden beds; and where a white frost sparkles on the earth, and -trees lift up bare fingers to the sky, you see deep wealth of green, and -jewelled borders brim full of spring flowers, and there a set of bulbs -you have nursed, come out sweet in green sheathes, and here a tree, now -naked, clothed in young green. - -That for the night. For the morning, trailing clouds of mist over the -trees like fairy shawls alive with dew-diamonds, each dew-drop -reflecting its tiny world. The trees, the world, the garden still -asleep, or half asleep, until the sun throws off the counterpane of -clouds and springs into the skies. - -It is at that time, before the sun is awake, the trees look strange as -sleeping things look strange, with a counterfeit of death, so still are -they. And in the Spring when the orchard is a pale ghost before the sun -is up, a man would swear it had been covered up at night in silver -smoke, or gossamer, or fairy silk that the sun tears into weeping shreds -that drip and drip and give the grass a bath. - -But of the effect of trees as a spiritual support no man is at variance -with another. That they give courage, and help and hope, that the green -sight of them is good as being reminder that Heaven is kind, and that -the Winter is not always, no man doubts but, perhaps, fears to voice, -feeling his neighbour will call out at him for a worshipper of Pan and -of strange gods. But to the garden dweller, or to him who must perforce -make his garden of one tree in a dusty court, and of one glass of -flowers on his desk, these things have voices, and they are kindly -voices, saying, “Despair not,” and “Regard me how I grow upright through -the seasons,” and also “Give shade and shelter to all things and men -equally as I do, without distinction or difference, and if the grass -gives a couch, fair and embroidered with flowers, so do I give a roof of -infinite variety, and a shade from the sun, and a shelter from the -wind.” And again, “If a man know a tree to love it he will understand -much of men, and of birds, and beasts and of all living things. And of -greater things too, for in the branches is other fruit than the fruit of -the tree. Just as the rainbow is set in the sky for a promise, so is -fruit in a tree set there; and the leaves show how orderly is the Great -Plan; and the branches show the strength of slender things, and of -little things, so that a man may know how Heaven has its roots in earth, -and its crest in the clouds. And a man who holds to earth with one hand, -and reaches at the stars with the other, in that span he encompasses all -that may be known if he but see it. But men are blind, and do not see -the sky but as sky, and do not see the stars but as balls of fire, or -the green grass but as a carpet, or the flowers but as a combination of -chemical accidents. But over all, and through all, and in all is God, -Who still speaks with Adam in the Garden.” - -These things are to be learnt of trees both great and small, withered -and young, sapling and Oak of centuries. And they are to be learnt also -in the dust on a butterfly’s wing; or of a blade of grass; or of a hemp -seed. But men are deaf, and hear no voice but the voice of water in a -rushing stream; and no sound but the sound of leaves stirring when the -wind rests in a tree; and no voice speaking in a blaze of flowers who -sing praises night and day in scented voices. - -A tree is not dumb, and the Creeping Briar is not dumb, and the Rose has -a voice like the voice of a woman rejoicing that she is fair. But men -are dumb, for though their hearts speak, all tongues are not touched -with fire. - -So may trees be a solace in trouble, and secrets may be whispered to -bushes of Rosemary and Lavender, who will yield their secret solace of -peace, as the tree yields strength. All these things are written in a -garden in coloured letters of gold, and green, and crimson, in blue and -purple, orange and grey, and they are written for a purpose. And a man -may seek diligently for the secret of this great book and find nothing -if he seek with his head alone. He will tell of the growth of trees, -their years, their nature, their sickness. He will learn of the power of -the sap which flows down from the tips of leaves to the great tree roots -all snug in the soil; and he will learn of the veins in the leaves, and -the properties of the gum of the bark, yet will he never learn that of -which the tree speaks always, night and day—praising. - -Of what is the colour of green that the earth’s best page is made of it? -Of what is the colour of young green that it brings, unbidden, tender -thoughts? It is more than the gold of Corn, and the brown of ploughed -earth, and the glory of flowers. By it comes peace to the eyes, and -through the eyes to the heart of man, so that men say of youth and the -times of youth that they are salad days; and of old age, if so be it is -a fine old age, that it is green. It is the colour of the body as blue -is the colour of the soul. The sky and the sea are blue, and they are -things of mystery, deep and profound, and because of their great depth -and profundity they are blue. The grass and the trees, and the leaves of -flowers, and blades of young Corn are green. They are mysterious things -but they are nearer to man, and he has them to his hand to be near them, -and get quick comfort of them. - -And Daisies are the stars of the grass, as stars are the Daisies of -Heaven; and if a man look long at the stars set out orderly in the sky -he may become fearful, for God may seem far off and difficult; yet if he -be near he may pick a Daisy and take his fill of comfortable things, for -God will seem near and His voice in the Daisy. - -Yet many a man will walk over a field of grass pressing the Daisies with -his feet, and take no heed of them, or of the stars over above his head; -and the night and the day will be to him but light and darkness, and the -stars but lanterns to show him home, and the Daisies but flowers of the -field. But if he be a man who sees all, and in everything can feel the -finger and pulse of God, his staff will blossom in his hand, and he will -go on his way rejoicing. - -In this way can man regard the trees in his garden, and speak with them, -loving them, and learning of them, for learning is all of love. And he -may yet be an ordinary man, not poet, or artist, but he must be mystic -because he has the true sight. Many a man, stockbroker, clerk, painter, -labourer, soldier, or whatever he seems to be, has his real being in -these moments, and they are revealed through love or sorrow, but not by -hard learning or text-books. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - A LOVER OF GARDENS - - -There are many who say this and that of Sir John Mandeville, his -Travels; that he was not; that he was a Frenchman; that no one knows who -he was. For years he was to me an English Knight who lived at St. -Albans, and from there set out to travel over all the world seeking -adventure, and relating the peculiarities of his journey in fascinating, -if slightly imaginative, language. I rejoiced when he saw a board from -the Noah’s Ark, when he talked with the Cham of Tartary; and told of the -wonders of Ind. But comes along this and that expert who upset the -figure of the gallant Knight, and heave him from horse to ground as a -dummy figure, and burn him for firewood as a fallen idol. And why? It -appears that Sir John is no more a real being than Homer, or Æsop, or -any other of those personal names for great bundles of collected -literature; and is a literature all by himself, and a series of impudent -thieves who stole travellers’ tales and jotted them together in a -personal narrative. For all that I believe in a figure of the blind -Homer, and the impudent slave Æsop who played tricks on his master, and -I firmly believe in a stalwart figure of Sir John Mandeville, Knight, -“albeit,” he says, “I be not worthy, that was born in England, in the -town of St. Albans, and passed the sea in the year of our Lord Jesu -Christ, 1322, in the day of St. Michael.” - -There is one thing, a touch of character, put in, maybe, by the skilful -editor of these travels, that makes us lean to the man as being a real -person. It is his love of Gardens, and his pains to tell of them, and -the stories of trees, and legends. And whether one who confessed to the -fraud of putting these travels together—Jean de Bourgogne, by name—was a -keen gardener or herbalist, or whether it was a literary habit of the -fourteenth century (which, when I come to think of it, is so), somehow I -feel that there is a garden-loving spirit in forming the book, and for -that I love the man. - -In his wanderings Sir John meets many things, and of these I beg leave -to choose here and there one or two of his anecdotes when they touch an -idea such as gardeners love. The first is of the True Cross, and the -story of its origin. All of Sir John I have read in Mr. Pollard’s -edition, than which nothing could be more satisfactory and clear -expressed. - - - OF THE CROSS - -“And the Christian men, that dwell beyond the sea, in Greece, say that -the Tree of the Cross, that we call Cypress, was one of that tree that -Adam ate the apple off; and that find they written. And they say also, -that their Scripture saith, that Adam was sick, and said to his son -Seth, that he should go to the angel that kept Paradise, that he would -send him the oil of mercy, for to anoint with his members, that he might -have health. And Seth went. But the angel would not let him come in; but -said to him, that he might not have of the oil of mercy. But he took him -three grains of the same tree, that his father ate the apple off; and -bade him, a soon as his father was dead, that he should put these three -grains under his tongue, and grave him so; and so he did. And of these -three grains sprang a tree, as the angel said it should, and bare a -fruit, through the which fruit Adam should be saved. - -“And when Seth came again, he found his father near dead. And when he -was dead, he did with the grains as the angel bade him; of the which -sprung three trees, of the which the Cross was made, that bare good -fruit and blessed, our Lord Jesu Christ.” - -[Illustration: THE PRIDE OF SPRING, SURREY.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - OF THE CROWN OF THORNS - - -“And if all it be so, that men say, that this crown is of thorns, ye -shall understand that, it was of jonkes of the sea, that is to say, -rushes of the sea, that prick as sharply as thorns. For I have seen and -beholden many times that of Paris and that of Constantinople; for they -were both one, made of rushes of the sea. But man have departed them in -two parts: of the which one part is at Paris, and the other part is at -Constantinople. And I have one of those precious thorns that seemeth -like a White Thorn; and that was given to me for great speciality. For -there are many of them broken and fallen into the vessel that the crown -lieth in; for they break for dryness when the men move them to show to -great lords that come hither. - -“And ye shall understand, that our Lord Jesu, in that night that he was -taken, he was led into a garden; and there he was first examined right -sharply; and there the Jews scorned him, and made him a crown of the -branches of the Albespine, that is White Thorn, that grew in that same -garden, and set it on his head, so fast and so sore, that the blood ran -down by many places of his visage, and of his neck, and of his -shoulders. And therefore hath the White Thorn many virtues, for he that -beareth a branch on him thereof, no thunder or no manner of tempest may -dere him; nor in the house that it is in may no evil ghost enter nor -come into the place that it is in. And in that same garden, Saint Peter -denied our Lord thrice. - -“Afterward was our Lord led forth before the bishops and the masters of -the law, into another garden of Annas; and there also he was examined, -reproved, and scorned, and crowned eft with a Sweet Thorn, that men -clepeth Barbarines, that grew in that garden, and that hath also many -virtues. - -“And after he was led into a garden of Caiphas, and then he was crowned -with Eglantine. - -“And after he was led into the chamber of Pilate, and there he was -examined and crowned. And the Jews set him in a chair, and clad him in a -mantle; and there made they the crown of jonkes of the sea; and there -they kneeled to him, and scorned him, saying, ‘Ave, Rex Judeoram!’ That -is to say, ‘Hail, King of Jews!’ And of this crown, half is at Paris, -and the other half at Constantinople.” - - * * * * * - -From these fanciful byways Sir John goes on his way looking, as before, -for curious things, and for marvels of trees and fruits. He tells of the -fine plate of gold writ by Hermogenes, the wise man who foretold the -birth of Christ. He passes the Isles of Colcos and of Lango where the -daughter of Ypocras is yet in the form of a dragon. And he goes by the -town of Jaffa—“for one of the sons of Noah, that bright Japhet, founded -it, and now it is called Joppa. And ye shall understand, that it is one -of the oldest towns of the world, for it was founded before Noah’s -flood. And yet there sheweth in the rock, there as the iron chains were -fastened, that Andromeda, a great giant was bounden with, and put in -prison before Noah’s flood, of the which giant, is a rib of his side -that is forty foot long.” - -Then he finds in Egypt some curious Apples. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - OF APPLES - - -“Also in that country and in others also, men find long Apples to sell, -in their season, and men clepe them Apples of Paradise; and they be -right sweet and of good savour. And though ye cut them in never so many -gobbets or parts, over-thwart or endlong, evermore ye shall find in the -midst the figure of the Holy Cross of our Lord Jesu. - - * * * * * - -“And men find there also the Apple of the tree of Adam, that have a bite -at one of the sides; and there be also small Fig trees that bear no -leaves, but Figs upon the small branches; and men clepe them Figs of -Pharoah.” - - * * * * * - -Sir John, on his constant look out lets no oddment pass him by, and the -more peculiar the better. It appears he would rather see a well in a -field—“that our Lord Jesu Christ made with one of his feet, when he went -to play with other children”—than many things political or notable to -the country. And he will never come to a country but he will mention the -state of its trees and fruits, these, naturally, being important items -to the traveller of his day who might at any moment have to fall back on -the natural fruits of the field for his food. So, when he goes by the -desert to the valley of Elim, he notes the seventy-two Palm trees there -growing—“the which Moses found with the children of Israel.” - -Then he comes by Mount Sinai, and there he finds the convent by the spot -where was the burning bush; and the Church of Saint Catherine is -there—“in the which be many lamps burning; for they have of oil of -Olives enough, both to burn in their lamps and to eat also. And that -plenty they have by the miracle of God; for the raven and the crows and -the choughs and other fowls of the country assemble them there every -year once, and fly thither as in pilgrimage; and everych of them -bringeth a branch of the Bays or of the Olive in their beaks instead of -offering, and leave them there; of which the monks make great plenty of -oil. And this is a great marvel.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - OF THE FIRST GARDENER - - -Now Sir John, who had a great feeling for our first father Adam, came -frequently on stories of him and of places where he lived. And he went -from Bathsheba, the town founded, as he says—“by Bersabe, the wife of -Sir Uriah the Knight,”—and journeyed to the city of Hebron. “And it was -clept sometime the Vale of Mamre, and sometimes it was clept the Vale of -Tears, because that Adam wept there an hundred year for the death of -Abel his son, that Cain slew.” - -There, in this Vale of Hebron, where Sir John says Abraham had his -house, and is buried, as are Adam and Eve, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Leah, -and Rebecca, is also the first dwelling-place of Adam after the Fall. - -“And right fast by that place is a cave in the rock, where Adam and Eve -dwelled when they were put out of Paradise; and there got they their -children. And in the same place was Adam formed and made, after that -some men say (for men were wont for to clept that place the field of -Damascus, because that it was in the lordship of Damascus), and from -thence he was translated into Paradise of delights, as they say; and -after that he was driven out of Paradise he was there left. And the same -day that he was put in Paradise, the same day he was put out, for anon -he sinned. There beginneth the Vale of Hebron, that dureth nigh to -Jerusalem. There the Angel commanded Adam that he should dwell with his -wife Eve, of the which he gat Seth; of which tribe, that is to say -kindred, Jesu Christ was born.” - - * * * * * - -Here then is the legend of the first Garden in which Adam delved, and -lived by the sweat of his brow. Again Sir John tells us of a place where -he noticed the trees, especially the Dry tree, and it can be seen how -much a lover of Gardens and of growing things he was, and how he looked -for and noticed these things and set them down. - -This Dry Tree was an Oak of Abraham’s time. - - - OF THE DRY TREE - -“And there is a tree of Oak, that the Saracens clepe Dirpe, that is of -Abraham’s time; the which men clepe the Dry tree. And they say that it -hath been there since the beginning of the world, and was some-time -green and bare leaves, until the time that our Lord died on the Cross, -and then it dried; and so did all the trees that were then in the world. -And some say, by their prophecies, that a lord, a prince of the west -side of the world, shall win the Land of Promission, that is the Holy -Land, with the help of Christian men, and he shall do sing a mass under -that Dry tree; and then the tree shall wax green, and bear both fruit -and leaves, and through that miracle many Saracens and Jews shall be -turned to Christian faith; and, therefore, they do great worship -thereto, and keep it full busily. And, albeit so, that it dry, natheles -yet he beareth great virtue, for certainly he hath a little thereof upon -him, it healeth him of the falling evil, and his horse shall not be -afoundered: and many other virtues it hath; wherefore men hold it full -precious.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - OF THE FIRST ROSES - - -Then Sir John tells of a field nigh to Bethlehem, called Floridus, and -here was a maiden wrongfully blamed, and condemned to death, and to be -burnt. - -“And as the fire began to burn about her, she made her prayers to our -Lord, that as wisely as she was not guilty of that sin, that he would -keep her and make it to be known to all men, of His merciful grace. And -when she had thus said, she entered into the fire, and anon was the fire -quenched and out; and the brands that were burning became red Rose -trees, and the brands that were not kindled became white Rose trees, -full of Roses. And these were the first Rose trees and Roses, both white -and red, that every any man said; and thus was this maiden saved by the -grace of God. And therefore is that field clept the Field of God -Flourished, for it was full of Roses.” - - * * * * * - -And later Sir John tells how he saw the Elder tree on the which Judas -hanged himself. And he tells of the Sycamore tree that Zaccheus the -dwarf climbed into. And of a plank of Noah’s ship that a monk, by the -Grace of God, brought down from Ararat. - -Then Sir John comes to Java on his wanderings, and by that isle is -another called Pathen, and here he saw wonderful trees, bearing bread, -and honey, and wine, and poison. Of the tree that bears the venom he -says: - -“And other trees that bear venom, against which there is no medicine, -but one; and that is to take their proper leaves and stamp them and -temper them with water, and then drink it, and else he shall die; for -triacle will not avail, ne none other medicine. Of this venom the Jews -had let seek of one of their friends for to empoison all Christianity, -as I have heard them say in their confession before their dying; but -thank be to Almighty God! they failed of their purpose; but always they -make great mortality of people.” - -Yet again Sir John has marvels of other countries, where are men -who—“when their friends be sick they hang them upon trees, and say that -it is better that birds that be angels of God eat them, than the foul -worms of the earth.” - -And near by is the isle of Calonak, where gardeners would indeed be -evily distressed by reason of the snail—“that be so great, that many -persons may lodge them in their shells, as men would do in a little -house.” - -By taking ship Sir John goes from isle to isle discussing the sights, -and arrives at length at an isle where—“be white hens without feathers, -but they bear white wool as sheep do here”; and he passes by Cassay, of -the greatest cities of the world, and goes from that city by water to an -abbey of monks. - -[Illustration: A ROSE GARDEN IN BERKSHIRE.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII - - OF THE ABBEY GARDEN - - -“From that city men go by water, solacing and disporting them, till they -come to an abbey of monks that is fast by, that be good religious men -after their faith and law. - -“In that abbey is a great garden and fair, where be many trees of -diverse manner of fruits. And in this garden is a little hill full of -delectable trees. In that hill and in that garden be many diverse -beasts, as of apes, marmosets, baboons, and many other diverse beasts. -And every day, when the convent of this abbey hath eaten, the almoner -let bear the relief to the garden, and he smiteth on the garden gate -with a clicket of silver that he holdeth in his hand; and anon all the -beasts of the hill and of the diverse places of the garden come out a -3,000 or a 4,000; and they come in guise of poor men, and men give them -the relief in fair vessels of silver, clean over-gilt. And when they -have eaten, the monk smiteth efftsoons on the garden gate with the -clicket, and then anon all the beasts return again to their places that -they come from. - -“And they say that these beasts be souls of worthy men that resemble in -likeness of those beasts that be fair, and therefore they give them meat -for the love of God; and the other beasts that be foul, they say be -souls of poor men and of rude commons.” - - * * * * * - -Many other marvels did Sir John see, of which I shall not tell; but he -writes always with his eye open and easy for miracles, and talks as a -gardener talks of strange flowers and fruit, as of gourds that when they -be ripe—“men cut them a-two, and men find within a little beast, in -flesh, and bone and blood, as though it were a little lamb without wool. -And men eat both the fruit and the beast. And that is a great marvel.” -Then he writes of the wonders of the country of Prester John, and of -trees there that men dare not eat of the fruit—“for it is a thing of -faerie.” - -Of Gatholonabes, he writes, and of the sham Garden of Eden he made, and -of the birds that—“sing full delectably and moved by craft.” The fairest -garden any man might behold it was. And of the men and girls clothed in -cloths of gold full richly, that he said were angels. - -And of Paradise he cannot speak, making towards the end of the book -confession. - -“Of Paradise ne can I not speak properly. For I was not there. It is far -beyond. And that forthinketh me. And also I was not worthy.” - -And so, after a little more, ends Sir John, and so I end, though I love -him. Yet I doubt some of his stories. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX - - THE OLYMPIAN ASPECT - - -There are many ways of regarding a garden of flowers; from the -utilitarian view it is a reasonable method of utilising a space of -ground for horticultural purposes, but I prefer to take the Olympian -view and quote from “The Poet’s Geography,” to the effect that a garden -of flowers is—“A collection of dreams surrounded by clouds.” - -At first sight the somewhat expansive imagery of this definition might -appear over-vague and unsatisfactory where a very definite question, -like a garden of flowers, is concerned. But, come to see it in a lofty -light, and at once its truth stands clear. A garden is the proper -adjunct of a house, and a house, fully said, is a dream come true, yet -still surrounded by the clouds of infinite possibilities. It is always -growing, is a true home. Like a flower it expands to every sweet whisper -of the wind. Like a flower it shuts at night, or opens to accept the -dew. It is something so elusive that only the garlands of love hold it -together. - -The garden, to the real house, is, like the dwelling, a place of the -most subtle fancies. Every flower there, every tree and each blade of -grass holds mystery and imagination. The Gods walk there. - -The flower beds (accepting the Olympian idea) are not mere collections -of flowering herbage, but are volumes of poetry growing in the sun. Take -your hedge of Sweet Peas, for example, and tell me what they are—no—tell -me who they are. There is a dream there if you like; and while you look -at them, and sniff them delicately, is not the fussy world shut off from -you by clouds. Sweet Peas are like a bevy of winsome girls all in their -everyday frocks, scented by an odour of virginity, something -indescribably refined after the manner of the flesh, and something lofty -in their removal from the earth after the way of the spirit. I wonder -how many people feel this. - -Take it more broadly in the true Olympian spirit. Take it that a house -and garden is an Olympus to each man and woman who is happy, and you -will see that your heaven for all its head in the clouds has its feet -upon the earth. Then what do the flowers mean? Lilies with pale faces -like a procession of nuns. Roses all queens of regal beauty. Violets to -whom the thrushes sing, deny it if you dare. Majestic Peonies. The -plants of soft and courtly wisdom, Thyme, Rosemary, Myrtle. Lavender, -the House-dame, prim, neat, beloved of bees and butterflies, Quakerishly -dressed in grey with a touch of unsectarian colour, yet vaguely an -ecclesiastical purple; rather slim, with full skirts, with the -suggestion that Cowslips are her bunches of keys, and the Dandelion her -clock. - -One could go on for ever. - -And then the gardener, like those half-immortals who worked for the -gods, or some like a god of old, even, with god-like grumbles, and -god-like simplicity. - -They are a strange race, these gardeners, given to unexpected meals, and -sudden appearances. - -“Walter!” - -And after that, from some fragrant bush, or waving forest of Asparagus, -a bronzed man stands erect, as if he had sprung from the bowels of the -earth, where he had been contemplating the mysteries of human weakness. - -And how amazed they are with us and our foibles and follies. We -remonstrate—a question of weeds, perhaps,—and are listened to with -incredulous wonder. - -“Weeds!” says the being, “weeds!” - -He emerges more completely from the bush, showing a hand occupied with a -lot of little twigs, and a knife rather like himself to look at—not too -sharp. - -As if a voice from the unknown had wafted over the desert, he stands in -wonder, looking reproachfully at those who have interrupted his toil. - -“The weather makes them grow.” Of course it does. We knew that. We did -not come here to call Walter to ask him what made weeds grow, but to -know why he had not weeded, at our special request, the Carnation -border. - -From a cavernous pocket in a much-mended pair of trousers of a shape -never designed by mortal hands, he produces a quantity of felt strips, -and some wall nails. - -We repeat our original suggestion, that the Carnation border is choked -with weeds. - -“So it be!” - -Then, after the great being has taken observations of the sky, causing -him to screw up one eye and wag his head sagely as if he had -communication with the unseen powers, he admits that he has been -watering the greenhouse. - -“The Vines take a deal o’time about now.” - -It would be useless to remark to this calm person that we found, only -yesterday, a dozen plants dying in the greenhouse, and all for want of -water. But, from a sort of foolhardy courage, we do say as much. - -“Yes,” says the immortal, “they need a power of water. A good drop is no -good.” - -We venture to remonstrate with him, saying, in a few well chosen words, -that it would be useful of him, then, to give them “a good watering -while he was about it.” - -He agrees at once. “It would do them a power of good.” - -Realising that we are drifting from the main grievance, we return hot to -the bed of Carnations. We admit to having but just this moment come from -weeding them ourselves, and in so saying we hope to make appeal to his -better nature. Nothing of the kind. - -“I noticed,” he says, “you sp’iled some of the layers where you’d a-been -treading.” - -When we have turned away defeated, he sinks again to his mysterious -task, and it seems that the ground swallows him. - -Then again, in the early morning, he seems to have had overnight talks -with Mercury, or Apollo, or whoever it is who arranges the weather, as -he invariably greets us with some curt sentence. - -“Rain afore noon,” or “Wind’ll be in the nor’west afore night.” Thereby -giving us to understand that he has been given a glass of nectar in some -lower servants’ hall in Olympus, and has picked up the gossip of what -Jupiter has decreed for the day. We feel, as he intends us to feel, -vastly inferior. In fact we have given way to a habit of asking his -advice on certain points, which has proved fatal. - -He doles out our fruit to us just as he likes, and we feel quite guilty -when we pick one of our own peaches from our own walls. - -“I see you pick a peach last night,” he says. “’Tisn’t for me to say -anything, but I was countin’ on giving you a nice dish NEXT week.” - -What is there to do but hang one’s head, and plead guilty? - -Boys are his pet aversion. Whether boys have in some way a fellowship -with the gods (which I suspect), or whether they are victoriously -antagonistic, it matters not. They are to the gardener so many creatures -whom he classes along with snails, bullfinches, rabbits and wasps as -“varmints.” - -One can hear him sometimes invoking a god of the name of Gum. “By Gum! -them young varmints a-been ’ere again. By Gum!” - -He then makes an offering to this god in the shape of a bonfire, the -smell of which is more than most scents for wonder. - -It is when Walter makes a bonfire that he is more god-like than ever. He -stands, a thick figure, deep in the chest, broad in the shoulder, by the -pile of dead leaves, twigs, and garden rubbish, the smoke enveloping him -in misty wreaths, and the sun flashing on his fork as he pitches fresh -fuel on the smouldering fire. A tongue of flame, greedily licking up -leaves and dry sticks, lights on his impassive face, and a quivering -orange streak along the muscles of his arms. We are fascinated by his -arms. They contain, I believe, the history of his mortal life and -ambitions, and are a key to his hidden emotions. - -On one arm is a ship under full sail, done in blue and red tattoo. Below -the ship is the word “Jane”; below that is a twist of rope. On the other -arm is a heart, the initials S.M., and an anchor. - -When we were young these two arms of Walter’s were an entire literature -to us. We read him first, I think, a pirate, very grim and horrible, and -we translated “S.M.” as Spanish Main. A little later we dropped the idea -of the pirate, and took to the notion that Walter had been (if he was -not still) a smuggler who landed cargoes of rum from the good ship -“Jane,” and deposited them with the landlord of the “Saucy Mariner.” It -is noticeable that we left out the heart in all these romances. Then, at -some impressionable moment, Walter became a seaman who had given his -heart to Sarah Mainwaring, which name we got from a man who had given us -a dog, and in spite of that we accepted it as fact. I think we once -descended so low as to think that the whole thing had no nautical -significance, and was a secret sign of some terrible society who met for -purposes of revenge. This, of course, was the result of contemporary -reading. - -Then came the great day upon which Walter was definitely asked what the -signs and pictures on his arms did mean. - -“Mind out,” was all the answer we got, and Walter retired with the -wheelbarrow to his citadel—the potting shed. - -It was tried again a little later, and this time met with a little -better response, because, I suppose, we had done more than half his -day’s work for him. - -“I had them done at a fair.” - -“And,” we asked breathlessly, “what was the ship?” - -“Two shillin’s,” he replied, “and I never regretted it. Money well -spent.” - -“Was she your ship?” - -“Mine?” said the god. - -“Was she the ship you were in when you were a sailor?” - -“Me?” said Walter. “I aint never been a sailor.” - -The blow was crushing. We retired hurt, amazed, incredulous. - -One day we tried the remaining arm, the one with S.M., the heart, and -the anchor emblazoned on it. - -“What does S.M. mean?” - -It was a moment of terrific suspense. We had drawn a mental picture of -some wonderful creature, half Princess, half like a schoolgirl, we -sighed after. The god was tying Carnations to wire spirals, and his -expression was limited, since he had a knife in his mouth. - -“S.M. on me arm,” he said, removing the knife. - -[Illustration: A SHEPHERD OF CONISTON.] - -We nodded mysteriously, full of breathless expectation. - -Walter began to smile. He stood up and surveyed us with his face alight -with the memory of some great day. To us he looked an heroic figure, -even despite the pieces of old drawing-room carpet tied to his knees -with string, and his very unkempt beard. - -“You won’t exactly understand,” he said, mopping his forehead. “But I -tell ’ee if you’ve got to mind some-at after a day at a fair, you’d be -fair mazed. I give my word to my mother as I’d a-put sixpence in a -raffle for to try to win her a sewing machine, and so when the fellow -was making they images on my arm, I sed to un, I sed, put me S.M., I -sed, so’s I’ll mind to put in the sewing machine raffle, I sed, or else -if so be as I don’t I shall get a slice of tongue pie when I do get home -along.” - -Our faces fell. Our hearts, full of romance, now became like lead. In -despair we put the last question, a forlorn hope in the storming of his -heart’s citadel. - -“And the other thing on your arms, Walter? The heart.” - -“Cooriosity killed a monkey,” said he. “Mind out, I’m going round the -corners.” - -So was our romance killed. “Going round the corners,” was Walter’s sign -that all conversation was closed. - -If one followed him “round the corners,” talk as one might, Walter -directed all his conversation to the flowers. To hear him address the -plants in the green-house was to think him indeed a god, who by some -magic spell turned the water in the can into a life-saving potion. -To-day we think that much of the soliloquy was done for our especial -benefit. - -“Just a wee drop, my pretty,” he would say to some flower. “Just a drink -with lunch. That’s right. Perk up now. By Gum, you do want your drop -regular, you ’ardened teetotaler. Hello, hello, what’s up with you? -Looks to me as if a snail had bided along o’ you too frequent.” - -His great hand, covered with ancient scars, would lift the leaves -tenderly, and search beneath for the offending snail which, when found, -would be held up to view. - -“Five-and-twenty tailors!” he would exclaim. - -He would be instantly corrected. “Four-and-twenty.” - -“You got your history wrong,” he used to say. - -We repeated - - Four-and-twenty tailors went to catch a snail, - And the best man among them dare not touch his tail. - -“Come the twenty-fifth,” Walter added. “That be I. So here goes, Master -Snail.” - -With that the snail was sharply crushed underfoot, and the soliloquy -continued. He is with us still, older in years, younger than ever in -heart, with the same immortal personality, the same atmosphere of -friendship with the gods about him. He listens to orders with a smile of -amusement, just as if he had been laughing about our ways only an hour -before with some inhabitant of an unseen world. He carried his own -peculiar atmosphere with him of indulgent superiority and -warm-heartedness combined, just as the tortoise carries his house on his -back. If that story is unknown by any chance, here it is. - - - JUPITER’S WEDDING - -When the toy had once taken Jupiter in the head to enter into a state of -matrimony, he resolved for the honour of his Celestial Lady, that the -whole world should keep a Festival upon the day of his marriage, and so -invited all living creatures, Tag-Rag and Bob-Tail, to the solemnity of -his wedding. They all came in very good time, saving only the Tortoise. -Jupiter told him ’twas ill done to make the Company stay, and asked him, -“Why so late?” “Why truly,” says the Tortoise, “I was at home, at my own -House, my dearly beloved House,” and House is Home, let it be never so -Homely. Jupiter took it very ill at his hands, that he should think -himself better in a Ditch than in a Palace, and so he passed this -Judgment upon him: that since he would not be persuaded to come out of -his House upon that occasion, he should never stir abroad again from -that Day forward without his House upon his head. - - * * * * * - -This, as may be seen at once, is the Olympian aspect not only of the -house, but of the garden as well. We mortals do carry our Homes with us, -breathing a closer, less free air than the air of Olympus, when the -reigning monarch has merely to take a toy in the head to enter into a -state of matrimony. We, tortoise-like, are bound and tied by a thousand -pleasant associations to our plot of earth and our patch of stars. -Sooner than attend the ceremonies of the greatest, we linger by our -house and in our garden, so that though we may not boast with the great -world and say that we know “Dear old Jove,” or “that charming wife of -his, Juno,” still we know that we live on the slopes of Olympus, and -have a number of charming flowers for society. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - X - - EVENING RED AND MORNING GREY - - -Your old-fashioned man with a care to his garden will look through the -quarrel of his window to spy weather signs. This quarrel, the -lozenge-pane of a window made criss-cross, shows in its narrow frame a -deal of Nature’s business, day and night. For your gardener it takes the -part of club window, weather glass and eye hole onto his world. Through -it day and night he reviews the sky and the trees, the wind, the moon -and the stars. When he rises betimes there’s the sky for him to read. -When he returns for his tea there in the pane is the sunset framed. When -he goes to bed the moon rides past and the friendly stars twinkle. - -No man is asked his opinion of the weather so much as the gardener, -except, may be, the shepherd; both men having, as it were, a -Professorship in weather given to them by the Public. It is they who -have given rise to, or even, perhaps, invented the rhymes by which they -go. - - Evening red and morning grey, - Send the traveller on his way; - But evening grey and morning red, - Send the traveller wet to bed. - -There is a verse full of ripe experience. The evening sun glows red -through the lozenge-panes and into the cottage, lights up with sparks of -crimson fire the silver lustre ornaments, makes the furniture shine -again, gives the brass candlesticks a finger lick of fire, shines ruddy -on the tablecloth, and flashes back a friendly scarlet message from the -square of looking-glass. On the deep window ledge stand a row of ruddled -flower pots in which fine geraniums grow, behind them a tidy muslin -curtain stretches across the window on a tape, on the sides of the -window are hung a photograph or two, an almanac, and a picture cut from -a seed catalogue, above hangs a canary in a small cage. Only the -narrowest slip of window is clear, not more than one clear pane, and it -is through this that the evening sun streams into the cottage room. In -the morning when our friend rises, if he finds the room flooded with a -clear grey light, a light matching the silver lustre jugs, then he -quotes his verse, to be sure, and passing his neighbour says, “A fine -day, to-day.” - - 2 - - A rainbow in the morning - Is the shepherd’s warning - But a rainbow at night - Is the shepherd’s delight. - -That sign is for the shepherd and the traveller by night, since no -ordinary being is expected to watch for rainbows by night to the -detriment of his night’s rest and his morning temper. But the shepherd -must keep a keen eye to such signs, and marks, day and night, all the -little movements of Nature, to learn her whims. As for instance, the -signs of bad weather to come: - - 1 - - That swallows will fly low and swiftly when the upper air is - charged with moisture for then insects fly low also. - - 2 - - That the cricket will sing sharply. - -This last, of course, in wet countries, for in dry places, as in meadows -under southern mountains, there is a perfect orchestra of rasping -crickets in the grass. But in the north, on the most silent and golden -days, they say that the chirrup of a cricket foretells rain. Just as -they say: - - 3 - - As hedgehogs do foresee evening storms - So wise men are for fortune still prepared. - -This they say, because the story runs that a hedgehog builds a nest with -the opening made to face the mildest quarter thereabout, and the back to -the most prevalent wind. - -Again, and this a sign everybody knows: - - 4 - - That distant hills look near. - -As indeed they do before rain, and many times one hears—“such a place is -too clear to-day”—or, “One can see such a land much too well,” and this -means near rain. - -Like the swallows so do rooks change their flight before rain, and so, -also, do plover, for it is noticed: - - 5 - - That rooks will glide low on the wind, and drop quickly. And - plover fly in shape almost as a kite and will not rise high, one - or two of the flock being posted sentinels at the tail of the - kite formation. - -Then, if the shepherd is near to a dew-pit, or any water meadow, or -passing by a roadside ditch he will notice: - - 6 - - That toads will walk out across the road. And frogs will change - colour before a storm, losing their bright green and turning to - a dun brown. - -To all of these signs with their significance of coming rain your -shepherd will give a proper prominence in his mind, marking one, and -then searching for another until he is certain. His first clue on any -hilly ground is: - - 7 - - That sheep will not wander into the uplands but keep browsing in - the plain. - -Having taken note of this he turns to plants, particularly to his own -weather glass, the Scarlet Pimpernel, as he sees: - - 8 - - That the Pimpernel closes her eye. That the down will fly from - off the dandelion, the colts-foot, and from thistles though - there be no wind. - -Of night signs there are many, but chiefly: - - 9 - - That glowworms shine very bright. - - 10 - - That the new moon with the old moon in her lap comes before - rain. - - 11 - - That if the rainbow comes at night - Then the rain is gone quite. - - 12 - - Near bur, far rain. - -This of the bur, or halo, to be seen at times about the moon. - -For a last thing they say: - - 13 - - On Candlemas Day if the sun shines clear, - The shepherd had rather see his wife on the bier. - - * * * * * - -Our friend, the weather-wise gardener,—and, by the way, there is the -unkind saying: - - Weatherwise, foolish otherwise— - -has several things in his neighbourhood to tell him of coming rain, as: - - 1 - - That heliotrope and marigold flowers close their petals. - - 2 - - That ducks will make a loud and insistent quacking. - - 3 - - That—so they say—the cat will sit by the fire and clean her - whiskers. - - 4 - - That the tables and chairs will creak. - - 5 - - That dogs will eat grass. - - 6 - - That moles will heave. - -In the garden he too will observe the birds, more especially that pert -friend to all gardeners, the robin. For they say: - - If the robin sings in the bush - Then the weather will be coarse; - But if the robin sings in the barn - Then the weather will be warm. - -[Illustration: A DOVECOTE IN A SUSSEX GARDEN.] - -I must confess that I have not found this come true of robins, any more -than I have found waterwag-tails coming on the lawn to be a harbinger of -rain, or that thrushes eat more snails than worms in the dry season. Of -this last I get enjoyment enough, for there is a stone in my garden to -which the fat thrushes come dragging snails. They give them a mighty -heave, and down come the snails, “crack” on the stone, until the shell -is burst asunder and the delicious morsel is down Master Thrush’s gullet -in the twinkling of an eye. The thrush is certainly my favourite garden -bird, both for his looks and his song, and the blackbird I like least, -for they are bundles of nerves, screaming away at the slightest -suggestion of danger. The robin is a fine impudent fellow and friendly -in a truly greedy way, following the smallest suggestion of digging with -an eye for a good dinner, so that if you are only pulling the earth up -in weeding you will have the brisk little gentleman at your elbow, head -cocked on one side, and an eye of the greatest intelligence sharply -fixed on you. Pigeons I regard as an absolute nuisance, their voices -sentimental to a degree, in this way quite at variance with their -selfish, greedy and destructive characters. So they say: - - If the pigeons go a benting - Then the farmers lie lamenting. - -Starlings are very handsome birds but as they live in congregations, or -like regiments, one can have no personal feeling for them, though I love -to watch them on winter evenings when they come in thousands from the -fields and fly to their roosting place, making the air rustle with the -quick beat of their wings. - -The bullfinch is a gardener’s enemy, for he will strip the fruit buds -from a tree out of pure wantonness, and yet he is a brave bird and nice -to see about. - -All the small birds give one joy though they be robbers or enemies to -young plants, or bee eaters like the blue-tit, or strawberry robbers, or -drainpipe chokers like the house-sparrows, or murderers of the summer -peace like the woodpecker with his quick insistent “tap, tap.” - -In royal and fine gardens, of course, one must have two birds; the -peacock and the owl, for these two give all the air of romance needful, -though I have never myself regarded the peacock as a King of birds, for -he makes too much of a show of himself, and his wife is a humble -creature. I feel, rather, that he is a courtier strutting up and down -waiting the King’s pleasure; a place-seeker, one who will cheer the side -that pays. As for the owl, that dusky guardian of secrets, he is a far -more solid and trustworthy fellow than the gay peacock, and though he -snores in the daytime, his great round yellow eyes are open at the least -sound in his haunt. - -This is far afield from the weather, so let us give the remaining saying -of birds that the gardener may notice. - - November ice that bears a duck - Brings a winter of slush and muck. - -That I hold to be very true. - -There are still one or two rhymes that should be well noted, three of -the rain. - - 1 - - When it rains before seven - It will cease before eleven. - - 2 - - March dry, good rye - April wet, good wheat. - - 3 - - If the ash before the oak - Then we are in for a soak. - But if the oak before the ash - We shall get off with a splash. - -Then they say: - - Between twelve and two - You’ll see what the day will do. - -And again: - - Cut your thistles before St. John - You will have two to every one. - -And, - - The grass that grows in Janiveer - Grows no more all the year. - -And also: - - That flower seeds sown on Palm Sunday will come up double. - - * * * * * - -These are all very well, and what with one thing and another will come -true, at least as true as the rhyme that says: - - A mackerel sky - Is very wet, or very dry. - -Still it is really to the wind that the gardener looks most, and if he -have a weathercock in his garden (which with a sundial, a rain gauge, -and an outside thermometer he should always have) he will note each turn -of the wind. If he has no weathercock then he will read the wind by the -smoke of chimneys, or the turn of the leaves of trees. - -And, after regarding the wind, he may remember this: - - When it rains with the wind in the east, - It rains for twenty four hours at least. - -And this also: - - When the wind is in the south, - ’Tis in the rain’s mouth; - When the wind is in the east - ’Tis neither good for man nor beast. - -This weather lore is naturally gleaned out of many years, some of the -sayings being of real antiquity, others, perhaps, newly coined, though I -fancy not. In spite of them you will find every gardener has a different -manner of reading the sky and the wind, some having it that mares-tails -in the sky come after great storms, others that they are the portent of -a gale. Some, if asked will reply to a question on the weather: - -“With these frostises o’ nights, and the wind veered roun’ apint west, -and taking into consideration the time o’ year, and the bad -harvest”—then follows a long look into the heavens—“I don’t say but what -’er won’t rain, but then again, I dunno, perhaps come the breeze keeps -off, us mighten have quite a tidy drop.” This you are at liberty to -translate which way you choose, since the advice is generally followed -by a portentous wink, or, at least, some motion of an eyelid curiously -like it. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XI - - GARDEN PROMISES - - -It is Winter, and when it is winter the earth is very secret, but it -lies like pie-crust promises waiting to be broken. A little graveyard of -the tombs of seeds and bulbs spreads before one’s eyes. Each tomb has a -nice headstone of white with the name of the buried life below written -upon it. The virtues of the buried are not written in so many words, but -their names suffice for that. In my imagination I see my graveyard like -this: - - HERE LIES BURIED - A - ROSE COLOURED TULIP - WHO CAME ACROSS THE SEAS - FROM THE KINGDOM - OF - HOLLAND - UNDER THIS EARTH - SHE - AND ONE HUNDRED OF HER SISTERS - ARE WAITING FOR THE SPRING - WHEN THEY WILL UNFOLD THEMSELVES - FROM THEIR LONG SLEEP AND ADORN - WITH THEIR PLEASANT FACES THE SOUTH - BORDER FACING THE STUDY WINDOW - -That I see most clearly written over the spot where I tucked the hundred -and one beautiful sisters in their bed of rich brown earth, and I am -looking for the time when the graveyard shall begin to be green with the -shafts of their first leaves. Besides these, there are the headsticks to -the Carnations, but this patch of the graveyard is different since the -tufts of Carnation grass make long grey lines against the brown earth. -Somewhere, in each of these grey tufts, is hidden the beautiful germ of -life that is growing, growing all the time, and the wonderful chemical -process is at work there (for all the plants look so silent and quiet), -that is mixing colours and rejecting colours, and is secreting wax, and -preparing perfume. Of all moments in a garden this is to me the most -wonderful. No glory of colour or variety of shape; no pageant of ripe -Summer, or tender early day of Spring appeals to me quite in the way -this silent time does, when a thousand unseen forces are at work. I have -often wondered (being quite ignorant of the chemical side of this) what -happens to that drop of fresh colour the bee brings like a careless -artist flicking a brush. Sometimes in a Carnation of pure white, one -flower, or two, will show a crimson streak—a sport, one calls it. But -more curious still is the fringe edge of the Picotee. How, I have often -asked myself, does the colour edge find its way to its proper place? How -does the plant manage to produce just enough of that one colour to go -round each of its flowers? I have stood by a row of these plants that I -have just planted in some new bed, and wondered at the amazing industry -going on within them. They are fighting disease, supplying themselves -with proper nourishment, mixing colours, and building buds and stems. It -is a regular dockyard of a place except that there is no sound. I -imagine (quite wrongly, but merely because an instinct causes me to do -so) a lot of orderly forces like little drilled men hard at work in -green-grey suits. Those who work underground are not in green but are in -white, but should they go above the surface they would change colour -owing to contact with the light, and this is due to the presence of a -matter called chlorophyll in the cells which gives plants their green -colour. - -The underground workers are hard at it always, getting water from the -ground, and in this water are gases and minerals dissolved. The workmen -send this up to those in the leaves. Those who work in the leaves are -taking in supplies of carbonic acid gas from the air, and the leaves -themselves are so formed as to get as much light as possible on one -surface. When the light meets with the carbonic acid gas in the leaves -starch is formed. This is distributed through the plant to the actual -builders. - -You stand over the row of Carnations all silent, all still, and yet here -is this tremendous activity going on, building, distributing, selecting, -rejecting. A thousand workmen making a flower. - -The two sets of workers, in the roots and leaves, the one sending up -water and nitrogenous matter, the other making starch, are manufacturing -albumenoids for more building material. And it is more easy to think of -such creatures at work since a plant, unlike an animal, has no stomach, -or heart, or bloodvessels, and its food is liquid and gaseous. - -Now of these marvels the greatest is that of the existence of life in -the plant on exactly the same initial principles as the existence of -life in man. That is the substance known as the protoplasm. It is too -amazing for me, and too great a thing to be dealt with here, but, as I -look at my silent dockyard, there are these protoplasms, in the cells of -these plants, dividing into halves and, so to speak, nestling with fresh -cells in walls of cellulose. - -Think of the work actually going on beneath our eyes in the one matter -of the starch factory in the plant, where the chlorophyll (the green -colouring matter) separates the carbon from the carbonic acid, returns -the oxygen to the air, and mingles the carbon and the oxygen and the -hydrogen in the water and so makes this starch. - -All this goes on when we open our windows of a morning and look out over -the garden and see just a grey line of Carnations we planted over-night. -The workers at the roots who are so busily engaged in sending up water, -are also sending with it all those things the plant needs that they can -get from the earth. Thus the water may contain iron, nitrogen, sulphur, -and potash. All that goes from the roots to the leaves is called sap. -This, when it comes to the leaves and all parts of the plant exposed to -the light, transpires, and so keeps the plant cool. - -The stem, on which the supreme work, the flower, will be born, is, in -the case of our Carnations, divided into nodes and internodes, the nodes -being those solid elbows one sees. It is towards the supreme work that -our eyes are turned. It is part, if not chief part, of the pleasure of -our vigil to look forward to the day when the first faint colour shows -in the bursting bud. It is for this moment that we wait and wear out the -chill of Winter. It is towards the idea of a resurrection that our -thoughts, perhaps unconsciously, are fixed, to the knowledge that our -garden is to be born again, fresh and new in colour, in warmth and -sunshine. The very secret workings going on before our eyes, all that -Heavenly workshop where none are ’prentices and all are master-hands, -where the bee, and the ant, and the unseen insect in the air, go about -their exact duties, give one, as Autumn declines into Winter and Winter -rouses into Spring, some vague conjecture of the mighty magic of the -growing world, where no particle of energy is ever wasted. - -[Illustration: A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE GARDEN.] - -Life in the Winter takes on this aspect of waiting wonderment. While the -rivers are in flood, and the fields are ruled with silver lines where -the ditches are full, and the Sun uses them for a mirror; while the -gulls are driven inland and follow the plough, and the starlings -congregate in the open fields, we prepare our pageant of flowers against -those days when the slumber of the earth is over, and the now purple -hedgerows are alive with tender green. St. Francis of Assisi impressed -the very sentiment on his friars, in bidding them make scented gardens -of flower-bearing herbs to remind them of Him who is called “The Lily of -the Valley,” and “The Flower of the World.” - -So goes my workshop through the winter days, while a few pale ghosts of -late Roses linger on the trees, sighing doubtless to themselves, like -old gentlemen—“Ah, I remember this place before Autumn pulled down all -the green leaves, and long before all that ground was laid out for seed -plots.” And all the while my Roses are growing and, could one see into -the colour chambers of the trees, into those wonderful studios hidden in -the tiny cells, one would see these artists at work rivalling the blush -of morning, the flames of fire, the white soul of innocence, the crimson -of king’s robes, and the orange flush of sunset. There are men, I -suppose, who know to a certain extent how the secretion of these -wonderful colours is arranged; why this or that colour runs to flush a -petal to the edge, or stays to dye only the flower’s heart. But it will -ever be a marvel to me to see how these veins flow crimson, those hold -orange, and those again hold a rich yellow. The work that creates the -colour of a Pansy, that gives to the Sweet Peas those soft tints, that -shapes and colours the trumpet flower of the Convolvulus, and builds the -long horn of the sweet-scented Eglantine, gives one a joy to which few -joys are equal, and a feeling of security with the great unknown things -by which life is encompassed. - -Looking again at the garden of promises, and thinking of it still as a -graveyard with headstones, I see one which is, to me, particularly -pleasant. It is by an old bush of lavender, the mother bush of my long -hedge; I read it to be written like this: - - HERE LIES - IMPRISONED IN THIS GREY BUSH - THE SCENT OF - LAVENDER - IT IS RENOWNED FOR A SIMPLE PURITY - A SWEET FRAGRANCE AND A SUBTLE - STRENGTH IT IS THE ODOUR OF - THE DOMESTIC VIRTUES AND THE - SYMBOLIC PERFUME OF A QUIET LIFE - RAIN - SHALL WEEP OVER THIS BUSH - SUN - SHALL GIVE IT WARM KISSES - WIND - SHALL STIR THE TALL SPIKES - UNTIL SUCH TIME AS IS REQUIRED - WHEN IT SHALL FLOWER AND SO - YIELD TO US ITS SECRET - -There stands the bush all neatly tied, its venerable head at the moment -covered with a powdering of fine snow, and round it the first sharp -spears of Crocus leaves show, and the fat buds of Snowdrops, and the -ready bud of the yellow Aconite. All the garden is waiting, the -Pea-sticks are prepared, the paths have been cleaned, and I am waiting -and watching the little things. The trees even now are whispering that -it will soon be Spring, for all they look from a distance like a -collection of dried and pressed roots sticking up in the air, how they -are drawn in purple ink against the sky; but one day my eyes will see a -faint haze over them as if a little mist hung about them and was caught -in the branches, and then they will change so quietly that it is -impossible to tell quite when they began to look like very delicate -green feathers, and then they will change so suddenly that it is a shock -to one’s eyes to find them in a full flush of sticky bud and leaf, and -one says in accents of delighted surprise, “Why, the trees are out!” - -Not every one takes pleasure in a garden during the Winter time, many -regarding it as a chill and a desolate place in itself, and taking only -an interest in the green-houses and the Violet frames; and few would -find a pleasure in washing flower-pots by the dozen on a rainy day, and -in putting fresh ashes on the paths, and in banking up Celery. But to -the keen gardener every inch of work in his garden is full of interest, -he realises the daily value of each thing he does, he knows of that -great silent work that is going on so near him, and so enjoys even the -burnishing of a spade, the rolling of lawns, and loves, as I think every -one does, the surgical work of pruning the fruit trees. - -Then, when the promise is fulfilled, and the world is full of green and -colour, the wondrous alchemy of the Winter months shows its result in -the glorious painting of the flowers of Spring and Summer. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XII - - GARDEN PATHS - - -You can get no symbol finer than a path, no symbol is more used. Of -necessity a path must begin somewhere and have a destination. Of -necessity it must cross certain country, overcome obstacles, or go round -them. By nature you come at new views from a path and so obtain fresh -suggestions. A path entails labour, and by labour ease. It must have a -purpose, and so must originate in an inspiration. And yet the man who -makes a path ignores, as a rule, the high importance of his task. - -It is a peculiar thing that paths made across fields, and made by the -very people whose business it is to reach from point to point in the -shortest possible time, are never straight. Their very irregularities -reflect the nature of man more than the nature of the ground they cross. - -So unmethodical is man by instinct that if he were to lay out a garden -in the same frame of mind in which he crosses a field, that garden would -abound in twisted, tortuous paths, beds of irregular shapes, spasmodic -arrangements of trees, flowers, shrubs and vegetables, a veritable -hotch-potch. To overcome that he imprisons the wanderings of his mind, -divides his garden into regular shapes, and drives his paths pell-mell -from point to point as straight as his eye and a line will allow him. -This planning of a garden is an absorbing joy. To come new to a fresh -place untouched by any other hand and to work your will on it gives one -all the delights of conquest, and the pleasant fatigue of a war in which -you are bound to win. You can make your own traditions, founding them -for future ages—as, for instance, you may so plant your trees as to -force one view on the attention. You can emulate Rome and carry your -paths straight and level. In fact, that little new world is yours to -conquer. - -To me a winding path offers the more alluring prospect, just as it is -more pleasant to walk on a winding road where each turn opens out a -fresh vista, and the coming of every hidden corner is in the way of an -adventure. I have just made such a path. - -To be precise my path is eighteen feet long and two feet and a quarter -wide. It curves twice, really in a sort of courteous bow in avoiding a -Standard Rose tree, and begins and ends in a little low step of Box; -this to prevent the cinders of which it is made from mingling with -gravel of the paths into which it runs. - -I began it on a Monday. It is made through a Rose bed that was too wide -to work properly. At about nine in the morning the gardener and I stood -regarding the unconscious Rose-bed with much the same gravity as men -might regard a range of hills through which a tunnel was to be drilled. - -I said, “This seems the best place to make a path through the bed.” - -The gardener made a serpentine movement with his hand to indicate the -possible curve of the path and replied, after an interval: that such a -place seemed as good as any. - -We then, with a certain lightening of heart after this tremendous -thought, walked into the bed and surveyed it. This tree would have to be -moved, and that one, and these half standards shifted. Good. It should -be done. - -It seems that the earth requires a little ceremonial even when the -merest scratch is to be made on her surface. I am sure we wheeled a -barrow containing spades, a line, and sticks with some feeling of -processional pride. The gardener then, having come to a stop with the -barrow, spat, very solemnly on his hands. It appeared to be the exact -form of ritual required. In a few minutes we had pegged a way. - -I suppose a spade is the first implement of peace ever made by human -kind. It is certainly the pleasantest to hold. A rake is a more -dandified affair, a hoe not so well-formed. The scythe and the sickle -have a store of poetry and legend about them, but the rake and the hoe -contain no romantic virtues. Although the plough is the recognised -implement of peace in symbolical language, it joins hands with war in -that same language—“turning their swords into ploughshares”—and so loses -much of its peaceful meaning, but the spade remains always the sword of -the man of peace, one weapon by which he conquers the ground and makes -the earth yield her fruits. For me the spade. - -The gardener, having spat upon his hands regarded the earth and sky as -if to mark and measure the earth and the heavens, and them to witness -his first cut. The spade, lifted for a moment, drove deep into the -earth. The soil, pressed by the steel, turned. A new path was begun. How -long is it to last? - -There are garden paths, so commenced, have made history in their day, -why not mine? Kings, Princes, Lords, Queens, Maids of Honour, spies and -honourable men have trodden garden paths, measuring their small length -and discussing everything in the states of Love or Country to come to -some decision. The Poppies Tarquin slew gave their message. The Pinks -that Michonis brought to Marie Antoinette grew by some garden path; that -very bunch of Pinks in which lay a note promising her safety, brought -her death more near. What comedies, what tragedies, vows made and -broken, kisses stolen and repented, have not had for platform just such -a path as mine. - -At the first hint of broken soil a robin, pert and ready, took up a -position on a bare limb of Penzance Briar, and began to eye us merrily -just as if he, I and the garden were all out for a day’s worm hunting. - -Said I, “Dick, we are out to make a garden path, incidentally to make -history.” For I had my idea of the “History of Paths” well at the back -of my mind. - -The robin replied (or as good as replied), “If it’s history you’re -after, it’s insects I’m here for, so we’ll come at a bargain.” - -Meanwhile the gardener turned another clod. - -Said the robin, “I never saw any one so slow.” - -Slow as we might have been we were quick enough in imagination. For one -thing there was the question of edging. Tiles, bricks, box, stones, -which was it to be? - -Half-way down the trench we had made, just at the acute point of the -greater curve, the gardener propounded the question of the edging. He -leaned on his spade, and turning to me asked if I had thought to -something to edge the path with. Now my thoughts were far away from that -idea and were hovering like butterflies over a vision of the Path -Complete. I saw, for Springtime, a row of Daffodils nodding and yellow -in the breeze. For Summer I saw Carnations gleaming richly, and the -Roses all blooming. Overhead the driven sky hung out blue banners of -distress as if signalling for fine weather. Plumb to earth my thoughts -came. - -“About something to edge with?” - -Almost before I had time to speak, he continued. I had begun with the -word, “Box.” - -Every one knows what it is to come on the rocks in the soil of a -gardener’s mind. It is, as a rule, some old idea taken deep root which -forms a rock of resistance. Sometimes it is a rock idea about taking -Geranium cuttings, sometimes an idea about the time for pruning fruit -trees or the method of pruning them, sometimes it concerns certain -plants which he refuses to allow will live in the garden and so lets -them die. One is never quite certain when or how the objection will -arise. I had sent out a feeler for Box and I struck a rock. - -“Box!!” he said in a voice of awe, as if the gods overhearing would be -angry. “Where am I to get Box from? And if I was to get Box, Box don’t -grow so high,”—he held his hand a mustard seed height from the -ground—“not in ten years. It’s awkward stuff, Box, to deal with. In a -garden this size that needs an extra man—and plenty of work for a boy -too, when all these leaves is about—growing hedges of Box or what not is -not possible. Not that I have anything to say against Box, far from it. -No. It looks well in some places, but if you was to ask me, sir, I think -it’ud be the ruin of this Rosebed.” - -Said the robin to me, “The man’s mad.” - -I answered quickly, “It was merely a sudden idea of mine.” - -He relapsed into silence for a moment. Then he said, “flints.” - -I knew it was to be a battle. I hate flints. Nasty, ugly, tiresome -eyesores. Gardeners love flints just as many of them love Laurels and -Ivy. - -[Illustration: A PATH IN A ROSE GARDEN.] - -I said very rashly, “But where are we to get flints?” - -Of course I should have known that he had a cartload of flints up his -sleeve. He scraped his boots, walked away, and returned with a jagged -thing like one petrified decayed tooth of a mammoth. This he thrust into -the ground, and then surveyed it with pride. - -“That,” he said, “is something like.” - -“Something like what?” said I. - -“A double row of these,” he said, “with here and there one of a -different colour would never be equalled.” - -I agreed with him sarcastically. “Never,” said I, “would they be -equalled for utter hideousness. Far be it from me,” I said, “to fill the -hearts of my neighbours with envy of this border.” - -“You don’t care for them?” - -“Chuck it at him,” said the robin. - -“I wouldn’t be seen dead in a path bordered with flints,” I said. - -More in sorrow than in anger he removed the offending flint, and we -resumed work. The last time we had used bricks for an edging they had -all cracked with the frost, so that idea was left alone. Not, of course, -that all bricks crack, but the bricks about here seem to be very soft. - -I asked if we had any tiles. - -He knew of some tiles, a lot of them, nearly buried in the earth and -covered with Moss. They were an old line running by the path inside the -wall by the paddock; the path by the rubbish heap. - -“But,” he said, having the rout of the flints in his mind, “it would -take a man all day to dig them up, and scrape them and wash them, and -then he couldn’t say they would be any use when it was done. And in a -garden where an extra man——” - -“I will do it myself.” - -“Fight it out,” said the robin. - -More or less in silence, and really in excellent tempers, we finished -the trench that was to receive the cinders and ashes. - -I washed the tiles. There were exactly ninety of them required. I -started to wash them in the cold water of a stable bucket, and I -regarded each one as a thing of beauty as I did it. After having done -forty I began to think it would be a good thing to give prisoners to do -to teach them discipline. After seventy, I decided to recommend that -particular form of torture to some Chinese official. By the time I had -finished I felt that some medal should be struck to commemorate the -event. - -The gardener, at the close of that day, looked at my heap of tiles. - -I said, “I have finished them.” - -He replied, “I was just coming to lend a hand.” - -To which, as I was not going to let the sun go down upon my wrath, I -answered, “Thank you.” - -I think an ash-heap is the most desolate object I know. The dreary -remains of burnt-out fires make a melancholy sight, but I remember that -as a child that corner of the garden where stood the heaps of ashes and -ancient rubbish was as the mines of Eldorado to me. Here, if one dug -deeply enough, one found pieces of broken pottery, in themselves equal, -by power of imagination, to any discovery of Roman remains. To the -whitened bones I found I gave names, building from them adventures more -lurid than those of Captain Kydd. To the ashes I gave gold and jewels, -delving as if in a mine, sifting, with childlike seriousness, the heap -of fire slack, and coming on some bright bit of glass that shone for me -like a kingly diamond, I held it to the light and renewed the ardour of -my soul in its gleaming rays. After all, are not pieces of broken glass -as beautiful as many jewels if they are self-discovered and lit by the -light of joy? That corner of the garden, hidden by shrubs, by -low-growing nut trees and shaded by ancient Elms, has been for me the -Forest of Arden, of Sherwood, the deeps of the Jungle, an ambush, a -hiding-place, a tree covered island, each in its turn absolutely -satisfying to my mind. The sun’s rays shooting down through the branches -have found me seated, dirty, dishevelled, but incomparably happy,—a King -with an ash heap for a throne. - -To an ash heap, then, I repaired on the following day, there to gather -loads of cinders and slack for my garden path. Already in my mind the -Roses bloomed by the path side; the tiles, evenly set, were leaned -against by blue-eyed Violas; Carnations waved gorgeous heads at my feet. - -My friend the robin was there betimes and took upon himself to sing a -little song to cheer me. After that, with his bright eyes glinting, he -hopped upon the bed and inspected my labours. - -The gardener coming upon me glanced at the row of neatly placed tiles. - -“I’m glad I thought o’ they,” he said. - -“Hit him,” the robin chirruped. - -“You think they look well?” said I. - -“As soon as I thought of they tiles,” he answered, “I knew I’d a thought -of a grand thing.” - -So he took all the idea to himself, and went on solemnly pounding down -the cinders with a heavy stone fastened onto a stick. - -And now the path is finished, and curves smooth and sleek between the -Rose trees, and answers firmly to the tread. All day long I have been -planting cuttings of Violas alongside the path; and behind them are rows -of Carnations. - -I wonder who will walk upon my path in a hundred years time, and if by -then they, whoever they be, will think our methods of gardening very -old-fashioned and odd. And I wonder if we shall seem at all quaint to -people who will come after us, and if our clothes will be regarded as -odd and wonderfully ugly. - -Once, I remember, I saw into the past in such a vivid way that I still -feel as if I were living out of my date by living now. It was on the -occasion of some fête in the country which was to be held in some big -gardens. Certain ladies were presiding over an entertainment that set -out to represent a series of Eighteenth Century booths. The daughter of -the house where I was stopping had spent time, money, and taste in -getting very accurate and beautiful dresses of about 1745. They wore -these, powdered their hair, and placed patches on their cheeks, and -prepared baskets of lavender tied up in bundles to sell at the fair. - -I saw them one morning start for the place where the fair was to be -held. They came into the garden all dressed and in white caps, and they -walked arm-in-arm down a path bordered with Pinks and overhung with -Roses, and the sun gleamed on their flowered gowns and on their powdered -hair. I could almost hear them say—“La, Mistress Barbara, but I protest -it is a fine morning.” There was nothing incongruous in sight, just -these walking flowers passing the banks of Roses, pink as their cheeks, -and the Pinks white as their powdered hair. I felt at my side for my -sword, and put up my hand to my neck to smooth the fall of my lace -ruffles, but, alas, nor sword nor lace was there. - -In the ordering of paths such as I have written there are many ways, and -some are for paths all of grass, and some for tiles, and some for flags -of stone, some for gravel, and some for brick laid herring-bone ways. -Each has its proper and appointed place, as, for instance, that flags of -stone are proper by a balustrade where are also stone jars to hold -flowers and stone seats arranged. And brick, which of all the others I -most prefer, as it is more warm to look at and helps the garden by its -rich colour, is good in intimate small gardens as well as in big, and -gives a feeling of cosiness to old-fashioned borders, and is nice near -to the house, and is good to set tubs for trees on, or tubs filled with -gay flowers. Of grass paths, in that they are soft and inviting, I like -them well enough, but they are wet underfoot after rain and dew, and -need a deal of care and trimming; but in such cases as small set gardens -with queer-shaped beds and low Box borders, I mean bulb gardens, to be -afterwards used for carpet bedding or for a show of some one thing, as -Begonias, or Zinnias, or Carnations, they are without equal. They should -be kept very precious, and well free of weeds, otherwise their beauty is -gone and they have a lack-lustre air, very uncomfortable. As for gravel, -it is a good thing in place where the ground is low and moist, for it -will remain dry better than anything if it is properly rolled and well -made. Often it is not properly curved and drained, and Moss and weeds -collect at the sides, whereby your garden will seem unkempt and dull. -Indeed the garden paths are of supreme importance to the appearance of -your garden, as if they be left dirty, or covered with leaves or moss -they will spoil all the neat brightness of the flowers, and are apt to -look like an unbrushed coat on a man otherwise well dressed. This is -especially the case with broad paths and drives. How often one has -judged of a gardener by the appearance of his drive! The first glance -from the gate up the drive will give you a fair guess at the gardener -and his methods, and you can tell at once if he be a man of decent and -tidy habits, or a man to leave odd corners dirty and full of weeds. That -last man is just such an one as will burnish up his place on the eve of -a garden party, and give everything a lick and a promise, and will stand -by his greenhouses with an expression on his face of an holy cherub when -the visitors are being shown his stove plants. That man will be for ever -complaining of overwork and will wear a face as long as a fiddle if he -is asked pertinent questions of unweeded paths. “Such a work,” he will -say, “should be done by an extra boy. As for me, am I not by day and by -night protecting the peas from the birds, and the dahlias from earwigs, -and the melons from the ravages of slugs?” And you may know from this -that he is the type of man who loses grape scissors, and who leaves bast -about, and mislays his trowel, and neglects to give water to your -favourite plants, so that they wither and die. No. Look well that you -get a man who is fond of keeping himself clean, and he will keep his -paths clean, as is the case in a man I know who started a fruit garden -in the country. He, it was, who showed me his men working on a Saturday -afternoon at cleaning up the paths. And when I stood amazed at this he -took me into the shed where the tools were kept, and there I saw spades -shining like silver, and forks burnished wonderfully, and everything -very orderly. I clapped my hands, and looked round still in wonder, for -I marvelled to see such neatness and order in a place that is the shrine -of disorder—as tool sheds, potting sheds, and the like, which are a -medley of stick, earth, leafmould, old pricking-out boxes, tools, wire, -and other miscellaneous objects. And I marvelled still more to see -through the open door men at work—on the afternoon devoted to -holiday—picking leaves from the paths, and setting the place in order. - -I said, “This is well done indeed.” - -And he answered, that this was the secret of all good gardening, pride -and carefulness, and that now he had shown them the way his men were so -proud of their tool-shed that they brought admiring friends to see it of -a Sunday afternoon. Then I knew if there was money to be made growing -fruit in England (which there is) then this man would make it (which he -does). - -Now this talk of paths gives one the idea that people do not here make -enough of their paths, as the Japanese do, for there they are skilled in -small gardens, and especially in landscape gardens on a tiny scale, -making little hills and woods, and views, lakes, streams, and rock -gardens in a space about the size of the average suburban garden. Then -they are very choice of trees, and value the turning colour of Maples, -and the droop of Wisteria, and the shape and blossom of Plum and Cherry -trees as fine garden ornaments, while we grow our wonderful lawns. Our -lawns, indeed, are remarked by all the world, and wherever you see the -words “English Gardens” abroad you will know that the people have made a -lawn and watered it, and are proud of its fat smooth surface of velvet. -But we make the mistake, I think, of growing forest trees on the edge of -our lawns and do not enough encourage the wonderful and beautiful -varieties of flowering shrubs that there be. Above all we seem to have a -passion for dank, black, lustreless Ivy, beloved only of cats, spiders -and snails. I have seen many beautiful walls of stone and brick utterly -destroyed and defaced by ill-growing Ivy, where the bare walls would -give a fine warm background to our flowers. - -The great thing in paths is to make them a little secret, leading round -trees to a fresh view, and interlacing them in pretty and quaint ways, -but we, a conservative people, are ill-disposed to cut new paths except -in new gardens, and often leave badly designed paths for lack of a -little good courage. But we are learning by degrees, and I think the -abominations of gardening are leaving us, such as the monkey-puzzle tree -in the centre of a round bed, and the rows of half-moon beds cut by the -side of our lawns and filled with Geraniums and Lobelias, and the rustic -seat (horror!), and the rustic summer-house made of rough pieces of tree -limbs badly nailed together (horror of horrors!). Now we know more of -the way to make pergolas, and terraces, and how to build summer-houses, -and the curse of the Mid-Victorian gardening is come to an end with the -antimacassar, and the wax fruit under a glass case, and the sofa with -horsehair bolsters. - -Of course, true gardening is the work and interest of a lifetime, like -the collecting of objects of Art, and as such inspires much the same -eager passion and healthy rivalry. Therefore let the setting of your -collection be as perfect as possible, and those paths leading to the -choice collections as fine as the velvet on which priceless enamels are -laid. Indeed enamel is a happy word, for what do your flowers do but -enamel the earth with their sweet colours, and in pattern, choice, and -variety, will surpass all things made by man alone. - -And here I take my leave of paths, that great subject that should indeed -be a book to itself, for if a man sit down to think of paths he begins -to follow one himself, and, starting from the cradle, ends at the grave, -or, pursuing some path of history, comes into the broad high-road of all -learning, or looking up and observing the stars finds a train of thought -in following the path of a star. In a garden path, or from it, he may -meditate all these things with right and proper circumstance of mind, -for he has flowers at his feet full of the meat of good things, rare -remembrancers of history, and exquisite things on which to base a -philosophy; while, as for the stars, are they not the Daisies of the -Fields of Heaven? - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIII - - THE GARDENS OF THE DEAD - - -It is a beautiful custom that we put flowers on the graves of our dead, -and is more fraught with meaning than many know, for it is as a symbol -resurrection that they are so placed, inasmuch as the flower that seems -to perish perishes only for a while but comes up again as beautiful, and -though it die into the soil it reappears all fresh and lovely with no -sign of the soil to mar its beauty. But it is more beautiful to plant -the graves of those we love with flowers, as then we symbolise that they -are alive in our hearts and for ever flowering in our thoughts. And the -shadow of the church over them is but the shadow of the wing of sleep. -All our lives, said a French King, we are learning how to die; and when -the time comes we cannot help but think of that Garden of Sleep where we -must be placed along with other sleepers, there to wait. - -In England it has long been a habit to plant the more melancholy trees -and shrubs in churchyards, as Yew trees, Myrtle, Bay, and the evergreen -Oak. In this way a sense of gloom was intended, much at variance with -the Christian doctrine that proclaims a victory over death. But instead -of this effect of sombreness the presence of these evergreens gives an -extraordinary air of quiet peace, of something perpetually alive though -at rest. Often and often I have taken my bread and cheese into a country -churchyard, and have sat down on the grass and leaned my back against -some venerable monument, and there lunched. I take it that this is no -disrespect to the dead, that the living should join company with them -even to the extent of spreading crumbs of bread over their resting -places. I take it that the smoke of a pipe is no sacriligeous sight in -the neighbourhood of tombs; for it is but a friendly spirit prompts it, -and no violation of the repose of these dead people. No; no more than -does the distant roar of the ship’s guns at practice disturb these quiet -souls. - -In more than one churchyard there are the stocks remaining where -malefactors were placed, and so seated were they that all the good folks -passing in and out of church were forced to pass, almost to touch the -feet of the wrongdoers as they trod the path to the porch. One place I -know in particular where the stocks remain, and a goodly Yew tree having -grown thick and strong behind the seat forms a fine back to lean -against. From here I have surveyed the landscape over the tops of grey -old tombs, now all aslant over the heads of the sleepers. Here the -squire of 1640 rests facing the Cornfields once he cut and sowed and -stacked. There a lady, Christabel by name, faces the flagged walk to the -stone porch. There is grass over them now, and the merriest Daisies -grow, and Moss covers the laughing cherubims, and Lichen has crept into -the words that set forth their marvellous number of virtues. Spring -comes here just as it comes to other gardens, and the trees bud just as -daintily, and the young grass is every bit as green, and the first -Crocus lights his lamp, and the Dandelion flares as bravely with his -crown of gold. - -[Illustration: A CHURCHYARD IN THE COTSWOLDS.] - -There are these quaint quiet churchyards over the length and breadth of -England, where the dead lie so comfortably under the fresh English -grass. Some are full of flowers planted by loving hands; Roses grow -beside the church and shower their petals over the grey stones of the -tombs, and Spring flowers have been set in the grass to nod beside the -headstones sleepily. Others are bare and bleak, standing exposed to wind -and weather on a hillside, with stone walls about them, and a church -buffeted by every storm; yet these are sometimes most peaceful gardens, -and Ling and Gorse scent the air, and twisted Fir trees, and gnarled old -Pines, all leaning over, wind-bent, stand guard over the sleepers; bees -busy in the heather, lizards green as emeralds, and the bright -butterflies give the feeling of incessant life; they give that glorious -feeling that the great pulse still beats; that Nature all alive is yet -at one with the dead. - -The gardener of these our dead, what a queer man is he! What a peculiar -profession he follows! To bury is but to plant the dead that they may -flower into that new life. And he is usually a humorous character, a man -of well-chosen words who surveys his garden of headstones and has a word -for each. He is no respecter of persons, since in the tomb all are -equal, and to see him at work preparing a fresh place for burial is to -think that the gravedigger’s work is no melancholy task. In the heat of -summer, half buried in the grave himself, he sings some old catch as he -shovels up the earth. “Poor little lamb,” he may say of a dead child; -“well, thee’ll bide here against our Lord wants ’e.” - -I have seen such a man, his clothes brown with grave earth, a Daisy -between his lips (something to mumble, as he does not smoke on duty), -and watched his face as the lytchet gate clicks. His daughter, a flower -herself, is bringing his dinner, which he eats cheerfully leaning -against one side of the grave for support. This, with a thrush singing -somewhere, and the wheeze of the church clock, and the frivolous screams -of swifts make death a comfortable picture. - -Here we have Nature triumphant, the Earth with her children asleep in -her lap. But a monstrosity has crept into our graveyards—God’s -Gardens—and in place of flowers with their joy, their symbolical message -of resurrection, one sees ghastly things of bead work and of wax, -enclosed in hideous glass cases with a mourning card in the centre of -them. This is not seemly nor decent in a place where the Earth reclaims -her children, where nothing ugly should be. It is within the reach of -everyone to buy fresh flowers and to renew those flowers from time to -time, and they should be left, if they are placed there, to die. Away -then with glass jam-jars filled with water, with bead wreaths, and all -ill-taste and hideous distortion of grief, and let us have our offerings -made as if to the living, for our dead live in our hearts, nor torture -them with horrid and distressing objects on their graves. I would have -every churchyard a garden kept by the pence of those who have laid their -dead there to rest; and I would have flowers and shrubs planted and -paths made, and seats placed, so that all should be kept fair and -bright. - -In Switzerland, where I was once, I saw the most delightful graveyard I -have ever seen. The church stood on a bluff overlooking a river, a swift -running noisy river that sang songs of the mountains and of the big -fields and of the bustling towns, a dashing river alive with music, -loving the sound of its own voice. Above was this church and its yard, -and a little below, the village. The church was low-built and old, with -a wooden tower on which a cock stood guard; and it was whitewashed, and -toned by sun and rain, and a clock in the tower marked the passage of -time, solemnly, “tick-tock; tick-tock.” Along the south wall outside the -church was a bench, and a Wisteria over the bench, and a little jutting -roof over the Wisteria. This bench, time-worn as all else was time-worn -(as the wall was polished by several generations of backs), faced the -graveyard. If you sat on this bench you might take a glance at a man’s -life there in one long look, for there was a mill near by, and an Inn, -and a shoemaker’s, and a forge—the blacksmith was the undertaker, too, -any one could see from the fact that he was making a coffin. Besides -these you could see mountains covered with snow and wreathed in clouds; -great stretches of country, a wood, and the river. What more can there -be, saving only a sight of the sea? - -But what struck me most forcibly was the appearance of the graveyard, -for each grave had flowers growing by it, and a little weeping willow -planted to hang over it, and there was something so pleasant to me in -this that I was filled with delight of the place as I sat there. It was -a real garden, so fresh and bright with flowers and with ugly -bead-wreaths as are so usual in foreign countries, and now, alas! in our -own. And it was so homely to think of the elders of that place who sat -looking at the graves and meditating—very likely—on the spot where they -themselves would lie. I remembered then, as I sat there, the description -of the graveyard in David Copperfield, and the words came almost exact -into my head. - -“One Sunday night my mother reads to Peggotty and me in there, how -Lazarus was raised from the dead. And I am so frightened that they are -afterwards obliged to take me out of bed, and show me the quiet -churchyard out of the bedroom window, with the dead all lying in their -graves at rest, below the solemn moon. - -“There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere as the grass of -that churchyard; nothing half so shady as its trees; nothing half so -quiet as its tombstones. The sheep are feeding there, when I kneel up, -early in the morning, in my little bed in a closet within my mother’s -room, to look out at it; and I see the red light shining on the -sun-dial, and think within myself, ‘Is the sun-dial glad, I wonder, that -it can tell the time again?’” - -Even as I remembered those words I looked up and noticed a sun-dial on -the wall of the church just over my head, and, curiously enough, just -that peace that those words give to me seemed to come to me from the -sight of the sun-dial, and the repose of the scene before me. - -It is good, I think, to meditate on these things, and all who garden, -who are, as it were, in touch with the soil, must sometimes let their -thoughts linger over the other gardens where the dead are, and where -Spring comes as blithely as in any other spot. - -Although the gardens that are what are called “show-places,” tended and -nursed by a staff of men, do not bring one into such close contact with -earth as earth, still in the greater garden is a peace no other place -knows but the graveyard. This is no morbid thought, nor over -introspective, but, I think, makes me feel more sanely and not so -fearfully of death. In the same way do the poor keep their grave clothes -ready and neat in a drawer, with pennies sewn up in linen to put over -their tired eyes, and everything decent for the putting away of their -bodies. So does the wood of trees enclose them, and good and polished -wood in the shape of coffin-stools is there to bear them up. And I have -heard many talk of how they wished to lie facing the porch of the -church; and others who wished they might be near by the gate so that -folks passing in and out might remember them. - -[Illustration: AUTUMN COLOUR AT BONCHURCH OLD CHURCH, NEAR VENTNOR.] - -This may seem a subject not quite fitted to a book which is to tell of -the Charm of Gardens, and yet I am sure lovers of gardens will know just -what I mean. To think of and know of the peace and beauty of certain -graveyards is to gain consolation and quietude such as the knowledge and -thought of all beauty gives. What a wonderful thing it is that we can -paint the earth with flowers, set here crimson, and there orange, here -purple, and there blue; range our colours from white to cream, to deep -cream, to all the shades of all the colours, to deep impenetrable -purple, more black than black, like the dusky eyes of anemonies. - -When it is night, and “the dead all lying in their graves at rest, below -the solemn moon,” the thousand thousand Daisies of the fields have -closed their eyes, and the Buttercups’ golden glaze is mellowed by the -moonlight, still there are flowers gay in the sunshine somewhere in the -world. Though the garden is chequered in the blue-green light and heavy -shadows, and the owls hoot in their melancholy voices, still there are -birds somewhere in the world singing. And though, across the way behind -the wall, white in the moonlight, lies the dark churchyard, and all is -very still there, still, I think, they, whose names are carved there on -the stones, are not in the dark, and do not know the damp and mouldy -earth, but are somewhere in some world more light and beautiful than -this. - -The solemnity of this type of thought is seldom given to me by flowers; -it is more the breath of trees, and the deep places of a wood, that -gives one this feeling of hush and peace. Flowers are gay, stately, -exuberant, simple, but always joyous, as witness the pert questioning -faces of Pansies, and the languorous droop of Roses, the stately -propriety of Lilies, the romantic splendour of purple Clematis, and the -passionate beauty of the coloured Anemonies. In a garden are all moods, -from that given by a school of white Pinks, to the masterly exactitude -of the Red-Hot Poker, or the limpid and very virginal appearance of -Lavender. Youth itself comes in full blood with the blossom on fruit -trees; the slim elegance of childhood with the Narcissus and the -Daffodil. Daintiness herself is in Columbine; maidenly virtue is in the -hang-head Snowdrop. Zinnias have the melodious colours of the East; -Jasmine and Honeysuckle hold the spirit of the porch. Sweet Peas, all -laughing and chattering, are like a bevy of young girls; while the proud -Hyacinth, erect up his stem, his hair tight curled, his breath strong -and sweet, is to me like some hero of the days of William of Orange, a -hero in a curled full-bottomed wig. The Iris has the poetry of river -banks; the Sunflower peering over a cottage garden wall, spells rustic -ease. Fuschias I count very Victorian, like ladies in crinolines; -Geraniums also are prim and most polite. Wallflowers I place as -gipsy-like, a scent somehow of the wind on the road; while the -Snapdragons have a military spirit and grow in brightly uniformed -regiments. Carnations are courtiers, elegant, superbly dressed, yet with -a refinement all their own; and Larkspurs, like charity schools of -children, all dressed alike and out for a walk, on the tall stalk. -Primulas, deep-coloured or pale, I feel somehow to be the flowers of -memory; and Sweet Sultans are like Scots lords in foreign clothes. There -are a hundred others, all with some little fanciful meaning to those who -grow them, but all, I think, are full of joy; no flower is sad. It is -the trees, the voices whispering in whose leaves bring deeper thoughts. - -There are those who say that happiness would come could we but find the -Blue Rose; and others that there are places one must need find like El -Dorado; and others that a magic charm will bring us the joy we desire. -They are all wrong. Happiness lies in the Rose at your hand, El Dorado -is at your door, the magic charm!—listen, there is a thrush singing. - - - THE END - - - PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED, LONDON - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - OTHER BEAUTIFUL BOOKS - ON FLOWERS & GARDENS - - EACH CONTAINING FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR - - [Illustration] - - - THE FLOWERS AND - GARDENS OF JAPAN - -Painted by ELLA DU CANE - -Described by FLORENCE DU CANE - -Containing 50 full-page Illustrations in Colour. Square demy 8vo, cloth, -gilt top. Price 20s. net (_by post_ 20s. 6d.) - -NOTE.—Japan has often been called the Land of Flowers, and to judge from -the beautiful illustrations in this volume, it is aptly named. The -artist may be said to have given us a diary of the year’s flowers from -the opening of the first plum blossom to the falling of the last maple -leaf, and all are depicted in their natural surroundings. The -illustrations also include flowering trees amid old temples, charming -landscape gardens, flower feasts, and many natural scenes of great -beauty. The author, who has spent two floral seasons in the country, not -only gives an attractive description of the flowers as they appeal to -the eye of the foreigner, but has also collected and reproduced in the -book many of the native legends which show that sentiment and tradition -play a large part in the feelings with which the Japanese regard their -flowers. - -“This ‘gardening’ book is one of the most fascinating that has ever been -published, and is worthy of its most fascinating title.”—_Morning Post._ - -“A charming volume, one of the most satisfactory of its kind that has -appeared for some time.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -“The book has the best account we have seen anywhere of the way in which -Japanese gardens, including the landscape garden, are planned, planted, -and made effective.”—_Outlook._ - - - THE FLOWERS AND - GARDENS OF MADEIRA - -Painted by ELLA DU CANE - -Described by FLORENCE DU CANE - -Containing 24 full-page Illustrations in Colour. Square demy 8vo, cloth, -gilt top. Price 7s. 6d. net (_by post_, 7s. 11d.) - -NOTE.—From the title of this volume it will be seen that it is not -intended as a guide-book to the island. Its aim is to help those lovers -of flowers who are fortunate enough to spend a winter in Madeira to -appreciate the very varied vegetation of that flowery land. From the -author’s description of the never-ending succession of floral treasures, -it would appear to be perpetual summer in that favoured island, while -the so-called winter is almost the best time of year to see the gorgeous -creepers for which Madeira has long been famous. - -The illustrations suggest warmth, sunshine, and flowers, and should -tempt many a wanderer to escape from the cold grey skies of an English -winter, and spend his time basking in the sun, and enjoying the -succession of flowering trees, shrubs, and plants which are gathered -together from every part of the New and Old World. - -“A charming book.... The coloured illustrations are not only -instructive, but gems of their kind.... Should be in every -library.”—_Garden._ - -“No one knows better than Miss Du Cane how to paint -flowers.”—_Standard._ - - - GARDENS OF ENGLAND - -Painted by BEATRICE PARSONS - -Described by E. T. COOK - -Containing 20 full-page Illustrations in Colour. Square demy 8vo, cloth, -gilt top. Price 7s. 6d. net (_by post_, 7s. 11d.) - -NOTE.—“Gardens of England” does not follow the conventional lines of -recent works, but is descriptive of the modern development of the love -of picturesque horticulture. All who have a love of the garden and the -country in their hearts are aware of and welcome the intense interest -that has been slowly asserting itself in this fair land of ours, and -this, surely, is of physical advantage to the race. In this book the -sketches show the beauty of the modern rose garden when planned with -taste, the flood of colour that comes from rambling roses over the -pergola, and the brilliancy of the herbaceous border in summer. The text -follows the same lines, and, as indicating the character of the book, -there are chapters on “Cottage Gardens,” “Rosemary and Lavender,” “The -Rose Garden,” and the four seasons in the garden. - -“A book of very great value.... Highly deserving of a place in the -country-house.... It is instinct with the spirit of the garden, and no -one could turn its leaves, or look at the pictures, without obtaining -many a hint that could be put to practical purpose.”—_Country Life._ - -“Miss Parson’s pictures are almost fragrant, so truly does she realise -the atmosphere of her subjects. The volume is one which the garden lover -... will find full of delight.”—_Truth._ - - - ALPINE FLOWERS - AND GARDENS - -Painted and Described by G. FLEMWELL - -Containing 20 full-page Illustrations in Colour. Square demy 8vo, cloth, -gilt top. Price 7s. 6d. net (_by post_, 7s. 11d.) - -NOTE.—This is an attempt to present, in word and picture, a broad and -general view of the Swiss Alpine flora in its wild home and in the -gardens established for it in the Alps. It is an attempt to break away -from the mass of specialist literature on the subject, and to depict, -not merely something of the floral wonders themselves, but something -also of the unique and fascinating atmosphere which surrounds -them—something which will appeal both to those who know the Alps and to -those who know only of them. To quote from the Preface contributed by -Mr. Henry Correvon, one of the greatest living authorities on Alpine -plants: “The Alpine flora has never yet been described or offered to the -public at the angle at which it is here presented to us. Here, then, is -a profoundly original work which lovers of beauty and truth cannot but -applaud.” - -“Mr. Flemwell’s paintings will at once attract those who open this book, -for he has accomplished with singular skill the difficult task of making -the Alpine air breathe round Alpine flowers. And lovers of Alpland who -do not look for a specialist technical work on the flowers will be -pleased with his letterpress, which, though botanical lore is not -lacking, studies them from rather a new angle.”—_Times._ - - - DUTCH BULBS - AND GARDENS - -Painted by MIMA NIXON - -Described by UNA SILBERRAD and SOPHIE LYALL - -Containing 24 full-page Illustrations in Colour. Square demy 8vo, cloth, -gilt top. Price 7s. 6d. net (_by post_, 7s. 11d.) - -NOTE.—Miss Una Silberrad has had exceptional facilities for studying -life in the Bulb Fields in and around Haarlem, which has been the centre -of the industry ever since its first introduction, and here sets down -for us the quaint customs of the growers, and their manner of life. Miss -Sophie Lyall treats of the Hyacinth; her chief authority being St. -Simon, a learned Frenchman of the eighteenth century. Garden-lovers will -appreciate his enthusiasm, and the loving exactness with which he -describes the life of the plant, its treatment, and the environment best -suited to its needs. - -“Over the pictures in this book it is difficult not to wax enthusiastic, -for they are veritable triumphs of colour-printing.”—_Globe._ - -“Her pictures as a whole are as successful as the subject and the -letterpress in helping to endow this volume with a unique charm which no -flower- or garden-lover can fail to appreciate.”—_World._ - - - BY THE POET LAUREATE - - THE GARDEN - THAT I LOVE - -Containing 16 full-page Illustrations in Colour by GEO. S. ELGOOD, R.I. - -Square demy 8vo, cloth, gilt top. - -Price 7s. 6d. net (_by post_, 7s. 11d.) - -FROM THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION. “What!” said Lamia, -“_Another_ Illustrated Edition!” - -“I believe so,” I replied, trying to look as meek as I could, but -betraying, I fear, that special kind of hesitation which proceeds less -from conscious guilt than from embarrassment. - -“Have you consulted Veronica?” she asked. “If you have, I am sure she -must have informed you ‘The Garden that I Love’ will soon be as hard to -put up with as the Fiscal Question.” - -Despite the opinions of Lamia and Veronica the publishers believe that -this edition will be welcomed by many who have read the book with -pleasure, but have never had an opportunity of seeing the beauty of the -Garden itself. - -“The illustrations are worthy of the book, which is one of the most -charming books about a garden in the language.”—_Daily Chronicle._ - -“This sumptuous edition will enhance the appreciation even of this much -appreciated book.”—_Aberdeen Free Press._ - - - BRITISH FLORAL - DECORATION - -By R. F. FELTON, F.R.H.S., F.N.C.S. &c. - -FLORIST TO KING EDWARD VII AND MANY COURTS OF EUROPE - -Containing 26 full-page Illustrations (12 in Colour). Square demy 8vo, -cloth. Price 7s. 6d. net (_by post_, 7s. 11d.) - -NOTE.—It has been felt for some time past that owing to the vast strides -which are yearly being made in Floral Decoration in Great Britain that -there was need for a book on so highly interesting a subject. The -publishers have been fortunate in securing the co-operation of Mr. R. F. -Felton to write such a book and to select and supervise the preparation -of the illustrations. - -As Mr. Felton’s art brings him in touch with the Courts of Europe, he is -able to give examples of many important and interesting floral works -with which he has been professionally associated. - -An important feature of the book is a complete and carefully compiled -list of the best varieties of all flowers to grow for cutting and -decorative purposes. The work has been largely subscribed by many -influential people in this country. - -“Flowers play such a large part now in the decorations of the home that -the many useful hints given here will prove widely acceptable.”—_Evening -Standard._ - -“THE PASSION FOR FLOWERS.—Every phase of the subject has received -attention in these pages and the book provides many valuable hints. -Especially interesting are the chapters on certain flowers such as -Roses, Orchids, Tulips, Lilies and Violets, Sweet Peas, Daffodils, -&c.”—_Daily Mail._ - - - KEW GARDENS - -Painted by T. MOWER MARTIN, R.C.A. - -Described by A. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF - -Containing 24 full-page Illustrations in Colour. Large crown 8vo, cloth, -gilt top. Price 6s. net (_by post_, 6s. 4d.) - -NOTE.—Kew Gardens contain what seems the completest botanical collection -in the world, handicapped as this is by a climate at the antipodes of -Eden and by a soil that owes less to Nature than to patient art. Before -being given up to public pleasure and instruction, this demesne was a -royal country seat, especially favoured by George III in days when it -would be almost as rural as now is Osborne or Sandringham. This homely -king had two houses here, and began to build a more pretentious palace, -a design cut short by his infirmities, but for which Kew might have -usurped the place of Windsor. For nearly a century it had a close -connection with the Royal Family, as the author illustrates in his story -of the village and the gardens, while the artist has found most -effective subjects in the rich vegetation gathered into this enclosure -and in the relics of its former state. - -“Mr. Martin’s drawings add much to the value of this fascinating -book.”—_T.P.’s Weekly._ - -“Mr. Martin’s pictures are charming.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - - [Illustration] - - - PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK - SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s note: - -Headings and subheadings in the Kalendarium, pages 108-148, have been -regularised. - -Variations in spelling in the Kalendarium have been retained. - -Illustration captions have been regularised. - -Page 21, full stop inserted after ‘light,’ “in a fluster of bright -light.” - -Page 38, double quote inserted after ‘madam,’ “this is why, madam,” I -could” - -Page 55, full stop inserted after ‘Head,’ “from some once lovely Head.” - -Page 62, comma inserted after ‘led,’ “me, willing to be led,” - -Page 62, comma inserted after ‘thread,’ “Though by a slender thread,” - -Page 76, ‘Falerian’ changed to ‘Falernian,’ “sat drinking Falernian wine -poured” - -Page 82, ‘glimmmering’ changed to ‘glimmering,’ “glimmering amidst their -greenery” - -Page 102, ‘Orgilly’ changed to ‘or Gilly,’ “Clove Pink, or Gilly-flower, -a variety” - -Page 116, ‘Minabile’ changed to ‘Mirabile,’ “Flos Africanus, Mirabile -Peruvian” - -Page 126, ‘alter’ changed to ‘after,’ “Ranunculus’s after rain (if it -come” - -Page 129, ‘Paterre’ changed to ‘Parterre,’ “In the Parterre, and Flower” - -Page 133, ‘Michaemas’ changed to ‘Michaelmas,’ “Malacoton, which lasts -till Michaelmas” - -Page 134, ‘Candi-tufts’ changed to ‘Candy-tufts,’ “Larks-heel, -Candy-tufts, Iron-colour’d” - -Page 139, ‘Cand-tufts’ changed to ‘Candy-tufts,’ “Delphinium, Nigella, -Candy-tufts” - -Page 144, comma inserted after ‘Cabbages,’ “Parsneps, Turneps, Cabbages, -Cauly-flowers” - -Page 151, colon struck after ‘GARDENS,’ “TOWN GARDENS” - -Page 163, ‘that’ changed to ‘than,’ “more beautiful than the Almond -tree” - -Page 176, ‘wheelrights’ changed to ‘wheelwright’s,’ “into the -wheelwright’s saw-pit” - -Page 186, ‘Aglantine’ changed to ‘Eglantine,’ “was crowned with -Eglantine” - -Page 206, full stop inserted after ‘grass,’ “crickets in the grass. But -in” - -Page 212, ‘er’ changed to ‘’er,’ “but what ’er won’t rain” - -Page 222, ‘vitual’ changed to ‘ritual,’ “the exact form of ritual -required” - -Page 232, ‘antimaccassar’ changed to ‘antimacassar,’ “end with the -antimacassar, and” - -Ad page 3, ‘Full-page’ changed to ‘full-page,’ “Containing 16 full-page -Illustrations” - -Ad page 3, comma inserted after ‘Lamia,’ ““What!” said Lamia,” - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Charm of Gardens, by Dion Clayton Calthrop - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHARM OF GARDENS *** - -***** This file should be named 54641-0.txt or 54641-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/4/54641/ - -Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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