JOUENAL OF RURAL ART AND RURAL TASTE. 



Vol. II. 



SEPTEMBER, 1S47. 



No. 3. 



We beg leave to inform such of our read- 

 ers as may be interested, that we have late- 

 ly had the honor of a personal interview 

 with the distinguished deities that preside 

 over the garden and the orchard, Flotia and 

 Pomona. 



The time was a soft balmy August night ; 

 the scene was a • leafy nook in our own 

 grounds, where, after the toils of the day, 

 we were enjoying the dolce far nie7ite of a 

 hammock, and wondering at the necessity 

 of anything fairer or diviner than rural na- 

 ture, and such moonlight as then filled the 

 vaulted heaven, bathed the tufted fore- 

 ground of trees, the distant purple hills, 

 and 



" Tipt with silver all the fruit tree tops." 



It was a scene for an artist ; j'et, as we 

 do not write for the Court Journal, we must 

 be pardoned for any little omission in the cos- 

 tumes or equipages of the divinities them- 

 selves. Indeed, we Avere so thoroughly cap- 

 tivated with the immortal candor and fresh- 

 ness of the goddesses, that we find many 

 of the accessories have escaped our memo- 

 ry. Pomona's breath, however, when she 

 spoke, filled the air with the odor of ripe 

 apricots, and she held in her left hand a 

 fruit, which we immediately recognised as 

 one of the golden apples of the Hesperides, 

 Vol. II. 14 



(of which she knew any gardener upon earth 

 would give his right hand for a slip,) and 

 which in the course of our interview, she 

 acknowledged Avas the only sort in the my- 

 thological gardens which excels the New- 

 town Pippin. Her lips had the dewy fresh- 

 ness of the ruddiest strawberries raised by 

 Mr. Longworth's favorite old Cincinnati 

 market woman ; and there was a bright 

 sparkle in her eye, that assured us there is 

 no trouble with the curculio in the celestial 

 orchards. 



But if we Avere charmed with the ruddy 

 beauty of Pomona, we were still more fas- 

 cinated by the ideal freshness and grace of 

 Floka. She wore on her head a kind of 

 fanciful crown of roses, which were not only 

 dewy moss roses, of the loveliest shades 

 imaginable, but the colours themselves 

 changed every moment, as she turned her 

 head, in a manner that struck us quite 

 speechless with admiration, The goddess 

 observing this, very graciously remarked 

 that these roses were the true perpetuah, 

 since they not only really bloomed always^ 

 but when plucked, they retained their bril- 

 liancy and freshness forever. Her girdle 

 was woven in a kind of green and silver 

 pattern of jasmine leaves and starry blos- 

 soms, but of a species far more lovely thari 



