250 THE PRAISE OF GARDENS 



Here I wrote and read in fine weather, sometimes under an 

 awning. In autumn my trellises were hung with scarlet-runners, 

 which added to the flowery investment. I used to shut my eyes 

 in my arm-chair, and affect to think myself hundreds of miles off. 

 But my triumph was in issuing forth of a morning. A wicket 

 out of the garden led into the large one belonging to the prison. 

 The latter was only for vegetables, but it contained a cherry-tree, 

 which I twice saw in blossom. — Lord Byron, and some of his 

 Contemporaries. 



Variations of flowers are like variations in music, often beauti- 

 ful as such, but almost always inferior to the theme on which 

 they are founded — the original air. And the rule holds good 

 in beds of flowers, if they be not very large, or in any other 

 small assemblage of them. Nay, the largest bed will look well, 

 if of one beautiful colour ; while the most beautiful varieties may 

 be inharmoniously mixed up. Contrast is a good thing, but we 

 should first get a good sense of the thing to be contrasted, and 

 we shall find this preferable to the contrast, if we are not rich 

 enough to have both in due measure. We do not in general 

 love and honour any one single colour enough, and we are 

 instinctively struck with a conviction to this effect when we 

 see it abundantly set forth. The other day we saw a little 

 garden-wall completely covered with nasturtiums, and felt how 

 much more beautiful it was than if anything had been mixed 

 with it. For the leaves, and the light and shade, offer variety 

 enough. The rest is all richness and simplicity united — which 

 is the triumph of an intense perception. Embower a cottage 

 thickly and completely with nothing but roses, and nobody 

 would desire the interference of another plant. — The Seer {'A 

 Flower for your Window '). 



JOHN A ND thus it is, that to us all gardens are beautiful — and all 



yi\^^^^ gardeners Adam's favourite sons. An orchard ! FamiHes 



( ChriStOpker c c • t^^^y 11 



North) of fruit-trees high planted by a river,' and that river the Clyde. 



(1785- 1 854). Till we gazed on you, we knew not how dazzling may be the 



