The James River Plantation Belt 



bricks of the Governor's palace. The latter, which stood upon this 

 spot until just after the Revolution, has been described as a 

 "magnificent strcture built at the public expense, finished and beau- 

 tified with gates, fine gardens, ofiices, walks, and a canal and 

 orchard embracing in all three hundred and seventy acres, bordered 

 with lindens brought from Scotland." Where the Governor's 

 garden once bloomed so gayly, daffodils and buttercups now grow 

 into flower. The last named plants — ranunculus acris — are said 

 to be direct descendants of the first ever in this country, which 

 were brought from "Merrie England" to adorn the palace grounds. 

 Wild artichokes take up the golden note in autumn beneath the 

 boughs of trees planted by loving hands as a memorial to the 

 gallant sons of James City County who gave their lives in the 

 great World War. 



At the brown-stained Wythe house, which faces the Palace 

 Green and adjoins Bruton churchyard, cherokee rose vines smilingly 

 greet one before the gate is opened. The original garden laid off 

 on formal, English lines, was, in its best days, hedged with box- 

 wood, and lay at the rear of the house. A long walk between two 

 flower-crowded borders was its dominant feature, and, though 

 most of the old lines have been washed away by the rains of time, 

 white and purple lilacs and pink crepe myrtle trees succeed the 

 countless jonquils and narcissi that come up on the lawn each 

 spring. 



This house was the home of George Wythe, designer of Vir- 

 ginia's emblematic seal with the motto, "Sic Semper Tyrannis," 

 and teacher of Jefferson, Marshall and Monroe. The dwelling is 

 rich in history — in traditionary lore, too — for it was in it that 

 Washington lived at times during the Revolution and where mem- 

 bers of LaFayette's suite were quartered. And legend tells of two 

 ghostly visitors. One, the wraith of Lady Skipwith, a belle and 

 beauty of colonial days, who restlessly trips through the ages on 

 high-heeled, clicking shoes, to be known as the dainty dame of the 

 tapping tread. The other tale tells of a young French officer who 



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