The James River Plantation Belt 



locust and pecan trees, and is box hedged all of its length. Honey- 

 suckle riots over the fence. Crepe myrtles and altheas grow on the 

 lawn, and lilac bushes, with age written upon them in moss, show 

 even now where the garden once was. And, gentle reminder of this 

 sweet plot, the lily of the valley has massed so densely and spread 

 so far afield that now it is securely naturalized. 



Diagonally across from the church is the hospitable building 

 where Judge St. George Tucker lived about 1779, and this, for- 

 tunately, is still in the possession of the same family. The old 

 house was also the childhood home of John Randolph of Roanoke, 

 and its charming old garden is still preserved much as it was when 

 the little descendant of Pocahontas played in it. The flagstone walk 

 and grassy falls are gay in spring with many violet blooms and a 

 wealth of old-fashioned bulbs. The lilac bushes are as sweet as 

 ever; the syringa or mock orange still bears gold-chaliced cups, 

 while the Rose of Sharon and spiraea speak eloquently of the garden 

 of yesterday. Roses in quantity and of many colors enliven the 

 garden in June, and pink and white crepe myrtles lend their crisp 

 freshness for a glory of midsummer bloom. When autumn comes, 

 quantities of yellow fall crocus — crocus speciosus — remind one of 

 jonquils next year. The following verses, "In a Garden of Dreams," 

 by Elizabeth Eggleston, were inspired by what is now known as 

 the Coleman garden: 



There's a garden of dreams where the crepe myrtle swings, 



And the roses are white in the gloaming; 

 Where the hush of old beauty lies heavy and sweet, 



Scarce stirred by the winds that are roaming. 



There a tiny swing hangs from a gnarled old tree, 



There the larkspur's a blue-petaled glory; 

 There the grey flagstones lead through a way that is dim, 



Like a thread to the heart of a story. 



There time holds its breath, there shrubs grow to trees, 



There beauty grows old in its questing; 

 And the garden dreams on in its fragrance-hung calm 



Where even the shadows are resting. 



[23] 



