Historic Gardens of Virginia 



The hardy bulbs, known to our grandmothers as butter and 

 eggs, poet's narcissi and squills, are found in places where no house 

 has stood for a century, loyal mementoes of cottage and farmstead 

 leveled as progress marched into the town. 



As a last word — let me beg you — when the cares of a restless 

 existence are burdening too heavily the broad, though pessimistic, 

 shoulders of today — throw them aside for a glimpse into Eden, and 

 go to old Williamsburg when the daffodils that carpet each lawn 

 and garden are bursting into the season's bloom, and the birds 

 which share the old churchyard with the country's most illustrious 

 dead are caroling the joy of living. Go where each flower face 

 will tell you of the making of history, then dream in the sunshine 

 of that romantic age. And when you leave the appealing little town 

 you may repeat to yourself the words of one who has studied its 

 past, played a part in its present and appreciated its beauties as can 

 only those who call this little city home. 



"Intangible, but real ; invisible, but ever present, the spirit of the 

 days of long ago haunts and hallows the ancient city and the homes 

 of its honored dead; a spirit that stirs the memory and fires the 

 imagination; a spirit that will, we trust, illumine the judgment of 

 those who have entered upon the rich Inheritance of the past and 

 lead them to guard these ancient landmarks and resist the spirit 

 of ruthless innovation which threatens to rob the city of its unique 

 distinction and Its charm." 



Edith Dabney Tunis Sale. 



[26] 



