The James River Plantation Belt 



the great double row of boxwood hedge, with shelled walk between, 

 completes the approach to the steps of the mansion. 



On each side of this box walk are the rose gardens, dotted and 

 shaded with groups of shrubs and nature-planted trees. There are 

 many varieties of roses — perpetuals, teas, simple old-fashioned 

 bushes, the blossoms of every shade of pink, salmon and crimson 

 and pure white, the rich odors of which, mingling with that of the 

 box, lend an indescribable charm. 



Contrasting with the age and dignity of the box walk and 

 its rose gardens, is the warmly companionable little garden on the 

 west side of the mansion, offspring of an ancient one. Here a 

 fern-bordered, rose-covered pergola, surrounded by tall privet with 

 under-borders of heliotrope, snapdragon, sweet william, bachelor's 

 button and phlox, is enclosed by the walls of colonial outbuildings. 

 Within the privacy of this small garden a figured fountain plays, 

 and an ancient sun-dial lends charm. 



There is one mood, one picture in which the physiognomy of 

 the gardens of Claremont may be ideally contemplated. That is 

 when the twilight falls and you walk under the magnolias on the 

 terrace, through the rose-gardens and down the great avenue of 

 lindens to the space where the crepe myrtles bank their layers of 

 rich, heavy shadow. Behind these rise twin birches in virgin white 

 and frail translucent green and just beyond a giant pecan thrusts 

 up boldly against the wide expanse of river. 



Between mimosa trees may be had a glimpse of the flowering 

 almond hedge and ivy-covered summer-house. Then, let your eye 

 follow the avenue of cedars, checkered with shadow, into the old 

 garden through the gate of the cedars. Here, white, oval-shaped 

 stones light up the half-hidden parterres that still bear a tangle of 

 fern, honeysuckle, lilies, hollyhocks, peonies and other old-fashioned 

 blooms. On through the faintly fragrant paths in a half-circle, until 

 the lichen-covered summer-house that crowns the great bluff of the 

 river, and stands like a period at the end of the dim lines, is reached. 

 Close in here are columnar aisles of mock-orange standing like a 



[29] 



