The James River Plantation Belt 



ball, known to our grandmothers as guelder rose. There are open- 

 ings at intervals, on both sides, leading into various kinds of rose 

 gardens, and perennial borders, also large squares of iris, lilies, and 

 every variety of spring bulb. 



The narrow walks, which lead in and out of the small gardens, 

 are edged with little yellow primroses or cowslips and sweet violets, 

 both white and blue. There are evidences still left of great hedges 

 of fig and dogwood; but the latter being short-lived, it is hard to 

 determine just when and how they were planted. The enormous 

 grove on the land front of the house is as rich with magnificent trees 

 as the river front. Tulip poplars, oaks, lindens, ash, sycamores, 

 junipers and a pecan tree that is said to be one of the finest in 

 the world. 



My first visit to Brandon is a beautiful memory. It was in 

 May, 1902. We had been on a pilgrimage to Jamestown and 

 stopped at Brandon just after a thunderstorm. It was in the late 

 afternoon, and a great burst of golden sunlight had just come out 

 of the grey clouds and touched every glistening raindrop on every 

 blade of grass, while the dripping foliage was made golden against 

 the solemn black trunks of the trees. 



There seemed to be hundreds of wood robins, mocking birds and 

 cardinals singing their fullest notes for that last bit of day. I 

 followed many of the little cowslip paths that led me into masses 

 of roses in full bloom; Marechal Neil, damask, and every variety 

 of tea rose, each holding the raindrops. Enormous wild grape- 

 vines festooned some of the trees, and they, too, were in full bloom, 

 all filling the air with a wonderful fragrance, added to that deli- 

 cious scent of box, so essential to old gardens. Many of the borders 

 were heavily shaded, and in these columbines, forget-me-nots and 

 bleeding heart were blooming. 



The charm of that garden will live always; and one who is 

 fortunate enough to visit Brandon in May will feel an awakening 

 of all the poetic in his soul. Almost unconsciously he will repeat 

 the old childhood's rhyme: 



[37] 



