SHIRLEY 



O ALONE on a day in June Into the old garden at 

 Shirley. As you step from the semi-circular, gravel 

 drive which passes the land front of the house on 

 to a grass walk, thence down to the small gray 

 wooden gate set in a tall box-hedge which overtops 

 it, pass through and close the gate, I pray you, 

 and stop a moment to inhale the fragrance and to let the magic of 

 the green things growing enfold you. 



The garden has stood witness to the passing of many genera- 

 tions since its squares were laid out; since its walks were strewed 

 with gravel yielded by the river shore, and its box-hedges and trees 

 were set out. You may pass on, now the magic has its hold upon 

 you, down the main walk where great box-trees flank your left — 

 trees in whose shady hollows little children used to play the drama 

 of home and family. 



On your right there is a large rectangular plot about one hun- 

 dred feet by twenty-five, which bears within its generous dimensions 

 fragrance and beauty enough for one garden. Roses, Fortune's 

 New Yellow, Gold-of-Ophir, the York and Lancaster which is 

 sometimes a white rose streaked and spotted with red, or a red rose 

 streaked and spotted with white, columbines, fox-glove, Chinese 

 honeysuckle and hydrangeas are there, with the old-fashioned 

 corchorus which spelling is probably incorrect, though it sounds 

 like that, but which is not a rose at all, only a tall flowering shrub 

 covered with richly petaled yellow flowers, beautiful to behold. 

 Then there are lilacs, violets, sweet-shrubs, winter honeysuckle, 

 forsythia and more of other fragrant beauties whose names I 

 would be glad to give but that the spelling is somewhat involved 

 and I am not courageous in that line. 



At the end of this main walk one comes to a parting of the 

 ways, to the right the transverse walk is sheltered in box-trees 



[6i] 



