A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE COUNTRY. 27 



nutmeg and cinnamon smell, and with English names, 

 Butter -and -Eggs, Codlins-and- Cream. The later 

 breeds, lovely slender trumpets and stars, with all 

 hideous names of Boggsii and Jinksii, grow by them- 

 selves in a private quarter. Violets, mere allowed 

 trespassers, tangle about the roots of the espaliers. 

 The crown-imperials are thrusting their bright green 

 domes through the ground. After the daffodils will 

 come the old tall tulips ; in May the flag-iris will 

 follow ; in June white lilies ; in July a host of old 

 common roses. It is a walk of old flowers altogether 

 the blossoms of the classics. I please myself with 

 the fancy that if Shakespere were to come along it 

 he would find there nothing strange. But assuredly 

 many things would be missing, that have died out 

 of use and memory, extinct before there were cata- 

 logues. We can guess that the flowers of three 

 centuries ago were mostly small, as we should think ; 

 purely, a little palely coloured ; very delicately sweet. 

 There is loss as well as gain in the evolution of the 

 exhibition carnation and the fancy pansy, as in all 

 other. When all is said, no finest Mrs. John Laing 

 or L'Ideale comes near the brier-rose in the hedges 

 for colour or sweetness to those at least who can 

 hold the balance between force and delicacy, or 

 rather, see the true strength in the fineness ; as we 



