CHAPTER XIX. 



THE JESSAMINE. 



That dear little modest flower, the Jessamine, 

 with its milk-white blossoms half hid in the masses 

 of cool refreshing green, used to adorn the most 

 limited spot, in the shape of a garden, that ever I 

 was confined to, as a promenade. It was, in fact, 

 merely a gravelled walk, raised to the height of a 

 couple of steps above the level of the paved court, 

 which formed the rear of some premises where I 

 was an inmate. The further side, and the ex- 

 tremities of this walk, were bounded by an ex- 

 ceedingly high wall ; and nothing could have been 

 more ruefully sombre, or more widely removed 

 from any approach to the picturesque, had not the 

 old wall possessed a mantle of Jessamine, the 

 most luxuriant that I remember ever to have seen. 

 The slender branches had mounted nearly to its 

 summit ; then, finding no farther artificial support, 

 through neglect, v\4iich shall presently be accoun- 

 ted for, they bent downward, shooting out in un- 

 checked profusion, until the whole space might 

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