JUNE 117 



space now that June is here, but that on the 

 Delectable Mountains may plant all that we 

 like, since labour here is not labour but delight. 

 Against the hedge of hemlock which is to 

 shut in my garden a thick shrubbery of rhodo- 

 dendrons is to be set. Not the tender, dis- 

 appointing hybrids, but the hardy Americans, 

 grown in a cold nursery, and shipped to me 

 with huge balls of earth bagged about their 

 roots. There is a scornful jest, that as soon 

 as an American millionaire realises his wealth, 

 he buys a house and sends for a car-load of 

 rhododendrons to plant about it an amiable 

 weakness, and one for which his sons .will 

 thank him. There is nothing finer than the 

 great shrubs climbing the rocks of the Blue 

 Ridge ranges, or which lean over the stones 

 that fret the cold mountain brooks, to smile at 

 their broken reflections in the hurrying waters. 

 Ferns grow about their knees, and beside them 

 the laurels set fire to the matchless lamps of 

 their urn-shaped bloom, " the ten-tongued 

 laurel " of Emerson's love, whose " beaten 

 bosses of hammered silver, beaten out, each 

 petal, apparently, by the stamens instead of a 

 hammer," made Ruskin think of the craftsmen 



