CHAPTER IX 



THE IRIS 



I HAVE loved that grand lilaceous trinity, the lily, the 

 iris, and the gladiolus, for many years ; and sometimes 

 the lily has been first in my affections and sometimes 

 the iris, with gladiolus always a good third. But, 

 slowly and surely, the iris has won highest place, and 

 henceforth she is safe, for I am too old to change 

 any more. 



Think of the forms this enchantress can take and 

 her manifold charms of colour. Regard also her 

 moods, now coy and distant, now so lavish of her 

 loveliness. Let us ignore the earlier fiction that she 

 was a virgin, but rather, as later poets feign, hold her 

 the delicious wife of the west wind and mother of 

 Eros. With all respect to Aphrodite, Iris would make 

 a better parent. From the least bulbous mite of a 

 Mrs. Danford's iris, to the mighty orientalis gigantea, 

 six feet high, what a variety shall be found ! It is 

 almost as remarkable as the range of colours from 

 white through every shade of blue and lavender and 

 purple, yellow, orange and brown, grey, rose, and 

 crimson to the copper darkness of the thunder-cloud, 

 and actual black. Remember, too, how time is their 



slave. Given a cold frame and a little industry, you 



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