•^ The Scented Qarden lj£ 



least a faint idea of the meaning of the words, ' And the 

 streets of the city were pure gold like as it were trans- 

 parent glass ' ? Crocuses are indeed amongst the loveliest 

 and most gladsome of spring flowers. Each crocus cup is 

 not only of exceeding beauty, but within its petals it 

 seems to hold the quintessence of sunlight in luminous 

 gold, and their scent is the scent of sunlight. Many years 

 ago that great flower-lover, Mr. Forbes Watson, wrote of 

 them, * Whilst the Snowdrop enters with so quiet a 

 footstep that it might almost pass unobserved amidst 

 the remnants of the melting snow, the Crocus bursts 

 upon us in a blaze of colour like the sun-rise of the 

 flowers. . . . Though at first sight apparently alike in 

 colour, close attention will show that the inner segments 

 are of deeper hue and more distinctly orange than the 

 outer. But we must carefully observe the colour itself. 

 Like most things that are very beautiful it varies greatly 

 in different aspects ; the petals to a careless eye, and 

 especially in a dull light, may seem but a surface of glossy 

 orange. Yet look carefully and they are lighted with rosy 

 reflections, pencilled with delicate streaks and nerves of 

 shade and, above all, bestrewed with little gleaming points, 

 a host of microscopic stars, which cast a fiery sheen like 

 that of the forked feathers of the Bar-tailed Humming- 

 bird, as if the surface were engrained with dust of amber 

 or gold.' 



Crocuses never look happy if they are continually being 

 attended to. Thick close clumps of them, fifteen and 

 twenty together, growing naturally with masses of their 

 lovely golden chalices full of sunlight, look gloriously 

 happy, but planted out singly there is always something 

 depressing about them. They look forlorn and tidy. 

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