GARDENS IN LITERATURE 



illuminate the garden, even had there been no sunshine. 

 Every portion of the soil was peopled with plants and 

 herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bore tokens of assiduous 

 care . . . some were placed in urns, rich with old carv- 

 ing, and others in common garden pots. Some crept 

 serpent-like along the ground or climbed on high, using 

 whatever means of ascent was offered them. One plant 

 had wreathed itself round a statue of Vertumnus, which 

 was thus quite veiled and shrouded with a drapery of 

 hanging foliage, so happily arranged that it might have 

 served a sculptor for a study." 



A garden of death, nevertheless, this gorgeous con- 

 summation of color and poison, as poor Beatrice was to 

 discover. 



In " Sesame and Lilies," a garden blows that is, of 

 course, no garden, having nothing to do with " hot-glow- 

 ing peony" or "faint mignonette," nor with green alley 

 or fountain; but one reads the essay on " Queen's Gar- 

 dens " with much the same quality of refreshment as is 

 derived from the actual thing ; for it is a spiritual garden 

 of which Ruskin writes, and every true garden appeals 

 to the spirit even more than to the senses : 



" The perfect loveliness of a woman's countenance can 

 only consist in that majestic peace, which is founded in 

 the memory of happy and useful years, full of sweet 

 records ; and with the joining of this with that yet more 

 majestic childishness, which is still full of change 

 and promise; opening always modest at once and 



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