A GARDEN IN VENICE 



would be to restrain their nature, and we mostly 

 prefer to let them ramp. As much as possible 

 we give Nature her head, and when she is ridden 

 it is with the lightest snaffle. 



The result is that from early spring to late 

 autumn we see a mass of bloom. The daphne 

 tells us spring has come, and we are snow white 

 with Marinelli, the only cherry which will stand 

 our salt air and soil. Then pink with peach 

 blossom, sweet with lilac, gay with may, For- 

 sythia, Deutsia, Spirea, Weigelea, and Azalea. 

 A laburnum, the only one we could persuade to 

 grow, reminds one of the Derby, and wistaria 

 disputing with roses the clothing of our cottages, 

 climbs to the top of tall trees to deck with flowers 

 the leaves of Chionanthus. A little later Pitto- 

 sporum with shining dark foliage and white 

 intensely daphne-scented flowers, quits shrub size 

 to figure as a tree — one I know reaches the second 

 storey of a neighbouring palace — and Rhincos- 

 pernum hides the stone garlands of our modest 

 Venus, runs over the Faun that stands near by, 

 and helps to hide a cottage front. Whilst the 



63 



