xxviii MEM61E. 



the blossoming .plants in theni,, to believe that summer 

 had fairly arrived, we' had uniformly found the spri,ng to 

 he that laughing lie which the poets insist it, is not^ 

 There was no doubt longer, however. The country was 

 so brilhan,t with i^e .tender green that it seemed festally 

 adorned, and it was easy.enough to believe that human 

 genius could have no livelier ,nor loftier task than the 

 developlnent of these colors, and forms, and opportunities, 

 into their greatest use, and adaptation to human life* 

 "Grod Almighty first planted a. garden, and, indeed, it is 

 the first pf human pleasures." Lord Bacon said it long 

 ago, and the bright May morning echoed it, as we crossed 

 the river. . 



I had read^Downihg's books ; and they had given me 

 the impression, naturally foimed of one who truly said of 

 himself, "Angry volumes of politics have we written none't^ 

 but pealcefur books, humbly aiming to weave something, 

 more into the fair garland of the beautiful and useful that 

 encircles tbis excellent old earth." 



His image in my mind was idyllic., -I looked Upon him 

 as a kind of pastoial poet, I had fancied a simple, abstracted 

 cultivator, gentle and silent. We left the boat and drove 

 to his house. The open gate admitted us to a smootji ave- 

 nue. We had glimpses of an Arbor^ Vitas hedge, — a small 

 and exq^uisite lawn.— rare and flowering treps, and biishes 

 beyond — a lustrous and odoroTis thicket — a gleam of the 

 river below-!-" a feeling'' of the mountains across the. 

 river — and were at the same moment alighting at the 

 door of the elegant mansion, in which stood, what ap- 

 peared to me a taU, slight Spanish gentleman, wit;h thick 

 black hair worn very long, and dark eyes fixed, upon me 

 with a searchii^g glance. He was dressed simply in a cos- 

 tume fitted for the morning hospitalities of his house, or 



