From the first fragrant spicebush to the last 

 witch-hazel, no cultivated shrub is to be compared 

 with them, for the virtue of the wild is not to be 

 transplanted and is never imprisoned in flower- 

 beds. These shrubs of the pasture have a person- 

 ality derived from immemorial contadt with the 

 virgin and uncultivated soil. They have been nour- 

 ished by the very juices of earth and by the bone 

 and sinew of the mountains. If you would have 

 the barberry, you must move the pasture itself. It 

 is of wild gardens solely, an untamed and untam- 

 able beauty. And so it is with the dogwood, for 

 what is this but sunshine in the May woods — 

 rifts of light breaking here and there through the 

 overarching green of oak and tulip trees ? It were 

 as easy to catch sunbeams as to carry this away. 



The mountain is the mother of these wild gar- 

 dens; a vigorous dame to bring forth so gentle a 

 brood — as the slopes of Vesuvius produce a mellow 

 wine which has taken only a kindly warmth from 

 the raging heart of the volcano. All her fairest 

 virtues have blossomed in her children ; her graces 

 would remain unsuspedled but for them. Let the 

 gods but fling down a bit of rock anywhere and 

 presently, after a few ages, it shall dissolve into 



58 



