OLD-FASHIONED GARDENS THAT CONTINUE 



TO CHARM 



LOUISE BEEBE WILDER 



" Heere be faire Roses, sweete Violets, fragrant Primroses, heere will be Jilly floures, Carnations, 

 sops-in-wine, sweet Johns, and what may either please you for sight, or delight you with savour." 



Sir John Lilly 



HEN we speak of an "old-fashioned 



garden" just what, exactly, do we 



mean? It is one of those magic 



phrases that paints a picture in the 

 mind, not one picture, indeed, but many, 

 for the gardens of the past flowered into as 

 many forms as men have been "diversely 

 delighted." Utter the incantatory words 

 and from out the mists may dimly loom 

 a little walled inclosure close within the 

 shadow of a grim monastery, where gentle 

 monks tend a meager assemblage of herbs 

 and roots. Here we find only plants of 

 practical value, medicinal herbs and vege- 

 tables, for in those austere days gardening 

 for beauty's sake was not followed — though 

 beauty was there, but with other reasons 

 than itself for being. Among the worthy 

 "leekes" and potent "fenyl" smile gay red 

 and white Roses, spread of Violets, brilliant 

 Poppies, "the great silver Lily," Primroses, 

 Cowslips — each, in those days, a "plant of 

 virtue" prized for meat or medicine; and in the spring against 

 the dark walls fluttered the blossoms of Cherry and Quince, 

 Apple and Pear. 



Or perhaps we see a fair Tudor garden set forth with little 

 beds in quaint patterns, "so enknotted it cannot be expressed," 

 and 



"With arbours and alleys so pleasant and so dulse 

 The pestilent airs with flavours to repulse." 



This is a more spacious scene; the garden paths are wider and 

 there are gracious terraces, and the parterres are embroidered 

 with numerous "outlandish flours" lately crept in to "intice 

 us to their delight." Here for the first time we see the Iris, not 

 in the bewildering raiment of to-day, but meekly clad, the 

 astonishing Tulipas from Turkey, the gorgeous Crown Imperial 

 and the little Checker-lily, Sweet Sultans, Marigolds, Larkspurs, 

 annual and perennial, Jacinths (Scilla), and Snowdrops, called 

 Bulbous Violets, the Mock Orange and the Laburnum; and 

 lowly Leek and Fennel are banished to a region of their own. 



Or is the scene Victorian showing intricate beds charged with 

 Geraniums and Calceolarias in a very glare of insolence? In 

 this garden we vainly seek the Hollyhocks and Rockets, for all 

 " such like old contraptions " are in hiding before the wrath of 

 fashion, and sleek bedding is the order of the day. 



FOR most of us, however, probably the old-fashioned garden 

 is none of these, but merely some friendly garden known in 

 childhood — a garden watched over by great trees, pervaded by 

 loved forms, where Johnny-jump-ups played hide-and-seek 

 among the Currant bushes; and inter-mingled Phlox and Tiger 

 Lilies boldly proclaimed each other's inferiority; where summer 

 days were long and luscious fruit hung always within reach. This 

 garden appears to us as the very abode of peace, and always old, 

 restfully mature and settled, never by any chance as newly 

 made and stark in the glare — though the oldest must have ex- 

 perienced this awkward age — and never was it subject to sud- 

 den changes of intention with subsequent disfiguring upheavals. 



Here, verily, God did not send us new 

 flowers every year; we were as sure of the 

 stout Peonies as of the Rock of Gibraltar, 

 the corner where the first Violets were to be 

 found was ever the same, and the white Lilac 

 was a landmark. Of such a garden the poet 

 sang, 



"And here on Sabbath mornings 

 The goodman comes to get 

 His Sunday nosegay — Moss Rose bud, 

 White Pink, and Mignonette." 



But whatever the picture invoked for us 

 by the magic phrase, it is more dream stuff 

 than reality — shadows lie in its corners and 

 affection gilds its edges — and at the gate 

 stands the Angel of Sentiment, waving us 

 back when we would approach to obtain 

 what the movie people call a "close up." 



What were these old gardens like in real- 

 ity? Is the spell they cast over us, even 

 after many years, woven entirely of senti- 

 ment and time's silver cobwebs; or had 

 they, in truth, qualities and characteristics that made them 

 superior to the gardens of to-day? We have come a long 

 road since monastic gardens were the only ones; a long way, 

 even, since yesterday when our mothers exchanged roots of 

 waxen Dahlias over the garden gate, and were satisfied with 

 Hybrid Perpetual Roses and the old purple Flag Iris. It is 

 conceivable that in our haste to grasp all that the unwinding 

 road disclosed, we have dropped a grace or two that we might 

 well turn back and seek. 



IN MANY parts of the East, gardens made in the early days 

 of our country still survive, and their charm is distinctly 

 felt, even where neglect and decay have had their way. Many 

 of these old gardens are what is termed formal in design, but how 

 poorly the grandiloquent phrase indicates the simple directness of 

 their arrangement. "The characteristic of the old formal 

 garden," writes Mr. Reginald Bloomfield, "was its exceeding 

 simplicity. The primary purpose of a garden as a place of re- 

 tirement and seclusion, a place for quiet thought and leisurely 

 enjoyment was kept steadily in view. The grass and the Yew 

 trees were trimmed close to gain their full beauty from the sun- 

 light. Sweet kindly flowers filled the knots and borders. Pea- 

 cocks and pigeons brightened the terraces and lawns. The 

 paths were straight and ample, the garden-house solidly built 

 and comfortable; everything was reasonable and unaffected." 



This is a pleasant picture. One can imagine the peaceful 

 vistas along straight shadowed walks, suggestive of unhurried 

 peregrinations from one point to another, rather than the awk- 

 ward short cuts and labored windings that obtain in many 

 gardens of to-day. Shade was of prime importance, and com- 

 fortable seats in shady places lured to work or repose in the 

 open air. Often rows of white beehives, ranged beneath the Apple 

 or Pear trees, gave a sense of line and intention to the riot of 

 bloom about them, and a quaint dove-cote supplied a very 

 creditable "architectural feature." 



Such old gardens we feel were designed with reference to the 



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