93 
THE  TROPICAL  AGRICULTURIST. 
[Aug.  f,  1895. 
KKW  (iAItDKXS  IX  MAV. 
^ i*eoii!e  will)  can  only  niana^'e  to  come  once  to 
lve\y  Gardens  during  the  month  of  May  do  well 
to  time  their  visit  so  as  to  liit  off  the  moment 
when  the  hardy  azaleas  are  in  flower,  and  the 
wild  hyacinths  are  making  a blue  carpet  in  the 
beech- wood  tliat  neighbours  the  plot  of  garden 
where  tliese  delightful  shrubs  grow.  It  is  not 
every  year  that  the  bluebells  and  tbe  azaleas 
are  out  at  the  same  time.  That  only  happens 
in  fortun.ate  sjirings.  Hut  tliis  year  siiring  is 
very  fortunate,  and  the  two  events  are  coincid- 
ing perfectly.  The  azaleas  will  outlast  the  blue- 
bells. The  grey-blue  baze  that  makes  the  little 
copse  look  as  if  the  sky  had  dipjied  down  into 
the  grass,  will  have  passed  away  long  bebuo  the 
retls  and  pinks  and  oranges  of  the  azalea  garden 
are  over.  But  at  this  moment  both  the  wild 
flowers  and  the  cultivated  ones  are  in  their 
prime ; and  we  do  not  remember  having  ever 
seen  their  effects  more  hap])ily  combined.  The 
colours  of  the  azaleas  are,  or  seem  to  be,  un- 
usuallybrilliant  this year,  while  therecentsitell  of  hot, 
tlry  weather  hasalloweil  their  flowers  toopen  without 
any  disturbance.  Neither  the  tints  nor  the  forms 
of  the  blos.soms  have  been  s[>oilt  by  rain.  Not 
a single  flower  has  yet  fallen  ; and  though  of 
the  mass  of  buds  upon  tbe  sbrubs  only  a small 
proportion  have  yet  opened,  tliere  is  blossom 
enougli  to  make  the  parterre  a blaze  of  won- 
derfully lovely  colour  : and  the  brilliancy  of  tins 
centre  of  glory  is  deligbtfully  set  off  by  the  fresb- 
ness  and  dmicacy  of  its  surroundings. 
Mid-May,  when  alternate  rain  and  sunshine 
have  done  their  parts  .as  they  have  done  this 
year,  is  an  exquisite  moment  for  foliage.  The 
trees  are  full,  but  they  have  not  ce.ascd  to  ))c 
transparent.  Green  is  a colour  still,  not  yet  an 
obscurity.  There  is  no  tracre  of  dust  or  drynes->  ; 
not  yet  the  grey  op])ression  of  midsummer  density. 
All  is  delicate,  \ivid,  diaphanous,  fresh.  I’he 
Ikorse-chestnuts,  thethorns,  thelihu^s,  the  laburnums 
are  in  flower.  Lawns  are  jiowdered  with  daisies, 
longer  grass  is  covered  with  tieldriish,  butter  cups, 
.and  ground -ivy.  'fbe  oaks  and  tbe  S])anisb  cbestnut  s 
have  advanced  to  the  point  of  delicately  delineil 
leaf ; while  the  beeches,  though  they  have  come 
out  of  that  ejirly  ethereal  stage  when  they  seem 
rather  to  be  s])rinkled  with  green  than  clothed 
with  leaves  of  definite  sha])e  .and  consistency, 
are  still  so  slightly  covered  that  little  is  lost  of 
the  stately  forms  of  their  grey  boles,  while  new 
beauties  are  gained  by  the  breaking  up  of  the 
sunshine  into  dancing  lights  ami  shadows.  The 
leaves  are  still  small  enough  for  the  outline  of 
each  to  complete  itself  distinctly  to  the  eye ; 
there  is  as  yet  no  merging  of  detail  in  mass  and 
group,  .and  the  general  effect  is  bright  .and  marry, 
like  tlie  flecking  of  mackerel  clouds  on  a .sum- 
mer sky. 
There  is  no  p.art  of  the  (‘hardens  from  which  the 
eye  m.ay  not  tane  its  fill  of  the  vivid  greens  that  be- 
long specially  to  spring.  Hut  if  we  w.ant  to  enjoy  at 
one  glance  the  greatest  variety  of  tints,  and  the 
most  striking  contrasts  of  colour,  we  must  follow  the 
walk  tlnat  le.ads  between  the  .\zalea  g.arden  .and  the 
beech-grove  where  the  bluebells  .are,  cross  the  low- 
lying  slirubbery  where  the  rhodcxlendrons  grow, 
climb  the  slope  on  the  further  side,  and  take  our 
stand  with  the  river  I0  the  left,  and  the  beecli- 
wo(m1  to  the  I'ight,  and  the  rlutdodendron  \alley 
in  front  of  us.  .So  we  shall  b(>  .ahh'  to  sec  all  at 
once  the  irregular  .screen  ot  .Scotch  firs,  cedars, 
and  dusky  hollies,  that  mak('s  .a  dark  foi’eground 
to  the  grove  of  light-green  beeches  ; tln^  (haqi-red, 
p. ale  mauve  .and  op.al-white  of  the  few  rhododen- 
drons, alre.a<ly  in  flower,  whicdi  show  up  so  finely 
ag. ainst  the  green  masses  of  their  slower-llower* 
ing  neighbours  ; the  flame-colours  of  the  azale.as  ; 
the  warm  and  temlor  pink  of  the  young  leaves 
of  the  copper- beeches  that  are  scattered  .so  gene- 
rously .about  tills  part  of  the  jilantation  ; and 
the  blue  gleaming  of  the  river  through  the  belt 
of  fine  trees  that  girdles  the  giounds. 
Hut  though  this  spot  comm.ands  .at  this  moment 
the  most  beautiful  view  in  the  Gardens,  and  the 
blaze  of  .azaleas  in  flower  makes  the  most  splendid 
show  of  all  the  year, — yet  there  is  about  it  all  just 
that  touch  of  sadness  th.at  belongs  to  any  climax. 
It  is  the  best,  but  it  is  also  the  last  show  of 
.spring.  The  next  changes,  the  next  showers  will 
usher  in  the  .summer.  Not  only  will  the  foliage  be 
never  .again  throngb  all  the  year  so  tender,  so 
vivid,  and  so  varied  as  it  is  now,  but  .so  many 
flowers  are  already  over,  so  m.any  beautiful 
p.ages  of  the  year  are  turned.  The  wild  daffodils 
that  imade  a little  while  ago  such  charming  pre- 
Kaphaelite  luetures  all  about  the  Gardens  are 
(|uite  gone.  .So  are  all  the  rarer  kinds  of  same 
family  that  filled  the  formal  beds  a little  later, 
and  contributed  so  handsomely  to  the  jellow 
effects  that  make  an  es.sential  p.art  of  the  radiance 
of  spring.  The  fine  m.agnolia  that  stootl  like  a 
white  beacon  in  the  centre  of  the  Azalia  Ganlen 
in  the  beginning  of  the  month,  has  shed  almost 
all  its  flowers.  The  Siberi.an  crabs  have  shed 
theirs  also,  though  some  of  their  cousins  from 
China  and  Japan  are  only  now  coming  into  bloom. 
Over,  too,  is  the  splendid  show  of  tulips  that 
filled  the  sp.ace  between  the  round  pond  aTid  the 
Palm  House.  And  though  a few  tulip-betls 
near  the  hot-houses  still  keep  their  brightne.ss, 
the  flowers  are  mostlj'  overblown,  and  their 
magnificence  is  ilegenerating  into  gari.shnes.s. 
One  is  not  sorry  (0  p.ass  from  f hem  fo  the  rock 
walk  and  en  joy  the  (“ontrast  of  the  quiet  beauties 
of  the  multiUiile  of  inteiesting  plants,  common 
and  uncommon,  springing  up  in  its  crannies. 
Periwinkle.s,  m hite  and  blue,  scillasand  fritillaries, 
a few  lingering  primroses,  common  ilog-violets, 
ferns,  familiar  and  unfamiliar,  uncurling  their 
rough  and  tender  fnjuds  ; s.axifrages,  columbines, 
forget-me-nots,  lilies  of  tbe  valley,  white  .and 
yellow  aly,s.sums — all  our  common  shrubbery 
friends  nungle  here  in  studied  disorder  with  rare 
foreign  pl.ants.  One  of  the  first  things  to  attract 
.attention  as  we  enter  the  walk,  is  the  exceed- 
ingly tiny  and  exceedingly  brilliant  flower  of  the 
white  sandwort  from  New  Zealand,  the  minute 
foli.age  of  which  clings  to  the  stones  like  mo.ss, 
while  e.ach  little  blossom  stands  out  with  the 
distinctness  of  enamel.  Another  u-hite  flower  of 
very  dift'eient  character  that  no  one  could  pass 
without  .admiration,  is  the  noble  TriUhtm  (jrandi- 
floruin  from  North  Amerieva.  A week  ago  the 
most  beautiful  object  in  the  whole  rockery  was  a 
lovely  double  peach,  covered  with  deep-pink 
blo.ssom,  which  stood  like  a sentinel  at  the  far  end 
of  the  walk,  seeming  to  guard  the  little  defile. 
Now  that  also  has  lost  its  glory,  and  one 
passes  its  place  almost  without  noticing  that 
there  is  a tree  there.  Hut  if  some  blossoms 
are  passing  .away,  others  are  still  ojtening.  Kvery- 
where  about  the  Gardens,  the  common  yellow 
broom  is  coming  into  flower,  and  two  magnifi- 
(!cnt  bushes  of  the  earlier  flowering  variety, 
known  as  (unista  proiro.r,  are  still  (or  were 
when  the  writer  saw  the  Gaidens  a day  or  two 
•ago),  in  full  lie.auty.  AVith  the  afternoon  sun 
shining  niton  them  they  tlash  and  radiate  like 
immense  tires,  but  seen  later  in  the  evening, 
the  coolness  and  tenderness  of  (heir  pale  yellow- 
strikes  one  most.  .Some  excellent  effects  of  colour 
an*  got  in  beils  without  the  use  of  a single 
flower  by  ndxing  the  copper  varieties  of  nut, 
plum,  berberns,  and  beech,  with  variegated  rilies, 
