Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
on the seaside heights near St. Abb’s Head. Although they 
are generally deemed a flower peculiar to pastures, I re- 
member seeing them under trees on a hillside of the Riviera; 
it seemed as though they had found the heat of the open 
field rather much and had run into the woods of the old 
Carthusian monastery for shelter. 
Boy is asking every one a funny riddle just now : “ Why 
is it dangerous to go for a walk in Spring ? Because the 
bull rushes out and the cow slips about ! ” I recollect a 
dear old garden where they grew in lovely selfsown clumps 
under the old gnarled grey apple-trees, their Fairy Favours 
very apparent. Boy loves the Fairy’s Song out of the 
Midsummer’s Night’s Dream ” : 
Over hill, over dale, 
Through bush, through brier, 
Over park, over pale, 
Through flood, through fire, 
I do wander every where, 
Swifter than the moon’s sphere ; 
And I serve the Fairy queen, 
To dew her orbs upon the green. 
The cowslips tall her Pensioners be : 
In their gold coats spots you see ; 
Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
In those freckles live their savours : 
I must go seek some dewdrops here 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. 
“ I remember, I remember, an old garden fair and sweet.” 
These words come to my memory whenever I think of that 
garden. It was on a sunny slope, and on three sides 
stretched moss-grown, old red-brick walls, up which crept 
aged pear- and plum-trees, which in their season were literally 
bouquets of bloom. It was divided down the middle by a 
grass walk, with a low holly hedge on either side, which 
ended in a round stone bason with purple Flower de Luce, 
where in old days there had been a fountain and shining 
water. Now it was dry. Along the bottom by this bason 
ran another grass walk, bordered by “ Snow in Summer ” 
and “ None so Pretty ” ; and beyond the low wall, thick with 
lichens and oak ferns, was the delightsome old grey 
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