Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
How lovely was the grey Olive-yard, with the gnarled 
crooked old trees with the brown sheep eating the weedy 
grass that grew in patches among the outstanding roots* 
watched by their shepherd, a picturesque figure in his long 
brown sheepskin cloak, who, when the time for departure 
came, would call his sheep to follow him away down the 
dusty road. But the Violets in that garden, what masses 
of loveliness ! — dark “ Czars ” and that Choice Flower of 
Delight, sweetest “Marie Louise,” whom I always wished had 
a more suitable name. The Violet was Napoleon’s flower, 
and at one time after his fall no one dared wear the sweet 
compromiser. Bunches of Violets used to be drawn, in which, 
after careful search, the Bonapartist sympathiser might find 
in one flower the profile of the well-beloved Petit Caporal . 
There were palest Parma Violets, some of which always 
found their way to the bedside-tables of people who 
could not get out to gather flowers for themselves. Then 
there were red-brick tanks full of Goldfish, where the tall 
Reeds and Water-lilies hid cheerful Frogs, blue and green, 
and a sleepy Tortoise, and in the sunshine Dragon-flies flitted 
to and fro. There was a small carved stone shrine up 
against the rock in a corner half hidden by a wild Cherry- 
tree, with a curious old-fashioned Virgin and Child in it, 
the antiquity of the style shown by the Virgin being repre- 
sented holding the Babe on her hand instead of in her arms. 
There was also a Dripping Well half-hidden by Bamboos and 
Bananas, and Beehives in an old quarry shaded by Pome- 
granate-trees, but these were, alas ! no joy to their owner, as 
they had become demoralised by flowers being always to be 
had, and did not make honey properly in stores, but lived from 
hand to mouth like vagabonds. No one ever came within 
those iron gates who did not want to come again ; there was a 
welcome for all, for orphan children from the convent school 
in the dull back street, who came to spend a happy day 
under charge of blue-robed sisters; or languid invalids 
muffled up in furs, longing with sick hearts for their far-off 
English homes, and deeming the Oleander-hedges and 
Pomegranate-trees of the South a poor exchange for the 
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