54 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
earlier irises have reared their exquisite sceptres; the 
royal purples and the rich blues were first to come; 
and now the sweet-scented Florentina has stolen forth 
in all her ghostly glories of faint, faint lavender and 
dim, dim pearl. If this be not riches—but surely it is ! 
And there is yet so much to come. 
Although blossom-time has drifted by the shell-pink 
medlar bloom still lingers amid its soft green leaves; the 
lilacs are most beautifully and wonderfully with us, the 
laburnum is already touched with gold, the hawthorns 
are giant nosegays of snow and roses, the pheasant’s-eye 
narcissus and its double sister shine with classic grace 
among their cool grey-green spears hard by those green 
arches of Solomon’s seal. The lily-of-the-valley beds 
seem more fragrant and virginal than ever. 
I would that I had been advised by Armida and under- 
planted most of my old rose-bushes, and some of the 
new, with the dim purple-chequered snake’s-head fritil¬ 
lary, and its even fairer sisters, the Lamias of the garden ; 
for now that I have seen these phantoms of delight 
weaving their ghostly sorceries in her demesne I am 
filled with envy and remorse. Still there is much, and 
very much, else to be glad for. Never before have my' 
sweet-scented irises beaconed with such wealth of pro¬ 
mise; seldom have the early rhododendrons shown them¬ 
selves so bravely trimmed with their pyramidal lighted 
altars. To-day is delightful, and to-morrow wears such 
a charm as only to-morrow may. The birds still sing, 
but with a less rapturous persistence than at first; while 
the cuckoo, a pillar of cloud, as it were, by day, and the 
nightingale, a pillar of fire by night (if one may so 
