102 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
other suns itself in fragile, shell-like showers upon the 
summer-parlour’s floor of glossy Indian teak which 
mirrors back the frail image as in a glass darkly. To 
watch the rose-garden enter upon its second youth is 
almost to restore the illusion of lost spring, it is so 
lovely and so temperate. You have not, to be sure, the 
same profusion, but the individuals are beyond praise, 
and it is only the very fittest, the loveliest, and the best, 
that partake this renascent spring. The Niphetos, the 
shy trafficker, is never over-prodigal of its pearls, but 
what liberality may lack perfection amply indemnifies; 
while prodigality and perfectness alike play fairy god¬ 
mother to the admirable Viscountess Folkestone, one of 
the most desirable of that all-desirable race, the hybrid 
Teas. The faintly pink-tinted pearl colour of the 
imbricated form, the gracious abundance of blossom, 
the delightful and enduring fragrance, combine to 
render this a rose that every garden-lover should cherish 
and grow not singly but in numbers. Some of the same 
virtues are shared by the lovely Lady Mary Fitzwilliam, 
which is also tricked out bravely in new bloom; while 
steadfast and profuse as always, those standards and 
bushes that bear the incarnadined ivory cups of the 
Grace Darling are an equal refreshment to both sense 
and sight. The pretty Boule de Neige, that claims 
fragrant kinship with the Noisettes, shows itself less 
whimsically inclined now than in the spring; it is very 
lavish of its almost camellia-shaped white flowers, and 
its latest vagary has taken the by no means unpleasing 
form of a blossom markedly suffused with pink. 
Perhaps she is blushing for her many past caprices. 
