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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
childhood she had ever considered as her own; and 
thus, while the flowers lasted, they frequently visited 
the grounds of the old manor-house. 
The garden of itself was a picture, too beautiful 
to be described in plain prose, for near it stood the 
ruins of an old castle, built by one of the Nevilles 
who came over with William the Norman. Some¬ 
thing like the following, for want of a better, must 
pass for our description of 
THE OLD CASTLE GARDEN. 
Hard by the crumbling castle wall, 
That old and gloomy garden spread, 
With many a quaintly-shapen bed, 
And many a mazy path that led 
To postern, drawbridge, bower, and hall, 
Through gloomy groves of evergreens, 
Dark low-browed rocks, and shady scenes, 
Hemmed in by fir-trees black and tall. 
And all around 
That dreary ground 
Was heard the sound 
Of many a mournful fountain falling, 
And many an echo faintly calling 
To waving trees and low-voiced streams, 
Where Day but rarely spread his beams,— 
It seemed a living land of dreams. 
