Flowers And Flower-Gardens Part 3

See! the cloud is after the light, gliding over the country like the shadow of a G.o.d; and now the meadows are lit up here and there with suns.h.i.+ne, as if the soul of t.i.tian were standing in heaven, and playing his fancies on them. Green are the trees in shadow; but the trees in the sun how twenty-fold green _they_ are--rich and variegated with gold!"

One of the many exquisite out-of-doors enjoyments for the observers of nature, is the sight of an English harvest. How cheering it is to behold the sickles flas.h.i.+ng in the sun, as the reapers with well sinewed arm, and with a sweeping movement, mow down the close-arrayed ranks of the harvest field! What are "the rapture of the strife" and all the "pomp, pride and circ.u.mstance of glorious war," that bring death to some and agony and grief to others, compared with the green and golden trophies of the honest Husbandman whose bloodless blade makes no wife a widow, no child an orphan,--whose office is not to spread horror and desolation through shrieking cities, but to multiply and distribute the riches of nature over a smiling land.

But let us quit the open fields for a time, and turn again to the flowery retreats of

Retired Leisure That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.

In all ages, in all countries, in all creeds, a garden is represented as the scene not only of earthly but of celestial enjoyment. The ancients had their Elysian Fields and the garden of the Hesperides, the Christian has his Garden of Eden, the Mahommedan his Paradise of groves and flowers and crystal fountains and black eyed Houries.

"G.o.d Almighty," says Lord Bacon, "first planted a garden; and indeed it is the purest of all pleasures: it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man." Bacon, though a utilitarian philosopher, was such a lover of flowers that he was never satisfied unless he saw them in almost every room of his house, and when he came to discourse of them in his Essays, his thoughts involuntarily moved harmonious numbers. How naturally the following prose sentence in Bacon's Essay on Gardens almost resolves itself into verse.

"For the heath which was the first part of our plot, I wish it to be framed as much as may be to a natural wildness. Trees I would have none in it, but some thickets made only of sweet briar and honeysuckle, and some wild vine amongst; and the ground set with violets, strawberries and primroses; for these are sweet, and prosper in the shade."

"For the heath which was the third part of our plot-- I wish it to be framed As much as may be to a natural wildness.

Trees I'd have none in't, but some thickets made Only of sweet-briar and honey-suckle, And some wild vine amongst; and the ground set With violets, strawberries, and primroses; For these are sweet and prosper in the shade."

It has been observed that the love of gardens is the only pa.s.sion which increases with age. It is generally the most indulged in the two extremes of life. In middle age men are often too much involved in the affairs of the busy world fully to appreciate the tranquil pleasures in the gift of Flora. Flowers are the toys of the young and a source of the sweetest and serenest enjoyments for the old. But there is no season of life for which they are unfitted and of which they cannot increase the charm.

"Give me," says the poet Rogers, "a garden well kept, however small, two or three spreading trees and a mind at ease, and I defy the world." The poet adds that he would not have his garden, too much extended. He seems to think it possible to have too much of a good thing. "Three acres of flowers and a regiment of gardeners," he says, "bring no more pleasure than a sufficiency." "A hundred thousand roses," he adds, "which we look at _en ma.s.se_, do not identify themselves in the same manner as even a very small border; and hence, if the cottager's mind is properly attuned, the little cottage-garden may give him more real delight than belongs to the owner of a thousand acres." In a smaller garden "we become acquainted, as it were," says the same poet, "and even form friends.h.i.+ps with, individual flowers." It is delightful to observe how nature thus adjusts the inequalities of fortune and puts the poor man, in point of innocent happiness, on a level with the rich. The man of the most moderate means may cultivate many elegant tastes, and may have flowers in his little garden that the greatest sovereign in the world might enthusiastically admire. Flowers are never vulgar. A rose from a peasant's patch of ground is as fresh and elegant and fragrant as if it had been nurtured in a Royal parterre, and it would not be out of place in the richest porcelain vase of the most aristocratical drawing-room in Europe. The poor man's flower is a present for a princess, and of all gifts it is the one least liable to be rejected even by the haughty. It might he worn on the fair brow or bosom of Queen Victoria with a n.o.bler grace than the costliest or most elaborate production of the goldsmith or the milliner.

The majority of mankind, in the most active spheres of life, have moments in which they sigh for rural retirement, and seldom dream of such a retreat without making a garden the leading charm of it. Sir Henry Wotton says that Lord Bacon's garden was one of the best that he had seen either at home or abroad. Evelyn, the author of "Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees," dwells with fond admiration, and a pleasing egotism, on the charms of his own beautiful and highly cultivated estate at Wooton in the county of Surrey. He tells us that the house is large and ancient and is "sweetly environed with delicious streams and venerable woods." "I will say nothing," he continues, "of the air, because the pre-eminence is universally given to Surrey, the soil being dry and sandy; but I should speak much of the gardens, fountains and groves that adorn it, were they not generally known to be amongst the most natural, and (till this later and universal luxury of the whole nation, since abounding in such expenses) the most magnificent that England afforded, and which indeed gave one of the first examples to that elegancy, since so much in vogue and followed, for the managing of their waters and other elegancies of that nature." Before he came into the possession of his paternal estate he resided at _Say's Court_, near Deptford, an estate which he possessed by purchase, and where he had a superb holly hedge four hundred feet long, nine feet high and five feet broad. Of this hedge, he was particularly proud, and he exultantly asks, "Is there under heaven a more glorious and refres.h.i.+ng object of the kind?" When the Czar of Muscovy visited England in 1698 to instruct himself in the art of s.h.i.+p-building, he had the use of Evelyn's house and garden, at _Say's Court_, and while there did so much damage to the latter that the owner loudly and bitterly complained. At last the Government gave Evelyn 150 as an indemnification. Czar Peter's favorite amus.e.m.e.nt was to ride in a wheel barrow through what its owner had once called the "impregnable hedge of holly." Evelyn was pa.s.sionately fond of gardening. "The life and felicity of an excellent gardener," he observes, "is preferable to all other diversions." His faith in the art of Landscape-gardening was unwavering. It could _remove mountains_. Here is an extract from his Diary.

"Gave his brother some directions about his garden" (at Wooton Surrey), "which, he was desirous to put into some form, for which he was to remove a mountain overgrown with large trees and thickets and a moat within ten yards of the house."

No sooner said than done. His brother dug down the mountain and "flinging it into a rapid stream (which carried away the sand) filled up the moat and levelled that n.o.ble area where now the garden and fountain is."

Though Evelyn dearly loved a garden, his chief delight was not in flowers but in forest trees, and he was more anxious to improve the growth of plants indigenous to the soil than to introduce exotics.[007]

Sir William Temple was so attached to his garden, that he left directions in his will that his heart should be buried there. It was enclosed in a silver box and placed under a sun-dial.

Dr. Thomson Reid, the eminent Scottish metaphysician, used to be found working in his garden in his eighty-seventh year.

The name of Chatham is in the long list of eminent men who have enjoyed a garden. We are told that "he loved the country: took peculiar pleasure in gardening; and had an extremely happy taste in laying out grounds."

What a delightful thing it must have been for that great statesman, thus to relieve his mind from the weight of public care in the midst of quiet bowers planted and trained by his own hand!

Burton, in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_, notices the attractions of a garden as amongst the finest remedies for depression of the mind. I must give the following extracts from his quaint but interesting pages.

"To see the pleasant fields, the crystal fountains, And take the gentle air amongst the mountains.

"To walk amongst orchards, gardens, bowers, mounts, and arbours, artificial wildernesses, green thickets, arches, groves, lawns, rivulets, fountains, and such like pleasant places, (like that Antiochian Daphne,) brooks, pools, fishponds, between wood and water, in a fair meadow, by a river side, _ubi variae avium cantationes, florum colores, pratorum frutices_, &c. to disport in some pleasant plain, or park, run up a steep hill sometimes, or sit in a shady seat, must needs be a delectable recreation. _Hortus principis et domus ad delectationem facta, c.u.m sylva, monte et piscina, vulg la montagna_: the prince's garden at Ferrara, Schottus highly magnifies, with the groves, mountains, ponds, for a delectable prospect; he was much affected with it; a Persian paradise, or pleasant park, could not be more delectable in his sight. St. Bernard, in the description of his monastery, is almost ravished with the pleasures of it. "A sick man (saith he) sits upon a green bank, and when the dog-star parcheth the plains, and dries up rivers, he lies in a shady bower," _Fronde sub arborea ferventia temperat astra_, "and feeds his eyes with variety of objects, herbs, trees, to comfort his misery; he receives many delightsome smells, and fills his ears with that sweet and various harmony of birds; _good G.o.d_, (saith he), _what a company of pleasures hast thou made for man!_"

"The country hath his recreations, the city his several gymnics and exercises, May games, feasts, wakes, and merry meetings to solace themselves; the very being in the country; that life itself is a sufficient recreation to some men, to enjoy such pleasures, as those old patriarchs did. Dioclesian, the emperor, was so much affected with it, that he gave over his sceptre, and turned gardener. Constantine wrote twenty books of husbandry. Lysander, when amba.s.sadors came to see him, bragged of nothing more than of his orchard, _hi sunt ordines mei_. What shall I say of Cincinnatus, Cato, Tully, and many such? how they have been pleased with it, to prune, plant, inoculate and graft, to show so many several kinds of pears, apples, plums, peaches, &c."

The Romans of all ranks made use of flowers as ornaments and emblems, but they were not generally so fond of directing or a.s.sisting the gardener, or taking the spade or hoe into their own hands, as are the British peasantry, gentry and n.o.bility of the present day. They were not amateur Florists. They prized highly their fruit trees and pastures and cool grottoes and umbrageous groves; but they expended comparatively little time, skill or taste upon the flower-garden. Even their love of nature, though thoroughly genuine as far as it went, did not imply that minute and exact knowledge of her charms which characterizes some of our best British poets. They had no Thompson or Cowper. Their country seats were richer in architectural than floral beauty. Tully's Tuscan Villa, so fondly and minutely described by the proprietor himself, would appear to little advantage in the eyes of a true wors.h.i.+pper of Flora, if compared with Pope's retreat at Twickenham. The ancients had a taste for the _rural_, not for the _gardenesque_, nor perhaps even for the _picturesque_. The English have a taste for all three. Hence they have good landscape-gardeners and first-rate landscape-painters. The old Romans had neither. But though, some of our Spitalfields weavers have shown a deeper love, and perhaps even a finer taste, for flowers, than were exhibited by the citizens of Rome, abundant evidence is furnished to us by the poets in all ages and in all countries that nature, in some form or another has ever charmed the eye and the heart of man. The following version of a famous pa.s.sage in Virgil, especially the lines in Italics, may give the English reader some idea of a Roman's dream of

RURAL HAPPINESS.

Ah! happy Swains! if they their bliss but knew, Whom, far from boisterous war, Earth's bosom true With easy food supplies. If they behold No lofty dome its gorgeous gates unfold And pour at morn from all its chambers wide Of flattering visitants the mighty tide; Nor gaze on beauteous columns richly wrought, Or tissued robes, or busts from Corinth brought; Nor their white wool with Tyrian poison soil, Nor taint with Ca.s.sia's bark their native oil; _Yet peace is theirs; a life true bliss that yields; And various wealth; leisure mid ample fields, Grottoes, and living lakes, and vallies green, And lowing herds; and 'neath a sylvan screen, Delicious slumbers. There the lawn and cave With beasts of chase abound._ The young ne'er crave A prouder lot; their patient toil is cheered; Their G.o.ds are wors.h.i.+pped and their sires revered; And there when Justice pa.s.sed from earth away She left the latest traces of her sway.

D.L.R.

Lord Bacon was perhaps the first Englishman who endeavored to reform the old system of English gardening, and to show that it was contrary to good taste and an insult to nature. "As for making knots or figures," he says, "with divers colored earths, that may lie under the windows of the house on that side on which the garden stands, they be but toys: you may see as good sights many times in tarts." Bacon here alludes, I suppose, to the old Dutch fas.h.i.+on of dividing flowerbeds into many compartments, and instead of filling them with flowers, covering one with red brick dust, another with charcoal, a third with yellow sand, a fourth with chalk, a fifth with broken China, and others with green gla.s.s, or with spars and ores. But Milton, in his exquisite description of the garden of Eden, does not allude to the same absurd fas.h.i.+on when he speaks of "curious knots,"

Which not nice art, In beds and _curious knots_, but nature boon Poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plain.

By these _curious knots_ the poet seems to allude, not to figures of "divers colored earth," but to the artificial and complicated arrangements and divisions of flowers and flower-beds.

Though Bacon went not quite so freely to nature as our latest landscape-gardeners have done, he made the _first step_ in the right direction and deserves therefore the compliment which Mason has paid him in his poem of _The English Garden_.

On thy realm Philosophy his sovereign l.u.s.tre spread; Yet did he deign to light with casual glance The wilds of Taste, Yes, sagest Verulam, 'Twas thine to banish from the royal groves Each childish vanity of crisped knot[008]

And sculptured foliage; to the lawn restore Its ample s.p.a.ce, and bid it feast the sight With verdure pure, unbroken, unabridged; For verdure soothes the eye, as roseate sweets The smell, or music's melting strains the ear.

Yes--"_verdure soothes the eye_:"--and the mind too. Bacon himself observes, that "nothing is more pleasant to the eye than green gra.s.s kept finely shorn." Mason slightly qualifies his commendation of "the sage" by admitting that he had not quite completed his emanc.i.p.ation from the bad taste of his day.

Witness his high arched hedge In pillored state by carpentry upborn, With colored mirrors decked and prisoned birds.

But, when our step has paced the proud parterre, And reached the heath, then Nature glads our eye Sporting in all her lovely carelessness, There smiles in varied tufts the velvet rose, There flaunts the gadding woodbine, swells the ground In gentle hillocks, and around its sides Through blossomed shades the secret pathway steals.

_The English Garden_.

In one of the notes to _The English Garden_ it is stated that "Bacon was the prophet, Milton the herald of modern Gardening; and Addison, Pope, and Kent the champions of true taste." Kent was by profession both a Painter and a Landscape-Gardener. Addison who had a pretty little retreat at Bilton, near Rugby, evinces in most of his occasional allusions to gardens a correct judgment. He complains that even in _his_ time our British gardeners, instead of humouring nature, loved to deviate from it as much as possible. The system of verdant sculpture had not gone out of fas.h.i.+on. Our trees still rose in cones, globes, and pyramids. The work of the scissors was on every plant and bush. It was Pope, however, who did most to bring the topiary style into contempt and to encourage a more natural taste, by his humorous paper in the _Guardian_ and his poetical Epistle to the Earl of Burlington. Gray, the poet, observes in one of his letters, that "our skill in gardening, or rather laying out grounds, is the only taste we can call our own; the only proof of original talent in matters of pleasure. This is no small honor to us;" he continues, "since neither France nor Italy, has ever had the least notion of it." "Whatever may have been reported, whether truly or falsely" (says a contributor to _The World_) "of the Chinese gardens, it is certain that we are the first of the Europeans who have founded this taste; and we have been so fortunate in the genius of those who have had the direction of some of the finest spots of ground, that we may now boast a success equal to that profusion of expense which has been destined to promote the rapid progress of this happy enthusiasm.

Our gardens are already the astonishment of foreigners, and, in proportion as they accustom themselves to consider and understand them will become their admiration." The periodical from which this is taken was published exactly a century ago, and the writer's prophecy has been long verified. Foreigners send to us for gardeners to help them to lay out their grounds in the English fas.h.i.+on. And we are told by the writer of an interesting article on gardens, in the _Quarterly Review_, that "the lawns at Paris, to say nothing of Naples, are regularly irrigated to keep up even the semblance of English verdure; and at the gardens of Versailles, and Caserta, near Naples, the walks have been supplied from the Kensington gravel-pits." "It is not probably known," adds the same writer, "that among our exportations every year is a large quant.i.ty of evergreens for the markets of France and Germany, and that there are some nurserymen almost wholly engaged in this branch of trade."

Pomfret, a poet of small powers, if a poet at all, has yet contrived to produce a popular composition in verse--_The Choice_--because he has touched with great good fortune on some of the sweetest domestic hopes and enjoyments of his countrymen.

If Heaven the grateful liberty would give That I might choose my method how to live; And all those hours propitious Fate should lend In blissful ease and satisfaction spend; Near some fair town I'd have a private seat Built uniform; not little; nor too great: Better if on a rising ground it stood, On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.

_The Choice_.

Pomfret perhaps ill.u.s.trates the general taste when he places his garden "_near some fair town_." Our present laureate, though a truly inspired poet, and a genuine lover of Nature even in her remotest retreats, has the garden of his preference, "_not quite beyond the busy world_."

Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love, News from the humming city comes to it In sound of funeral or of marriage bells; And sitting m.u.f.fled in dark leaves you hear The windy clanging of the minster clock; Although between it and the garden lies A league of gra.s.s.

Even "sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh" are often pleasing when mellowed by the s.p.a.ce of air through which they pa.s.s.

'Tis distance lends enchantment to the _sound_.

Sh.e.l.ley, in one of his sweetest poems, speaking of a scene in the neighbourhood of Naples, beautifully says:--

Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, _The city's voice itself is soft_, like solitude's.

No doubt the feeling that we are _near_ the crowd but not _in_ it, may deepen the sense of our own happy rural seclusion and doubly endear that pensive leisure in which we can "think down hours to moments," and in

This our life, exempt from public haunt, Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

_Shakespeare_.