THE GARDEN, POETICAL AND POLITICAL.
I one day had the honour of accompanying a lady on a drive to make some calls in the environs, and a most agreeable drive it was. One of our visits turned out to me quite an adventure; and procured me the acquaintance of a character rarely encountered in these rule-of-three days, wherein humanity is clipped and trained upon the principles of old Dutch gardening,—no exuberances permitted, but all offshoots duly trimmed to the conventional cut, until individuality is destroyed, and one half of the world, like Pope's parterre, is made to reflect, as nearly as possible, the other.
We drove for some distance through an ill-tended but naturally pretty domain, alighting unnoticed at a house having an air of antiquity quite refreshing; three sides of the building were encompassed by a broad raised stoop, covered with a wide-spread veranda, whilst the walls were thickly coated with ivy, like the tower of an English village church.
We mounted the stoop, which commanded a vast extent of valley bounded by distant hills, only needing water to make a perfect prospect. A few moments after we had rested here, the mistress of the place made her approach, hoe in hand, for she had been tending her flowers in person. Such a dear old shepherdess of a woman I have not seen for many a day, with all the poetry and enthusiasm of nineteen, and a pastoral, simple, unworldlike air, worthy the golden age of the flower-wreathed sheep-crook.
She had an anecdote connected with every flower-bed;—her story of the ivy, so abundant, quite pleased me, as being interesting in itself, and made doubly so by her naïve mode of telling it.
It appeared that the plants were originally cultivated by Mr. Roscoe, on his place near Liverpool; that the shoots were gathered by the hands of that amiable and illustrious man, and sent, in fulfilment of a promise made, to Mr. Jefferson, for the adornment of Monticello.
The bearer of the plants, on arriving at Washington, could find no immediate means of forwarding them safely into Virginia; so placed them in the keeping of their present enthusiastic possessor, beneath whose careful tending,—for the trust has not been reclaimed,—the gift of friendship has flourished and increased, and will, I hope, remain fresh as her own spirit, and fadeless as is the fame of the first donor!
Her parterre afforded quite a summary of the history and habits of the departed great: here were stocks that had been cultivated by the hands of George Washington, and lilies growing from bulbs dug up by those of Thomas Jefferson, after each had cast aside the ungrateful cares of government and resumed those simpler and happier pursuits in which both delighted; and these flowers of theirs flourish yet in peace and beauty, side by side, and, fragile as they look, are perhaps more durably linked than the mighty Union over which these illustrious florists presided with views so widely different.
The fruit-trees were thick with blossoms, and the air was absolutely perfumed. I felt exceedingly loath to obey the summons of my fair guide when informed that the time of departure was arrived, and have seldom found a visit to appear so very short. The carriage being laden with the sweet-scented spoils,—or, rather let me say, gifts of our kind hostess, for nothing could exceed the free hand with which every shrub was rifled for us,—we made our adieus, and set forth to return to the city by a different road, paying a call at another cottage residence by the way.