ur chosen land.
Nothing is more delightful than a succession of small lawns, opening one
out of the other through tall hedges; these have all the charm of the
old bowling-green repeated, do not require the labour of many trimmers,
and afford a series of changes. You must have much lawn against the
early summer, so as to have a great field of daisies, the year's morning
frost; as you must have a wood of lilacs, to enjoy to the full the
period of their blossoming. Hawthorn is another of the spring's
ingredients; but it is even best to have a rough public lane at one side
of your enclosure which, at the right season, shall become an avenue of
bloom and odour. The old flowers are the best and should grow carelessly
in corners. Indeed, the ideal fortune is to find an old garden, once
very richly cared for, since sunk into neglect, and to tend, not repair,
that neglect; it will thus have a smack of nature and wildness which
skilful dispositions cannot overtake. The gardener should be an idler,
and have a gross partiality to the kitchen plots: an eager or toilful
gardener mis-becomes the garden landscape; a tasteful gardener will be
ever meddling, will keep the borders raw, and take the bloom off nature.
Close adjoining, if you are in the south, an olive-yard, if in the
north, a swarded apple-orchard reaching to the stream, completes your
miniature domain; but this is perhaps best entered through a door in the
high fruit-wall; so that you close the door behind you on your sunny
plots, your hedges and evergreen jungle, when you go down to watch the
apples falling in the pool. It is a golden maxim to cultivate the garden
for the nose, and the eyes will take care of themselves. Nor must the
ear be forgotten: without birds, a garden is a prison-yard. There is a
garden near Marseilles on a steep hill-side, walking by which, upon a
sunny morning, your ear will suddenly be ravished with a burst of small
and very cheerful singing: some score of cages being set out there to
sun the occupants. This is a heavenly surprise to any passer-by; but the
price paid, to keep so many ardent and winged creatures from their
liberty, will make the luxury too dear for any thoughtful
pleasure-lover. There is only one sort of bird that I can tolerate
caged, though even then I think it hard, and that is what is called in
France the Bec-d'Argent. I once had two of these pigmies in captivity;
and in the quiet, bare house upon a silent street where I was the