flowers.[42] Now, as far as we are aware, bluish purple is the only
flower color which Nature ever uses in masses of distant effect; this,
however, she does in the case of most heathers, with the Rhododendron
ferrugineum, and, less extensively, with the colder color of the wood
hyacinth. Accordingly, the large rhododendron may be used to almost any
extent, in masses; the pale varieties of the rose more sparingly; and,
on the turf, the wild violet and pansy should be sown by chance, so that
they may grow in undulations of color, and should be relieved by a few
primroses. All dahlias, tulips, ranunculi, and, in general, what are
called florist's flowers, should be avoided like garlic.

[Footnote 42: Every one who is about to lay out a limited extent of
garden, in which he wishes to introduce many flowers, should read and
attentively study, first Shelley, and next Shakspeare. The latter indeed
induces the most beautiful connections between thought and flower that
can be found in the whole range of European literature; but he very
often uses the symbolical effect of the flower, which it can only have
on the educated mind, instead of the natural and true effect of the
flower, which it must have, more or less, upon every mind. Thus, when
Ophelia, presenting her wild flowers, says, "There's rosemary, that's
for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's
for thoughts:" the infinite "beauty of the passage depends entirely upon
the arbitrary meaning attached to the flowers. But, when Shelley speaks
of

"The lily of the vale,
Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale,
That the light of her tremulous bells is seen
Through their pavilion of tender green,"

he is etherealizing an impression which the mind naturally receives from
the flower. Consequently, as it is only by their natural influence that
flowers can address the mind through the eye, we must read Shelley, to
learn how to use flowers, and Shakspeare, to learn to love them. In both
writers we find the wild flower possessing soul as well as life, and
mingling its influence most intimately, like an untaught melody, with
the deepest and most secret streams of human emotion.]

212. Perhaps we should apologize for introducing this in the
_Architectural Magazine_; but it is not out of place: the garden is
almost a necessary adjunct of the Elizabethan villa, and all garden
architecture is utterly useless unless it