The parterre, I have said, was small, for it was in the very heart
of a great city, where land would bring almost any price; but the
gentleman and lady who lived in the noble mansion which fronted it,
would not, for the highest price which might have been offered them,
have had those sweet flowers torn up, and a brick pile reared in the
place--their only child, the dear little Carie, loved the garden so
dearly, and spent so much of her time there.
Oh, it was a sweet little place, though it was in the midst of a
great city where the air was full of dust and coal smoke; for the
fountain which played in the garden kept the atmosphere pure and
cool, and every day the gardener showered all the plants so that
their leaves were green and fresh as though they were blooming far
away in their native woods and dells. There were sweet roses of
every hue, from the pure Alba to the dark Damascus; and pinks, some
of the most spicy odour, some almost scentless, but all so beautiful
and so nicely trimmed. The changeless amaranth was there, the pale,
sweet-scented heliotrope, always looking towards the sun; the pure
lily; and the blue violet, which, though it had been taught to bloom
far away from the mossy bed where it had first opened its meek eye
to the light, had not yet forgotten its gentleness and modesty; and
not far from them were the fickle hydrangea, the cardinal flower
with its rich, showy petals, and the proud, vain, and ostentatious,
but beautiful crimson and white peonias.
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