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Lae VAMES, NIVER PVANTATION BELT a ets = mS — et I = = = == — EE garden shrubbery. Included in the garden boundaries are the remains of the old Confederate rampart. Fruit trees, flowers and vegetables mingle and blend in friendly harmony. Straight and direct paths are bordered with roses and perennials which look happy and luxuriant. On the day of our visit, a border of fig trees was profligately laden with fruit. The mistress of the garden told us she had been preserving figs all day and the supply seemed undiminished. ‘This is the way of the happy fig tree. One of the visitors from a northern clime was enraptured to be invited to gather as many ripe figs as she wished. “I have never seen anything like it,” she said. “Of course, | have seen fig trees when I was in New Orleans covered with bloom, but I never saw them in full fruit before." We smilingly told her that these fig trees had never bloomed, and that no other fig tree anywhere would be guilty of so flaunting and daring a thing as bursting into full bloom, unless, perhaps, that rare variety she had seen in New Orleans. On the outskirts of the garden, near the little iron entrance gate, is a clump of poet’s laurel, Semele Androgyna, a daughter plant of "Laurel of Westover.”’ Ihe glossy evergreen leaves and red berries made this a favorite evergreen of old-time gardens. The steep river bank, which slopes from the lawn, is covered with tartarian honeysuckle, crepe myrtle and clumps of evergreens; among these and around the summit is a clump of Scotch broom brought over from Scotland in 1790 by a friend, Mr. Robertson. Following the rim of the bluff we come to the rustic cedar summer-house at the head of the steps that lead down to the boat landing. A straight, arbored pathway, bordered with shrubs, leads from here back to the house, and around the corner we catch a glimpse of a tall pear tree, planted more than one hundred years ago and still bearing generously. It nods to us in the breeze; we feel friendly and at home. Let us tarry a while in the summer arbor, listen to the sweet sounds of birds, watch a strange insect outline Japanesque tracery underneath the bark of the cedar post, L59]
