The Field and the Garden

IT must have been observed by every careful student of nature that our walks in the field and in the garden are not attended by the same sensations. Indeed, they always remind me of prose and verse, the one marked by uniformity, the other by variety. The words and images of prose are more ample and free, those of verse more select and condensed. We look for assorted profusion in the garden, for scattered multiplicity in the field. We can sustain our interest a longer time when rambling over the fields of prose ; but the luxury of a few moments is greater when traversing the garden-walks of a short poem. We see more beauty, more splendor, more that gratifies the sense in the garden ; we discover more of the picturesque, more sublimity, more that excites the imagination in the field. But the dreary monotony and artificial grandeur of a widely extended landscape garden must be as tiresome as a long poem ; its serpentine paths, its rustic devices and shallow imitations of nature’s wildness failing in their intentions, as the affected ruggedness and hobbling of the verse, and the frequent episodes of a long poem, are but a mockery of the freedom of prose.

Some people who have been confined a great part of their life to the town know very little of flowers, except as the ornaments of a garden, and have admired them chiefly as objects of art. Florist flowers are generally deprived of some of their specific characters : stamens are transformed into petals, as in roses ; wheel-shaped flowers in the margin take the place of bell-shaped flowers in the centre, as in the snowball ; or the florets of the disk are furnished with petals, as in the dahlia, and become in each case a “double flower.” By this transformation they are rendered more valuable for bouquets and floral exhibitions, and are more admirable as ornaments of the parterre. They have become more marketable, but less poetical ; they are more the delight of the flower-girl, but they are prized in a less degree by the botanist and the poet, who prefer the objects of nature unsophisticated by art.

The field-flowers are praised by the poet Campbell, because they waft him to bygone summers, to birchen glades and Highland mountains, to the shores of lakes and their little islands ; because they are associated with the notes of birds and the voices of streams. While admitting that they are eclipsed by the flowers of the garden, he gives these wildings of nature his preference, because they are allied with more pleasant memories and affections. He would cherish them that they may enliven his declining years with the sensations of youth, and hopes they may grow upon his tomb. The simple flowers of the garden, however, which have not been greatly modified by culture and retain their original characters, claim no less attention than we bestow upon the flowers of the field. The most ancient and common of these have acquired the greatest share of our affection, because they were our earliest friends. Such are the primrose, the pansy, the narcissus, the tulip, the lily of tiie valley,— perfectly primitive in its character,— and above all the white lily and the rose. We have become acquainted with these flowers, not only from our early intercourse with them in the garden, but from the frequent allusions to them in the poetry of all ages, and in Holy Writ. But they are not the favorites of florists. Fashion, who always impudently interferes with our tastes and our pleasures, has not failed to intermeddle with the flower-garden, and has often stamped a false value upon certain flowers of inferior beauty compared with others of a more simple habit and deportment. We who have not been compelled to wear the yoke of this tyranny will continue to admire those which have been sanctified to our imagination by the poets of nature.

Many of our common garden-flowers are closely interwoven with the fabric of English literature ; and the frequent mention of them by the early poets, who treated them more in detail than their successors, has invested them with charms which are derived from their descriptions and the imagery that accompanies them. Others are commended to us by the memories of childhood, and by their frequency in the gardens of rustic cottages in the country. Such are the marigold, the larkspur, the morning-glory, the iris, the crocus, and the snowdrop. How vividly are the early scenes and events of our life called up by these simple flowers, and how greatly do they contribute to the cheerfulness and sacredness of the grounds they occupy ! Coming generations will be affected with less emotion by these particular flowers, because their childhood will make friendships with others that have taken their places. But I am persuaded that the introduction of such multitudinous species in our gardens is fatal to the poetic interest that might be felt in a smaller number. A few flowers take a stronger hold of our affections and our imaginations than a multitude. Thus people who live in retirement, with a small circle of friends, are more devoutly attached to them than those who have a crowd of them, whom they constantly meet in the social intercourse of fashion.

I will confess that I am not an admirer of floral exhibitions. I am offended when I see flowers degraded to a level with ribbons, laces, and jewelry, and prized according to some property that is appreciable only by a connoisseur. I am aware that such exhibitions are attended with certain public advantages, and contribute an innocent amusement to the inhabitants of towns and cities. But I should be more interested in looking over the dried specimens of some rustic botanist in the country than in viewing the most splendid assortment of show flowers ; and feel more respect for the zeal of a true lover of nature, who traverses the continent in quest of an unknown species, than for the ambition of a florist, who experiments half his lifetime to add one new tint to a dahlia.

I was invited some time since by an old lady of my acquaintance to come into her garden and see her flowers, of which she had gathered together a miscellaneous assemblage that reminded me of those we sometimes meet in a little opening in the woods. She was one who valued plants as the works of nature, not as the toys of ambition, and who held them all sacred as gifts of Providence. Every species was highly prized by her, and she had collected all such as her means enabled her to obtain, and planted them in her garden. This little enclosure I found to be stored with many plants which have been naturalized on our soil, and from time immemorial have been known and loved by the inhabitants both of England and America. Many of these were common in our gardens thirty years ago. Among them were several cordial and medicinal herbs, such as wormwood, balm, horehound, southernwood, basil, and thyme, growing side by side with pinks, jasmines, and primulus. She expatiated on the uses of these and the beauties of those ; but the principal objects of her admiration were some noble sunflowers, that maintained a sort of kingly presence among the inhabitants of her garden.

Not being affected by any prejudice against sunflowers, I sympathized with her admiration, and praised them heartily, without saying a word more than I felt. They were dotted about her grounds with great irregularity, not because the old lady had any of the prevailing affectation for what is termed picturesque arrangement, but wherever a seed had come up, there she allowed it to grow without molestation. There was an air of rustic cheerfulness about these sunflowers that captivated my sight, and made me at the time a true convert to the views of my entertainer. This celebrated flower, which was dedicated to the sun, because it was made in the image of that deity, — the flower which was produced by the transformation of Clytie, and, still retaining her passion, is supposed to turn itself constantly toward his beams, — had found a modern admirer in my hostess. Though its colors are neither various nor beautiful, there is a halo of divinity in the border of petals surrounding the disk of the flower, and a look that reminded me of those charitable and honest people who live to do good. We shall perceive this analogy when we consider that the sunflower possesses many economical properties, and that, after the beauty of its prime is faded, it scatters abroad its seeds, and supplies a repast for many famishing birds. The good dame appreciated these frugal habits in her sunflowers, and fed her poultry in the autumn with their seeds.

While commenting on the beauties of the various occupants of her garden, she made an apology for the weeds which had overgrown and concealed many of her favorite flowers ; her duties as a housekeeper had not left her time enough to be a good supervisor of her plants. I remarked that weeds are an important addition to a flowergarden ; that they cause it to resemble the wilds of Nature, who is not careful to destroy weeds, but seems as desirous to protect them as the most beautiful lilies or daisies. It is pleasant when strolling in a garden to feel as if we were making discoveries, by gaining perhaps the first sight of a little blossom half hidden by some overtopping weed. She did not quite comprehend my philosophy, and thought it preferable that the beauties of the garden should be the most conspicuous objects. I replied that many of her weeds were as beautiful as her flowers ; that the Roman wormwood, for example, generally despised, was nothing less than the Ambrosia which was served with nectar at the feasts of the gods ; it is like a tree m its manner of branching, and bears a leaf like that of a fern, — the proudest of all plants in the structure of its foliage.

On our way through the garden-path a large burdock in an angle of the fence obtruded itself upon our sight, covered with a splendid array of purple globular flowers. The burdock, she said, was allowed to occupy this obscure nook for the benefit of its seeds, which, if made into a tea, are a valuable remedy for weak nerves ; and she often steeped its roots with certain aromatic herbs, to add a tonic bitter to her “ diet drink.” I added that it was once highly prized as a medicinal herb, and that, setting aside the beauty of its flowers, I should cherish this particular one for the protection it affords to a little creeping plant then luxuriating in its shade. This little creeper was the gill; though a weed, a very pretty labiate, displaying its blue and purple flowers in whorls, and the stem with anthers that meet and form a cross, and adorned with heart-shaped leaves very neatly corrugated. This plant had gained my admiration very early in life, among the weeds in my own garden, and on account of its delicate beauty I could not treat it as an outcast.

Among other curiosities of her garden, included in the denomination of weeds, was a delicate euphorbia, a flat spreading plant, lying so close upon the ground that it could hardly be touched by the foot that was placed upon it. It grew in the garden walk, forming circular patches, and covered with minute round leaves, having a purple spot in their centre, and bearing in their axils numerous white flowers. This plant bad not attracted her attention, and she seemed pleased at having made so rare a discovery among her weeds. On the other hand, she had not failed to observe a beautiful sandwort, one of the most delicate of nature’s productions, with a profusion of small pink flowers upon stalks and leaves as fine as moss. This had planted itself on a rude terrace near the walls of her cottage, where the sandy soil would not permit the growth of more luxuriant plants that would overshadow and destroy it. She seemed to admire this little weed as much as her sunflowers, and had taken notice of the fine hues of its corolla, its branching stems, and its leaves terminating in fine bristles. Before we separated I remarked that her weeds required no apology, for after all they were not so numerous as to hold any more than their rightful share of the soil. I confessed that in the neglected parts of her garden I had obtained as much satisfaction as if it were a proud parterre. I thought there might be an excess of beauty and elegance in a garden as well as in a dwelling-house ; that my visit had been an exceedingly pleasant one to me ; and that I cared no more to see a garden where everything is kept in as nice a trim as the bald pate of a Chinaman, than to look at the pictures in a barber’s shop.

I soon afterwards entered the grounds of an amateur florist, who showed me a fine array of the most recently imported florist s flowers. He discoursed eloquently on the superiority of certain improved dahlias, compared with other similar varieties that might seem identical to one who is not a connoisseur. He was particularly pleased with some beds of hollyhocks that displayed a great variety of colors and shades, which he had combined so as to produce a beautiful harmonic effect that reminded me of the colors of the rainbow. I could not help saying that I admired the splendor of this exhibition, and the ingenuity required for its arrangement ; but I did not praise it sufficiently to gratify his ambition, and he expressed his surprise at my want of enthusiasm. I soon perceived that he was, in the most approved sense, a man of taste and of “ æsthetic culture ” ; that he had a keen eye for any improvement in a flower as manifested in a new combination of hues or rare development of form, and great skill in the arrangement of his borders. More than all, he was so much of a scientific botanist, that I was instructed by his discourse no less than I had been delighted by my interview with his humble neigh bor.

He alluded to my visit in the old lady’s garden, and spoke in a comical humor of her sunflowers and her admiration of them. I replied that whole nations had worshipped the sun ; and why should not our pious friend worship the sunflower, which is typical of that luminary? This religion of hers was a proof of her admiration of greatness, in which she resembled the rest of the world. The public has never ceased to admire big trees and mammoth squashes ; and a great sunflower seems to me as worthy of our idolatry as a great water-lily. I confessed that I could join heartily in the respect she paid even to her burdocks, that bear a profusion of flowers, consisting of little globular beads of the most exquisite finish, with tufts of rose-colored fringe, each one a gem fit to adorn the bosom of a sylph. These plants are also of a giant size, with a leaf as large as that of a fan palm. I added that I felt a homely regard for flowers, not in proportion as they were “far-fetched and dear-bought,” but as they are adapted to certain important ends connected with our happiness, independent of our ambition. I left him in a state of surprise at my avowal of so many heresies which he thought disproved my sincerity. But I am not able to perceive the superiority of his taste compared with that of my female friend. I cannot understand why mere splendor is a thing to be admired, or simplicity a thing to be ridiculed. A true painter sees more to delight him in a laborer’s cottage guarded by an old apple-tree, than in a palace surrounded by works of sculpture and shaded by cedars of Lebanon.

There is an inclination among men to carry their social prejudices into their observations of nature, to make price a criterion of beauty as well as of value, and to quality their admiration of both scenes and flowers by their ideas of the expense which has been laid out upon them. This is the way to annihilate everything sacred and poetical in the character of flowers and landscapes, and to degrade nature below art, or, rather, I should say, below fashion. The simple-hearted woman who cherishes with fondness a lilactree that bore flowers for her when she was a girl, manifests a sentiment that is entitled to respect, and her affection for it is a genuine theme for poetry. He who despises her attachment because her lilac-tree is out of date as a thing of fashion, and has lost its value in the flower-market, is himself the proper subject of satire. Let us save these fair objects of the field and the garden from being appraised like millinery goods! When I observe this venal criterion of taste as exemplified in the grounds of wealthy men and florists, I turn from the most splendid garden with indifference, to admire a little modest violet in the wildwood, hiding itself under the broad leaf of a fern, or trembling on the edge of a footpath in the meadow.

There have been some curious speculations about the forms and colors of flowers, in the works of certain fanciful writers. Some of them consider all the colors of the universe as typical of some divine attribute. In this way they would explain the agreeable impressions usually produced by certain colors. White is very obviously regarded by all nations as the symbol of purity. It also signifies cheerfulness, because it reflects the greatest quantity of light and yields a proportional vividness to our perceptions. The melancholy feelings, on the other hand, which are excited by black surfaces flow from their resemblance to darkness. But how shall we account for the sensations of vivid enjoyment produced by the different colors which we call beautiful ? Why do the golden, orange, and purple tints that surround the declining sun cause more exquisite sensations than the white light reflected from the clouds at noonday ? And why do the beautiful colors that grace the cup of an auricula or the cheek of a rose affect us with more pleasure than the simple whiteness of any similar flowers ? Do they act upon the mind by producing some definite emotion of which these colors are the type ? We cannot explain all these effects by association.

But whether there be truth or not in the theory that assigns to colors some innate power of producing definite thoughts as well as sensations, none will deny that similar effects are produced by colors from association. Hence the varied hues of autumn have become, from their alliance with the close of the year, suggestive of melancholy trains of thought which are hardly subdued by their cheerful splendor. Colors less lively in the foliage of the vernal woods cheer, animate, and delight us, as signals of the revival of nature. These different tints have accordingly become emblematical of their respective seasons ; and while the brilliant hues of autumn awaken a certain appreciable amount of sadness, the pale green hues of spring, with their dim shades of rose and lilac, dispose us to cheerfulness and pleasant memories of early life.

The custom of emblemizing flowers, which has prevailed among all nations, seems to be a passion of the human mind. In our imagination they are persons, objects of friendship and love, having the semblance of our virtues and affections. If we speak of them with a sort of passionate regard, it is because we thus personify them and clothe them with human and even divine qualities. The virtues we admire in the character of our fellow-beings we are delighted to behold symbolized in flowers ; and hence we may explain why those representing modesty, humility, delicacy, and purity are our favorites, while we seldom long admire the gaudy and showy flowers. We prize them in proportion as they are suggestive of some agreeable moral sentiment ; hence a white flower which is without any intrinsic beauty of color gains in many cases more of our admiration than another similar one of beautiful tints.

Wordsworth habitually views the minor works of nature in this moral aspect, and delights in speaking the praises of the common and simple garden flowers. Like a true poet, he sees in them more to awaken pleasant and salutary thoughts than in those which are prized at floral exhibitions. He has woven many delightful emblematic images with flowers, and through them has conveyed important sentiments of a moral and religious kind. He considers the daisy, which is scattered widely in England over every field and near every footpath, and which is also cultivated at cottage-windows in many different countries, as a “pilgrim of nature,” whose home is everywhere. He thinks there abides with this little plant some concord with humanity ; and that those who are easily depressed may learn a lesson from it. It will teach them by its cheerful example how to find a shelter in every climate, and under all conditions of adversity, engaging the affections of all no less by its modest beauty than by its capacity of living and thriving, and remaining bright and cheerful under all circumstances of culture or neglect.

He also praises, in another poem, the small celandine. He greets it as the prophet of spring and its attractions ; and speaks of the thrifty cottager who stirs seldom out of doors, and who is charmed with the sight of this humble flower by reason of its happy augury of the year. He commends it for its kindly and unassuming disposition. Careless of its neighborhood, we see its pleasant face in wood and meadow, in the rustic lane and in the stately avenue, on the princely domain and in the meanest place upon the highway. It is pleased and contented in all situations, and the poet glows in his description of its unpretending virtues. He rebukes the gaudy flowers that will be seen whether we would see them or not, and considers them as exemplifying the pride of worldlings ; and again he extols the virtues of the small celandine.

In another poem he compares the ambitious, who, without more than ordinary talents or merit, aspire to some lofty station, to a tuft of fern on the summit of a high rock. It is a miserable thing, “ dry, withered, light, and yellow,” that endeavors to soar with the tempest and expose itself to observation ; but all its importance belongs to its position. We wonder how it came there, and how it is able to keep its place, while plants of superior qualities would be unable to transport themselves thither; and if by accident they should arrive at such a height, they could not sustain it. The fern by its meanness accomplishes what, if it possessed a nobler nature, would be impossible. Thus, he continues, mean men, never doubting their own merit or capacity, and unscrupulous of the means they use to elevate themselves or to keep their place, rise to eminences which men of genius and integrity could not attain, because they scorn the actions that would insure them success.

The rose, in all ages, has been regarded as the emblem of beauty and virtue, having in addition to its visual attractions a fragrance that always endures. The Hebrew and classical writers have associated this flower with certain divine qualities which are held up for our love and reverence. The lily is no less celebrated, being frequently mentioned in Holy Writ, to adorn a parable or to improve the force of some poetic image. Among all nations it is a chosen symbol of meekness and modesty, and it is more frequently celebrated in lyric poetry than any other flower, because it is the semblance, in the highest degree, of those qualities which are favorite themes of the poets. Its paleness is typical of delicacy, while its drooping habit renders it a true emblem of sorrow. It is the metaphorical image of the meek and passive virtues, while the perfume it sends abroad may be compared to the influence of a good man’s life.

I have said nothing of the language of flowers, which seems in general to have only a slight foundation in nature.

It is rather the result of an agreement to use certain flowers to signify certain words or ideas arbitrarily applied to them. It is indeed but an agreeable form of writing by cipher. In some cases this language is founded on a legend or a poetic fable, in others on the emblematic characters of the flowers. Thus, the violet signifies modesty, because its colors are soft, and the flower seems to hide itself from observation. In like manner the sensitiveplant is expressive of purity, because it shrinks from the touch ; and the balsam of impatience, because its capsules snap in the hand that is put forth to gather them. Let us not deride the harmless amusements that spring from this philological use of flowers, nor despise the ingenuity that invented them. A bouquet tiiat conveys an affectionate message from a young lover to his mistress must possess a charm in her sight which genius could hardly express in the finest verses.

Flowers serve a more needful purpose in the economy of nature than we are prone to imagine ; and they produce more effect on the dullest minds than many even of the most susceptible would acknowledge. But it is not an uncommon habit, especially among the ignorant, to ridicule the study of flowers and those who are devoted to it. On the other hand, they do not despise the occupation of the florist, because it brings him money. Others consider botany a trilling pursuit, worthy the attention only of persons of effeminate habits ; but I have never been able to learn that these objectors are contemners of any of those fashionable habits which are confessedly enervating and destructive of mental and physical power. Nothing can enervate tiiat actively employs the mind and exercises the body at the same time, as may be said ot the out-of-door study of botany or any other branch of natural history. They are the most invigorating of all intellectual pursuits. Nor is the study of flowers the less worthy of attention, though we admit that it exercises the imagination and fancy more than it stores the mind with knowledge. The same charge may be brought against the study of any of the fine arts.

The botanist, however, does not study flowers merely as beautiful objects. As a scientific observer, he finds in them the exponents of the laws of vegetation, which can be understood only by the keenest perceptions. Hence the fact that among botanists may be named some of the greatest men who have lived. As a moral and poetic observer, he discerns in flowers, not mere gems sparkling on the bosom of Nature, but so many living beings, looking up to him from the greensward, and down upon him from the trees and cliffs, and inspiring him with a feeling of sympathy with all the visible world. What can be more worthy of study than this beautiful assemblage of living things, whose relations to each other and to men and animals unfold a thousand singular mysteries, whose forms and colors produce the most delicate conceptions of art, and whose metaphorical characters have rendered them the very poetry of nature I Religion and virtue, science, painting, and poetry, all have their readings in these brilliant pets of the florist and toys of children. The stars of heaven do not convey to our minds a more vivid conception of the mysteries of the universe than the flowers that sparkle in the same countless numbers on the earth.

Let us imagine that the earth had been created without flowers ; that the greensward was sprinkled with no violets in the opening of the year ; and that May flung around her footsteps neither daisies nor cowslips ; that summer called out no blossom upon the trees, and that autumn bound with his ripened sheaves neither asters nor golden-rods, and looked through his frosty eyelids upon neither gentians nor euphrasia ! Let us imagine that the dews cherished nothing fairer than the green foliage of herbs and trees, and that the light of morning, which now unfolds the splendor of millions of tinted corols, sparkled only in the crystal dewdrops ; that the butterfly looked in vain for its counterpart among the plants that now offer it their allurements, and that the bee was not one of the living forms of nature, because the fields produced no flowers for its sustenance ! Who would not feel that some unknown blessing was denied us ? Who would not believe that there was some imperfection in the order of nature ?

What fanciful image of happiness is not associated with flowers, — the delight of infant ramblers in the sunshine of May ; the reward of their searchings in the meadows among brambles and ferns ; infantile honors and decorations for the brows of childhood ; the types of their budding affections and the materials for their cheerful devices ; the ornaments of young May-queens and the joy of their attendants; the fair objects of their quest in the sunny borders of fragrant woods ; the pride of their simple ambition when woven into garlands of love ! How blank would the earth be to childhood without flowers ! How destitute the fields of beauty and nature of poetry !

But the Intelligence that set light in heaven, to beam with every imaginable hue, has not made us sensitive to beauty, without bestowing upon the earth those forms which, like the letters of a book, convey to the mind an infinity of delightful thoughts and conceptions. Hence flowers are made to spring up in wood and dell, by solitary streams, in moss-grown recesses ; near every path that glides through the meadow, and in every green lane that wanders through the forest; and nature has given them an endless variety of forms, colors, and deportment, that by their different expressions they may awaken every agreeable passion of the soul. There is no place where their light is not to be seen. The inhabitant of the South beholds them in trees looking down upon him like the birds ; the man of the North sees them embossed in verdure, under the protection of trees and rocks. Insects sip from their honey-cups the nectar of their subsistence, during a life as ephemeral as that of the blossom they plunder ; and the summer gales rejoice in their sweets with which they have laden their wings. Morning greets them when she wakes, and sees them spread out their petals to the light of the sun, all glowing with beauty when the dews that sleep nightly in their bosoms steal silently back to heaven ; and every day is relieved of its weariness by the myriads that brighten when it approaches, and sweeten with their fragrance the transitory visits of each fleeting hour.

When is the mind so impassive that it is not animated by the presence of flowers and made hopeful by their gayety ? Where is the eye that does not see them, and note their comeliness, and wish that they might never droop or decay ? Where is the lover that does not view them as partaking of his own passion, and looking fair for the sake of her for whom they seem to be created ? The young bride, when garlanded with their wreaths, feels that the virtues that should reside in her heart have shed their grace upon her through these fair symbols ; and mourners, when they see them clustering round the tomb of a departed friend, worship them as lights of heaven, foreshowing in their sleep and resuscitation the soul’s immortality !

Wilson Flagg.