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Chap. XXXII.
AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN.
61
feet high, date 1717, with her name and cipher under a
royal crown, is engraved—
“ Ma main m’a sen gagner cet or par son adresse :
Que ne doit espérer mon cæur par sa tendresse ?”
On another—
“ It pleased the king to be tricked and lose this gold, the contents
of which lie will taste. But the loss is not great when the king
loses gold to a person who is faithful for ever.”
In Rosenborg is preserved a gilt vase, ordered by
Frederic to commemorate his marriage with Anna
Sophia. He had much better have said nothing about
it.
It stands well embowered in woods, does Clausholm—
terraces, allées, and slopes—without any exception the
prettiest old place we have yet visited. Such a dream
too of an old-fashioned garden—the pen of the poet
Crabbe could alone describe it. No flower blessed
with a botanical name would dare to blow within
its hedges. A guard should be set to watch the
entrance and ask, “ Avez-vous fait vos preuves ?” “ Have
you been pahited by Van Huysum?” Roses and tulips,
lilies and candytuft, sweet William and marjorum,
gilli-Howers and traveller’s-joy: when plucked they would
only form “ posies,” and could be placed in nothing but
a “ bowpot. It would be pleasant to dream of
Clausholm—a souvenir of the past.
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