scape of quiet meadows, shut in by distant woods. What a fragrance
is in the air from the balmy fir trees and the blossomed limes! What an
intensity of odour! And what a murmur of bees in the lime trees! What a
coil those little winged people make over our heads! And what a pleasant
sound it is! the pleasantest of busy sounds, that which comes associated
with all that is good and beautiful--industry and forecast, and sunshine
and flowers. Surely these lime trees might store a hundred hives; the
very odour is of a honeyed richness, cloying, satiating.

Emily exclaimed in admiration as we stood under the deep, strong,
leafy shadow, and still more when honeysuckles trailed their untrimmed
profusion in our path, and roses, really trees, almost intercepted our
passage.

'On, Emily! farther yet! Force your way by that jessamine--it will
yield; I will take care of this stubborn white rose bough.'--'Take care
of yourself! Pray take care,' said my fairest friend; 'let me hold back
the branches.'--After we had won our way through the strait, at some
expense of veils and flounces, she stopped to contemplate and admire
the tall, graceful shrub, whose long thorny stems, spreading in every
direction, had opposed our progress, and now waved their delicate
clusters over our heads. 'Did I ever think,' exclaimed she, 'of standing
under the shadow of a white rose tree! What an exquisite fragrance! And
what a beautiful flower! so pale, and white, and tender, and the petals
thin and smooth as silk! What rose is it?'--'Don't you know? Did you
never see it before? It is rare now, I believe, and seems rarer than it
is, because it only blossoms in very hot summers; but this, Emily, is
the musk rose,--that very musk rose of which Titania talks, and which is
worthy of Shakspeare and of her. Is it not?--No! do not smell to it; it
is less sweet so than other roses; but one cluster in a vase, or even
that bunch in your bosom, will perfume a large room, as it does the
summer air.'--'Oh! we will take twenty clusters,' said Emily. 'I wish
grandmamma were here! She talks so often of a musk rose tree that grew
against one end of her father's house. I wish she were here to see
this!'

Echoing her wish, and well laden with musk roses, planted perhaps in
the days of Shakspeare, we reached the steps that led to a square
summer-house or banqueting-room, overhanging the river: the under part
was a boat-house, whose projecting roof, as well as the walls and t