was on. The foreline of it off by early July, we read that the larger poppy had vanished, dwarf poppy was still in flower, but on the deadline, and pinks were disappearing. Carnation was in full life, however, and the bachelor's garden was again aglow in late July. Other flowers had put out. There was one bloom on the argemone, and the mirabilis described by the young man Jefferson, as "very clever," was claiming his attention.
The family place at Shadwell, where the old-fashioned four-room farm house, with its high chimneys and gable ends, stood, the house in which he was born, shows no marks of a garden today, but Jefferson was used as a child to the beauties of the garden at Tuckahoe, where he spent seven years of his life. He knew old Dungeness, home of his mother, Jane, daughter of Ischam Randolph, a student of plant life, and son of William Randolph, of Turkey Island. As a young man he disported himself in the palace gardens of Governor Fauquier in old Williamsburg. He knew Ampthill, Eppington, The Forest, the gardens of the Harrisons and Pages, the gay and flaunting gardens of Fredericksburg and Annapolis, and was familiar with those in old New York and Philadelphia.
Monticello, more beautiful in situation than any of them, must have a garden of his making, and we find him a young man, dreaming of his plans. "And of our own dear Monticello," he once wrote, describing it to a friend, "Where has nature spread so rich a mantle under the eye? Mountains! forests! rocks! river! With what majesty do we ride above the storm! How sublime to look down in the workhouse of nature, to see her clouds, hail, snow, rain, thunder, all
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