The limes are in number equal to the fellows of the college, and, with the great warden horse-chestnut and the lesser trees, make up a solemn and wise society. They waste no time. Now and then they talk a little, and when one talks, the others follow; but as a rule the wryneck or the jackdaw talks instead; and with them it seems to be near the end of the day, nothing remaining save _benedictus benedicat_. In the angriest gale and in the scarcely grass-moving air of twilight the cypresses nod almost without sound. They are sentinels, unarmed, powerful in their unknown watchword, solemn and important as negroes born in the days of Haroun Alraschid. They say the last word on calm. And so old---- goes there often, to remember the great days of the college fifty years ago, and, looking priest-like with his natural tonsure and black long gown, seems to worship some unpermitted graven image among the shadows. When _he_ is in the garden, the intruder may see a complete piece of mediæval Oxford; for the louvre, and the line of roofs, and the mullioned windows are, from that point of view, as they were in the founder’s time. At the feet of the trees are the flowers of the seasons in their order. Here and there the precious dark earth is visible, adding a charm to the pale green stems and leaves and the splendid or thoughtful hues of blossom. The flower borders and plots carve the turf into such a shape that it seems a great quiet monster at rest. One step ahead the grass is undivided, enamelled turf: underfoot, the innumerable blades have each a colour, a movement, a fragrance of their own,--as when one enters a crowd, that had seemed merely a crowd, and finds in it no two alike. On one side is the shrubbery, of all the hues of the kingdom of green. Underneath the shrubs the gloom is a presence. The interlacing branches are as the bars of its cage. You watch and watch--like children who have found the lion’s cage, but the lion invisible--until gradually, pleased and still awed, you see that the caged thing is--nothingness, in all its shadowy pomp and immeasurable power. Seated there, you could swear that the darkness was moving about, treading the boundaries. When I first saw it, it was a thing as new and strange as if I had seen the world before the sun, and withdrawing my eyes and looking at the fresh limes [Illustration: IN TRINITY COLLEGE GARDENS The wrought-iron gates, supported by noble piers, to the left of the picture, open immediately opposite Wadham College. The road between the College and the gates leads to the New Museum, the Parks, and Keble College. There is no entrance for the public through these gates. Some of the fine trees which adorn this eastern part of the gardens are shown.]