It is a Chinese white magnolia." "The one Downing describes ?" I asked.
This was also a random shot, but I conjectured that if they loved both books gardens they would know Downing--Bible of the gardener.

And if they did, we belonged to the same church.
"The very same," exclaimed the woman; "it was Downing's enthusiasm for the Chinese magnolia which led us first to try it." With that, like true disciples, we fell into great talk of Downing, at first all in praise of him, and later--for may not the faithful be permitted latitude in their comments so long as it is all within the cloister ?--we indulged in a bit of higher criticism.
"It won't do," said the man, "to follow too slavishly every detail of practice as recommended by Downing.

We have learned a good many things since the forties." "The fact is," I said, "no literal-minded man should be trusted with Downing." "Any more than with the Holy Scriptures," exclaimed the woman.
"Exactly!" I responded with the greatest enthusiasm; "exactly! We go to him for inspiration, for fundamental teachings, for the great literature and poetry of the art.

Do you remember," I asked, "that passage in which Downing quotes from some old Chinaman upon the true secret of the pleasures of a garden-- ?" "Do we ?" exclaimed the man, jumping up instantly; "do we?
Just let me get the book--" With that he went into the house and came back immediately bringing a lamp in one hand--for it had grown pretty dark--and a familiar, portly, blue-bound book in the other.

While he was gone the woman said: "You have touched Mr.Vedder in his weakest spot." "I know of no combination in this world," said I, "so certain to produce a happy heart as good books and a farm or garden." Mr.Vedder, having returned, slipped on his spectacles, sat forward on the edge of his rocking-chair, and opened the book with pious hands.
"I'll find it," he said.