VIII 



&quot;Escaped from Old Gardens&quot; 



IN the days when I deemed it necessary to 

 hunt down in my well-thumbed Gray every 

 flower of wood and field, and fit it to its Latin 

 name, I used often to meet this phrase. At 

 first, being young, I resented it. I scorned 

 gardens: their carefully planned and duly 

 tended splendors were not for me. The orchid 

 in the deep woods or by the edge of the lonely 

 swamp, the rare and long-sought heather in 

 the open moorland, these it was that roused 

 my ardor. And to find that some newly dis 

 covered flower was not a wild flower at all, 

 but merely a garden flower &quot;escaped&quot;! The 

 very word carried a hint of reprobation. 



But as the years went on, the phrase gath 

 ered to itself meanings vague and subtle. I 

 found myself welcoming it and regarding with 

 a warmer interest the flower so described. 

 From what old garden had it come? What 

 associations and memories did it bring out 



