CHOICE OF FLOWERS 



line, rather than a feminine splendor in the Amer- 

 ican beauty — a French v^ariety, by the way, that 

 thrives best in our soil — and the habit of the 

 bush, in taking what it wants, and in clinging to 

 its vantage in the soil, is virile. The old-fash- 

 ioned, sturdy kinds are best : those that defy the 

 seasons and outlive neglect and wreck. Last 

 fall while scrambling through a lonely region in 

 the Green Mountains, I came upon a cellar on a 

 deserted farm. The building which once stood 

 above it had entirely rotted down, a jungle of 

 vegetation covered its dooryard, but tall and 

 strong above a thicket of raspberries stood a 

 bush of damask roses, flaunting year after year, 

 untended and unseen. Of all that the farmer 

 had planted, this and a few gnarly apple-trees 

 survived. The homeliness of farm life had van- 

 ished, and a faint echo of its beauty came out of 

 the past. Three or four miles away I culled a 

 bouquet from a self-extended thicket of crimson 

 roses before another deserted place. Now, 

 plants that behave like that are good to know, 

 and to grow up with. They are as reliable as 

 grass. Their yearly appearance, their opulence 

 of scent and color, endear them to us as home 

 145 



