450 Old Time Gardens 



are far travellers. I saw once in a remote and wild 

 spot a great boulder surrounded with bushes and 

 all were covered with the old Coral or Trumpet 

 Honeysuckle ; it had such a familiar air, and yet 

 seemed to have gained a certain knowingness by its 

 travels. 



This element of mystery does not extend to the 

 flowers which I am told once were in trim gardens, 

 but which I have never seen there, such as Ox-eye 

 Daisies, Scotch Thistles, Chamomile, Tansy, Berga- 

 mot, Yarrow, and all of the Mint family; they are 

 to me truly wild. But when I find flowers still cher- 

 ished in our gardens, growing also in some wild spot, 

 I regard them with wonder. A great expanse of Co- 

 reopsis, a field of Grape Hyacinth or Star of Bethle- 

 hem, roadsides of Coronilla or Moneywort, rows 

 of red Day Lily and Tiger Lily, patches of Sun- 

 flowers or Jerusalem Artichokes, all are matters of 

 thought ; we long to trace their wanderings, to have 

 them tell whence and how they came. Bouncing 

 Bet is too cheerful and rollicking a wanderer to 

 awaken sentiment. How gladly has she been wel- 

 comed to our fields and roadsides. I could not will- 

 ingly spare her in our country drives, even to become 

 again a cherished garden dweller. She rivals the Suc- 

 cory in beautifying arid dust heaps and barren rail- 

 road cuts, with her tender opalescent pink tints. How 

 wholesome and hearty her growth, how pleasant her 

 fragrance. We can never see her too often, nor ever 

 stigmatize her, as have been so many of our garden 

 escapes, as " Now a dreaded weed." 



One of the weirdest of all flowers to me is the 



