XXII 



As I have occasionally expressed mild remonstrance 

 The Flower- against the monotony of our shrublands, owing 

 ing currant to the want of discrimination shown by many 

 people in decorating their grounds, let me draw attention 

 to a North American shrub which was introduced to this 

 country just eighty years ago, and has made itself 

 thoroughly at home in those places where a fair chance 

 of reproduction has been given to it. I mean the flower- 

 ing currant (Ribes sanguineus), which will be aglow 

 with blossom in mild districts almost as soon as the 

 daffodils. It is as hardy as its cousin, the currant of our 

 gardens, and revels in the moist atmosphere of the west 

 coast. I have just returned from a stroll through a 

 hollow wood, where scores of seedling Ribes have sprung 

 up from a few bushes planted as rarities half a century 

 ago. They have spread themselves, here singly, there in 

 thickets, over three or four acres of ground, and it would 

 be difficult to design a more charming decoration than 

 this haphazard display. The standard type of blossom is 

 of lively rose, but the seedlings come of many shades, 

 varying from deep carmine to flesh colour and creamy 

 white. Many of our finest flowering plants the common 

 hawthorn, for instance only display their full beauty in 

 alternate years, requiring a season of repose to revive 



