COLOUR IN MY GARDEN 



colour" is the cloak they use to hide what they deem an 

 unfortunate fact concerning certain of their offerings. It is 

 partly this practice of sending out magenta for rose colour 

 that has given the former a bad name. We order a rose- 

 coloured Peony. It arrives a deep amaranth; and, while the 

 Peony may be very beautiful, the mind cannot so quickly 

 release its rosy vision and switch to appreciation of the more 

 subtle hue. To me rose colour is that lovely colour tone 

 worn by the wild Rose, those shy and exquisite creatures of 

 the tangled wayside and high meadow, whose festal season 

 Thoreau thought should have some preeminence, perhaps 

 such special viewings as are accorded the Cherry blossoms 

 in Japan. This pink of the wild Rose is at once the most 

 luscious and delicate colour in all the kingdom of flowers, 

 and it is all too rare. The fine climbing Rose, American 

 Pillar, comes very near to being pure rose colour and there 

 is a new one now, another gift by an American grower, 

 which has all the grace and charm of the wild Rose com- 

 bined with the climbing habit and vigorous constitution of 

 the Rambler. Its name is America. 



The reign of pink is inaugurated in the garden with the 

 festival of the blossoms. We have the full-costumed Peach- 

 trees, the twisted, rose-wrapped branches of the Crabapples, 

 the many exquisite forms of pink double-flowered Japanese 

 Cherries and Plums, and around about their enchanting 

 skirts in jaunty array are ranks and ranks of pink Tulips. 

 But June is the season supreme for rose colour. Then we 

 have the great mass of Roses, Peonies, Pinks, Poppies, Sweet 

 Williams, and Pyrethrums; and while, in the later summer, 

 there are Phlox and Hollyhocks and some good pink an- 



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