COLOUR IN MY GARDEN 



logues and finding very seldom the word fragrant in the 

 long lists of Peonies, Irises, Tulips, and other plants, though 

 the colours were minutely described. The supply answers 

 the demand. The world is asking for aesthetic colours, 

 multiplied petals, greater height and sturdiness, but not for 

 fragrance. Surely this is irrefutable when such a soulless 

 beauty as the Rose Frau Karl Druschki and the pagan 

 Oriental Poppy enjoy such marvelous vogue. Perhaps per- 

 fume magic is beyond the power of the patient hybridists, 

 perhaps it is true that 



To grow flowers is a common thing, 

 God alone gives them perfume. 



And somehow in the doubling of petals, the enrichment of 

 hues, some divine factor slips from their grasp and some- 

 thing precious is lost that the ingenuity of man may not 

 restore. 



It is a pity that we should become less sensitive to the 

 appeal of perfume — should allow any flaunting rag of 

 modern beauty to drive the old-time sweet flowers — "dear 

 for the very fragrance of their names" — back into the dim 

 gardens of the past. Let us plant in some quiet nook a 

 little garden to the night where the old favourites may 

 smile again. Let us tuck in among the white flowers hot- 

 breathed Wallflowers and heady Musk Hyacinths, spicy 

 Clove Pinks, and honey-scented Broom, Mignonette, Rose 

 Geranium, and Lemon Verbena, with patches of Savory 

 Marjoram, Thyme, and Southernwood reaching out into 

 the path that we may brush against them as we pass, 

 invoking a greeting from their aromatic leaves. Let those 



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