COLOUR IN MY GARDEN 



monasteries wherein were kept the first records of flowers 

 and their names. Out of the simplicity and sweetness of 

 each age these names were born and linger yet with the 

 freshness and charm of the flowers themselves. 



In "English Plant Names" the Rev. John Earl says: 

 "The fascination of plant names is founded on two instincts 

 — love of nature and curiosity about language." It lies 

 deeper than this, it seems to me; these old names are a bond 

 between the gardeners of to-day and generations of con- 

 genial spirits who loved and laboured in their gardens as do 

 we; they are the artless records of centuries of pleasant 

 work, of country-spent leisure, and they reach us across the 

 years like messages from old friends. More than this, many 

 of these quaint titles — Gillyflower, None-so-pretty, London 

 Tufts, Sops-in-wine, Honesty, to take a few at random — 

 have the power to spread a magic carpet for the mind and 

 send it voyaging into the gardens of the past. They not 

 only place us on a more friendly footing in our own gardens, 

 but open the gate of many a one long claimed by oblivion, 

 and even acquaint us somewhat with the gardener, his 

 fancy, and his station in life. 



One may not search old horticultural works without 

 gleaning the knowledge that it was the housewife who in 

 most cases had the garden under her jurisdiction; and it 

 seems highly probable that her mind and the minds of her 

 children, fitted to the narrow circumference of home and 

 garden, blossomed into many of the pretty whimsical titles 

 with which we are familiar to-day. One seems to detect a 

 woman's fancy in many of them, a woman's note of detail. 

 There is ample testimony in the old flower books in support 



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