July 29, 1896.] 



Garden and Forest. 



303 



Tule (Scirpus lacustris, S. Tatora andCyperus flavicans). 

 — Introduced through Spanish from Aztec tulli or tolli, a 

 general name in that language for bulrushes. 



Wahoo (i) (Euonymus atropurpureus). — From Dakota 

 (Siouan) zw/zoo (the first vowel nasalized), meaning "arrow- 

 wood." Spelled also Waahoo and Whahoo. (2) (Ulmus 

 alata). From Muscogee (Choctaw-Muscogee) uhahwu, a 

 word of unknown meaning. 



Wampapin (Nelumbo lutea). — From one of the western 

 Algonkin dialects, probably Odjibway. It means "white 

 root," and refers to the color of the inside of the farina- 

 ceous edible tubers. 



Wampee. — A name of South Carolinian origin, assigned 

 by Drayton {View of S. Carol, 1S02) and Shecut {Flora 

 Carolinceensis, 1S06) to Arisa?ma triphyllum ; by Elliott 

 {Bol. S. Carol., 1817-24), Barton {Flora Philad., 18 18), 

 Darby {Bo/. Southern Slates) and others to Pontederia cor- 

 data, and by Rafinesque {Med. Flora, 1S30) to Peltandra 

 alba. Of the four languages formerly spoken in what is 

 now the state of South Carolina, the name can be referred 

 only to the Shawnee (Algonk. ), in which the word would 

 mean " it is white." In the case of Arisaema and Peltan- 

 dra, this would refer to the color of the inside of the farina- 

 ceous root-stocks, which, after being boiled or roasted, in 

 order to destroy their acridity, were eaten by the aborigines. 

 As applied to the Pontederia, it would refer to the color of 

 the farinaceous seeds, which likewise were used by the 

 Indians as a food material. 



Whipsiwog (Erechthites hieracifolia). — From Cree (Al- 

 gonk.) wippisiwok, "they are hollow," like a tube. 



Wickopy (Dirca palustris). — An Algonkin word meaning 

 " tying bark" ; Abnaki, wighebi ; Delaware, ttrigebi ; Odjib- 

 way, wigob, etc. The tying-bark par exxellence of the 

 aborigines was the bast of the Linden, and it is that to 

 which the above Algonkin names refer. 



Wickup, or Wicup (Epilobium angustifolium). — An altera- 

 tion of the foregoing word ; transferred from some species 

 of Osier used as withes. 



Yamp, or Yampah (Carum Gairdneri). — From the Snake 

 or Shoshone (Shoshonean) name for the root, which is 

 highly esteemed by these and other Indians as an article of 

 food. 



Yapon, Yapoon, Yaupon, or Yopon (Ilex vomitoris). — Prob- 

 ably a derivative from Catawba (Siouan)_ya^>, oryop, " tree," 

 "shrub," or from 'yaphd, "leaf" ("tree-hair"?). (The Mus- 

 cogee name of the plant was assi lupulski, "small leaves," 

 usually abbreviated to assi, "leaves," literally, "hairs" (of 

 plant). The leaves, having been extensively used by the 

 southern Indians for the preparation of an exhilarating 

 beverage (called "black drink" by the early British 

 traders), gave their name to the shrub itself as well as to 

 the potion prepared from it. ,„ „ _ 



New York. W. K. Gerard. 



Delights of a Rough Garden. 



IN offering suggestions on gardening to the enthusiastic 

 beginner it is usual to lay down at the outset a few 

 unmistakable rules for his prudent guidance : Undertake 

 no more than you can care for with thoroughness. Neat- 

 ness is the first essential. Be content with small begin- 

 nings, and so on indefinitely. 



The pleasures of the opposite plan, the rich satisfaction 

 of a big, rough garden, in which beginnings and complete 

 successes are somewhat loosely connected, and yet where 

 freedom and beauty do live together in harmony, these 

 attractive possibilities seldom find an advocate. On the 

 strength of an experiment now in its fourth year I beg 

 leave to put in a plea for the garden in which neatness is 

 not a first essential. It seems quite possible to make a 

 kind of treaty with Nature, in which she consents to do for 

 a rough, yet much-loved garden filled with all sorts of 

 tentative beginnings of loveliness, that which she does with 

 so much charm for any old, abandoned garden left wholly 

 to her possession. The lover of wild beauty, who loves 



tamed and cultured beauty also, may find an opportunity 

 for gardening upon this scale on any little country place of 

 a few acres. With grass and trees, and, if possible, a varied 

 surface to begin with — and these are everywhere in our 

 eastern states the commonest conditions — there is abun- 

 dant opportunity for the evolution of a beautiful garden. 



The opportunity need not be restricted by the theory 

 that every inch of ground broken must be kept under strict 

 and exact cultivation. Roughly blocked out, with here and 

 there an oasis of shrubbery established, a group of trees 

 set, a screen of vines thrown up, a fence-line bordered with 

 hardy perennials, the free garden on a bold scale may be 

 the source of great enjoyment to the originator, even while 

 its actual splendor is still the gift of the imagination. 



Obviously the first step in making a garden which is to 

 wander at will over one or many acres, must be a careful 

 study of the best capabilities of the ground. A great num- 

 ber of rare, beautiful and costly plants, brought together at 

 random, may represent, not beauty, but vulgar profusion, 

 although they may be cared for with the greatest outlay of 

 laborand the most exact precision ; neither is mere mechani- 

 cal order a thing of charm. With a good general plan, in 

 which every feature is carefully considered and given its 

 due place, every step accomplished helps the general effect. 

 Variety in unity, multiplicity with harmony, these do not 

 come as a matter of course or unsought where man has 

 meddled. There must be a why for the place of every 

 tree, every shrub, every winding path. If something quite 

 different would do just as well there is proof positive of the 

 lack of a well-thought-out plan. 



Yet " I like it so " may be a sufficient reason. One of 

 the great merits of this liberal scheme of gardening is the 

 greater room it affords for the play of individual fancy. So 

 many elements enter into the pleasure that we take in nat- 

 ural objects — association, with its subtle appeal, or that 

 delight, not to be analyzed, which we receive from the 

 sight of a special tint of color or quaintness of form, indif- 

 ferent to one, to another a vivid joy; or the coveted pride 

 may be the culminating glory of a definite period, as Lilac 

 time or Rhododendron days — these are the delicate influ- 

 ences that may help to shape our own rough garden. At 

 the bottom there is the delight of making it one's own. 

 For man's delight in expressing himself -is one of the 

 deepest and most obstinate of human instincts. To make 

 a little paradise of a bit of earth that bears upon its bosom 

 the fruits, the flowers, the greenery that we love best, a bit 

 of common soil expressive of our loves and likings, our 

 individual tastes and aversions, this is one of the unfath- 

 omable joys of life. This is worth years of spring-time and 

 long wintry sleep ; years of wooing and winning, of coy- 

 ness and final fruition. 



One of the delights of a rough garden is its continual 

 surprises. With the habit of tucking in seeds, cuttings, 

 roots and bulbs, as occasion serves, planting and sowing 

 without formality, there is something very delightful in the 

 apparent spontaneity with which unlooked-for bloom and 

 beauty often come to light. Broad mixed borders in which 

 hardy plants are irregularly grouped (not without a con- 

 stant study of the advantages of contrast and relief) make 

 this the simplest matter possible. The Iris or the Lily bulb 

 is buried, the seed is sown and the ground occupied staked 

 to prevent accidents ; suddenly, as it seems, a new shape 

 of delicate beauty greets the eye. A big rough garden 

 gives an encouraging opportunity to experiment. Tiny 

 bulblets (as those found on the stems of Tiger Lilies) are 

 gathered on a country ramble from the wayside garden of 

 a dismantled house; they fill a vacant bit of space, and 

 soon a great clump of solid green lifts its flame-like spires, 

 to last in their place how long? A hundred years it may 

 be, so some one has said. At midsummer you find a hedge 

 of Hollyhocks in bloom. You gather a handful of seed as 

 they ripen, and give them room in a remote corner. The 

 green rosettes of the young plants cling to the ground, 

 almost unnoticed and unremembered, but another year and 

 who can ignore that marshaled magnificence? Not an- 



