90 MY GROWING GARDEN 



roses, there was an irregular-shaped bed, soUd 

 with old-fashioned roses, and just then breaking 

 into a perfect glory of bloom. One "General Jacq." 

 there was, to my recognition; but the remainder 

 were of sorts I knew nothing of. Ragged, tangled, 

 thorny, overgrown, there was yet a mass of wild 

 loveliness that was as delightful as it was siirpris- 

 ing. Thus came the second "Welcome," without 

 words, but speaking to us that which words could 

 not compass. 



Inquiry developed that these roses had been 

 planted more than twenty-five years before, and 

 no inquiry was needed to show the neglect through 

 which they had survived. Since then, that bed of 

 old roses, in that impossibly shady nook, has had 

 abimdant care, and it is made over. Each year 

 great canes grow up, bearing in the June-time 

 rich clusters of musky fragrance, in our old-fash- 

 ioned rose-garden. 



Conditions and preferences have united to give 

 the rose a dominating place in this growing garden. 

 I have mentioned the regret with which I gave up 

 the idea of a rose-hedge, consoling myself with an 

 inside hedge about a hundred feet long, and an 

 arbor for climbers to weave upon, as well as with 

 various beds and borders for the hybrid teas, 

 polyanthas and other favorites. 



