THE GARDEN IN JULY 6i 



alone, I should regretfully miss my hedge of Sweet-peas, 

 my Poppies, and the soothingly fragrant, though insig- 

 nificant, flowers of my Mignonette. 



One other annual flower is the prettily and appropri- 

 ately named Love-in-a-Mist, with the daintiest of blue 

 flowers enveloped as in a green cloud. If our poets 

 were wont to look at flowers for themselves instead 

 of copying one another's natural history, they might be 

 referred to this delightful plant. Mr Swinburne, I 

 think alone among poets, has used it as subject for 

 one of his roundels. Fortunately, the neglect of poets 

 has little influence on the beauty of flowers. 



