The Garden Grows 2 
“You don’t want these weeds in your garden; why here’s 
another—they are all over the place.” ' 
“Yes,” said I proudly, “those are my nicotianas; they are 
doing well, but for some reason they won’t bloom.” 
The Botany girl laughed. “Nicotiana! mullein!—and you 
have been tenderly growing mulleins all summer?” and she 
tore out another handful with deadly precision. 
I respected her knowledge, for she had just received her 
degree, yet I was distressed and unconvinced. “Are you 
sure? do you know nicotiana?” I questioned, pointing to the 
label clearly bearing the name of the row. 
“You had better ask if you know mullein,” and she laughed 
again, and tweaked out the last vestige of my woolly plants. 
She was right, and to this day, not quite certain of the differ- 
ence, I grow a certain number of mulleins in the fond belief 
that they are nicotiana, in spite of the fact that the first mul- 
lein leaves, before the tiny inner ones begin to show, are 
slightly crenate or scalloped at the edges, while nicotiana has 
an entire edge and much smoother leaf; otherwise I still hold 
they resemble each other quite needlessly. The delightful 
fragrance of the latter and its beautiful flowers are somewhat 
offset by their being closed through the day, except in very 
dull weather, and the plant is infested by the potato-bug. I 
had an abundance of delicious wall flower, ten weeks stock and 
pansies. Everything flourished—plants, cutworms, grubs, 
moles, but of these I sing later. The hollyhock seeds planted 
along one side by the rustic fence made a famous growth. 
They sent down deep roots among the rocks below and 
bloomed vigorously the second year. 
Each year yields a moment of pure joy. The first occurred 
when a friend stepped down into my small domain to view 
things. He sniffed delightedly. 
“What is it that smells so good? It is delicious,” and he 
