286 
Old Time Gardens 
sung by the poets, and I never knew any one to 
call the Sweet-william her favorite flower, save one 
person. Old residents of Worcester will recall the 
tiny cottage that stood on the corner of Chestnut 
and Pleasant streets, since the remote years when the 
latter-named street was a post-road. It was occu- 
pied during my childhood by friends of my mother 
— a century-old mother, and her ancient unmarried 
daughter. Behind the house stretched one of the 
most cheerful gardens I have ever seen ; ever, in my 
memory, bathed in glowing sunlight and color. Of 
its glories I recall specially the long spires of vivid 
Bee Larkspur, the varied Poppies of wonderful 
growth, and the rioting Sweet-williams. The latter 
flowers had some sentimental association to the older 
lady, who always asserted with emphasis to all vis- 
itors that they were her favorite flower. They over- 
ran the entire garden, crowding the grass plot where 
the washed garments were hung out to dry, even 
growing in the chinks of the stone steps and between 
the flat stone flagging of the little back yard, where 
stood the old well with its moss-covered bucket. 
They spread under the high board fence and ap- 
peared outside on Chestnut Street ; and they ex- 
tended under the dense Lilac bushes and Cedars 
and down the steep grass bank and narrow steps to 
Pleasant Street. The seed was carefully gathered, 
especially of one glowing crimson beauty, the color 
of the Mullein Pink, and a gift of it was highly 
esteemed by other garden owners. Old herbals say 
the Sweet-williams are “ worthy the Respect of the 
Greatest Ladies who are Lovers of Flowers.” They 
