450 Old Time Gardens 
are far travellers. I saw once in a remote and wild 
spot a great boulder surrounded with bushes and 
all were covered with the old Coral or Trumpet 
H oneysuckle ; it had such a familiar air, and yet 
seemed to have gained a certain knowingness by its 
travels. 
This element of mystery does not extend to the 
flowers which I am told once were in trim gardens, 
but which I have never seen there, such as Ox-eye 
Daisies, Scotch Thistles, Chamomile, Tansy, Berga- 
mot, Yarrow, and all of the Mint family ; they are 
to me truly wild. But when I find flowers still cher- 
ished in our gardens, growing also in some wild spot, 
I regard them with wonder. A great expanse of Co- 
reopsis, a field of Grape Hyacinth or Star of Bethle- 
hem, roadsides of Coronilla or Moneywort, rows 
of red Day Lily and Tiger Lily, patches of Sun- 
flowers or Jerusalem Artichokes, all are matters of 
thought ; we long to trace their wanderings, to have 
them tell whence and how they came. Bouncing 
Bet is too cheerful and rollicking a wanderer to 
awaken sentiment. How gladly has she been wel- 
comed to our fields and roadsides. I could not will- 
ingly spare her in our country drives, even to become 
again a cherished garden dweller. She rivals the Suc- 
cory in beautifying arid dust heaps and barren rail- 
road cuts, with her tender opalescent pink tints. H ow 
wholesome and hearty her growth, how pleasant her 
fragrance. We can never see her too often, nor ever 
stigmatize her, as have been so many of our garden 
escapes, as “ Now a dreaded weed.” 
One of the weirdest of all flowers to me is the 
