28 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
Daffodil—and thus they are rightly named, although 
they have other and more homespun titles at command. 
The rich Orange Phoenix owns to the prosaic petit nom of 
“ Eggs and Bacon,” a clear libel upon its delicate white 
petals and red-gold nectary; while its lovely sister, 
aurantius plenus , fares not much better in familiar wise 
as “ Butter and Eggs.” But the fairest of these three 
Graces, the stately Sulphur Phoenix, whose exquisitely 
toned hues of purest white and palest primrose mix and 
mingle in a fine confusion, bears a soubriquet of some¬ 
what more idyllic flavour. To its intimates it may be 
known as “ Codlins and Cream.” 
They are all so late in blossoming this churlish season 
that perhaps this generous and gay florescence is doubly 
desirable. Even the buxom old T^elamoniusplenus, earliest 
and boldest of all, refused to shake out its wealth of 
yellow plumes long after its lance-head had drooped for 
opening; while the pretty little early-flowering Hoop 
Petticoats, both white and sulphur, have unfolded their 
dainty and somewhat prim skirts more reluctantly than 
ever before. It is odd that these “ pretty maids all in a 
row ” have also a singularly incongruous other name; 
and whose was the not too happy inspiration that has 
saddled such dainty rogues in porcelain with the sound¬ 
ing title of Medusa’s Trumpets, I cannot tell. But I 
will cavil no more at names, for is not the comeliest 
and the earliest to blossom of all the white-winged 
trumpet daffodils set down as the Horsefieldii ? It stands 
up bravely in the sunshine, my long double row of 
Horsefieldii. The great yellow trumpets make a gallant 
display against their pure white perianths; so gallant, 
