THE FERN AND THE MOSS. 
There was a Fern on the mountain, and Moss on the 
moor; 
And the Ferns were the rich, and the Mosses the poor. 
And the glad breeze blew gaily ; from Heaven it came, 
And the fragrance it shed over each was the same ; 
And the warm sun shone brightly and gilded the Fern, 
And smiled on the lowly-born Moss in its turn ; 
And the cool dews of night on the mountain Fern fell, 
And they glistened upon the green Mosses as well. 
And the Fern loved the mountain, the Moss loved the 
moor, 
For the Ferns were the rich and the Mosses the poor. 
But the keen blast blew bleakly, the sun waxed high, 
And the Ferns they were broken, and withered and 
dry ; 
And the Moss on the moorland grew faded and pale, 
And the Fern and the Moss shrank alike from the gale. 
So the Fern on the mountain, the Moss on the moor, 
Were withered and black where they flourished before. 
Then the Fern and the Moss they grew wiser in grief, 
And each turned to the other for rest and relief ; 
And they planned that wherever the Fern-roots should 
grow, 
There surely the Moss should be sparkling below. 
And the keen blasts blew bleakly, the sun waxed fierce; 
But no wind and no sun to their cool roots could pierce; 
For the Fern threw her shadow the green Moss upon, 
Where the dew ever sparkled undried by the sun ; 
When the graceful Fern trembled before the keen blast, 
The Moss guarded her roots till the storm-wind had 
passed ; 
So no longer the wind parched the roots of the one, 
And the other was safe from the rays of the sun. 
And thus and forever, where’er the Ferns grow, 
There surely the Mosses lie sparkling below : 
And thus they both flourish, where naught grew before, 
And they both deck the woodland, and mountain and 
moor. —Eliza Cook. 
THE GARDENS OF OUR GRANDMOTHERS. 
“ A brave old house, a garden full of bees, 
Large, drooping Poppies and green Hollyhocks, 
With butterflies for crowns, true Pteonies, 
And Pinks and Goldilocks.” 
^ What roomy, grand old gardens were those of our 
grandmothers, and what beautiful things grew in them ! 
They have mostly disappeared with the gambrel or 
hipped-roofed mansions, and the calashes, the short- 
waisted dresses, and the quaint ornaments of the 
old time; but once in a great while we stumble 
upon one, half given over to neglect, where Hop-vines 
and Currant-bushes, fruit trees and vegetables, divide 
ownership with the old-fashioned flowers in which 
our grandmothers took such pleasure. At such times 
it is like stepping back into the last century when our 
grandmothers, then young girls, dressed in Marie An¬ 
toinette style, walked the box-bordered paths, per¬ 
chance with young gentlemen dressed as Aaron Burr 
was when he walked up Pennsylvania Avenue to take 
his oath as Vice-President, or like young Parke Custis 
at Mount Vernon. 
How different they are from the studied, stereotyped 
gardens of to-day with their showy beds of Coleus or rib¬ 
bons of richly-colored plants, gaudy Geraniums and 
Tulips flanked by every variety of Centaurea and con¬ 
trasted with the dense blue of the Lobelia! In our 
modern gardens there is no coolness, no rest for the 
eyes, no refreshing beauty; it is all color, everything is 
arranged for effect. There was something cheerful and 
home-like about our grandmothers’ gardens ■where the 
old-fashioned plants bloomed cool, stately and prim, 
somewhat resembling themselves, staid Puritan. blos¬ 
soms that they were, with the meekness and the grace 
to which a hotrhouse civilization has robbed our modern 
belles. Disappeared are those pretty, unaffected mai¬ 
dens, who like Mary Scudder in Mrs. Stowe’s “Min¬ 
ister’s Wooing,” could sweep a floor, read French, do 
the weekly baking and sustain a theological discussion 
equally well; disappeared, too, are the old-time flower¬ 
beds of Lavender, Thyme, Sweet-William, Bachelor’s- 
Button and Sweet-Alyssium—at least, they are no longer 
fashionable. 
Very few cultivate them, and only in old gardens 
and by weather-worn homesteads do we see now-a-days 
the quaint Bouncing-Betties, Lilacs, Morning-Glories 
and Hollyhocks, which were the pride of our grand¬ 
mothers. Some of these have occupied the soil since 
they were first planted there by the early settler who 
laid the* foundations of the house, refusing to be dis¬ 
heartened. It may be a trite thing to say, but is none 
the less a matter worth thinking about, that when much 
that was thought permanent has perished, and a place 
once familiar is altered and strange, one can go to the 
old haunts and find the flowers of which he used to be 
fond. 
“ No blank is left, no looking for is cheated ; 
It is the thing we knew.” 
There is a place I know of, the front yard of an an¬ 
tique mansion, where Bouncing-Betties were to be seen 
as long ago as I can remember, and Bouncing-Betties are 
growing there to-day. Mint and Southern wood are 
found in old gardens where they have survived a gen¬ 
eration of human beings. In the history of a company 
of Huguenots who settled near the southern frontier of 
Massachusetts, it is said that Currant-bushes, Aspara¬ 
gus, Cinnamon-Roses and Lilies may still be seen, where 
two hundred years ago they had their garden. 
What pictures of old country-life the very names of 
