ROSES OF YESTERDAY
"Each morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?"
--_Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam_, translated by EDWARD FITZGERALD, 1858.
The answer can be given the Persian poet that the Rose of Yesterday
leaves again in the heart. The subtle fragrance of a Rose can readily
conjure in our minds a dream of summers past, and happy summers to come.
Many a flower lover since Chaucer has felt as did the poet:--
"The savour of the Roses swote
Me smote right to the herte rote."
The old-time Roses possess most fully this hidden power. Sweetest of all
was the old Cabbage Rose--called by some the Provence Rose--for its
perfume "to be chronicled and chronicled, and cut and chronicled, and
all-to-be-praised." Its odor is perfection; it is the standard by which
I compare all other fragrances. It is not too strong nor too cloying, as
are some Rose scents; it is the idealization of that distinctive
sweetness of the Rose family which other Roses have to some degree. The
color of the Cabbage Rose is very warm and pleasing, a clear, happy
pink, and the flower has a wholesome, open look; but it is not a
beautiful Rose by florists' standards,--few of the old Roses are,--and
it is rather awkward in growth. The Cabbage Rose is said to have been a
favorite in ancient Rome. I wish it had a prettier name; it is certainly
worthy one.
The Hundred-leaved Rose was akin to the Cabbage Rose, and shared its
delicious fragrance. In its rather irregular shape it resembled the
present Duke of Sussex Rose.
One of the rarest of old-time Roses in our gardens to-day is the red and
white mottled York and Lancaster. It is as old as the sixteenth century.
Shakespeare writes in the _Sonnets_:--
"The Roses fearfully in thorns did stand
One blushing shame, another white despair.
A third, nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both."
They are what Chaucer loved, "sweitie roses red, brode, and open also."
Roses of a broad, flat expanse when in full bloom; they have a cheerier,
heartier, more gracious look than many of the new Roses that never open
far from bud, that seem so pinched and narrow. What ineffable fragrance
do they pour out from every wide-open flower, a fragrance that is the
very spirit of the Oriental Attar of Roses; all the sensuous sweetness
of the attar is gone, and only that which is purest and best remains. I
believe, in thinking of it, that it equals the perfume of the Cabbage
Rose, which, ere now, I have always placed first. This York and
Lancaster Rose is the _Rosa mundi_,--the rose of the world. A fine plant
is growing in Hawthorne's old home in Salem.
[Illustration: Violets in Silver Double Coaster.]
Opposite page 462 is an unusual depiction of the century-old York and
Lancaster Rose still growing and flourishing in the old garden at Van
Cortlandt Manor. It is from one of the few photographs which I have ever
seen which make you forgive their lack of color. The vigor, the grace,
the richness of this wonderful Rose certainly are fully shown, though
but in black and white. I have called this Rose bush a century old; it
is doubtless much older, but it does not seem old; it is gifted with
everlasting youth. We know how the Persians gather before a single plant
in flower; they spread their rugs, and pray before it; and sit and
meditate before it; sip sherbet, play the lute and guitar in the
moonlight; bring their friends and stand as in a vision, then talk in
praises of it, and then all serenade it with an ode from Hafiz and
depart. So would I gather my friends around this lovely old Rose, and
share its beauty just as my friends at the manor-house share it with me;
and as the Persians, we would praise it in sunlight and by moonlight,
and sing its beauty in verses. This York and Lancaster Rose was known to
Parkinson in his day; it is his _Rosa versicolor_. I wonder why so few
modern gardens contain this treasure. I know it does not rise to all the
standards of the modern Rose growers; but it possesses something
better--it has a living spirit; it speaks of history, romance,
sentiment; it awakens inspiration and thought, it has an ever living
interest, a significance. I wonder whether a hundred years from now any
one will stand before some Crimson Rambler, which will then be ancient,
and feel as I do before this York and Lancaster goddess.
[Illustration: York and Lancaster Rose.]
The fragrance of the sweetest Roses--the Damask, the Cabbage, the York
and Lancaster--is beyond any other flower-scent, it is irresistible,
enthralling; you cannot leave it. You can push aside a Syringa, a
Honeysuckle, even a Mignonette, but there is a magic something which
binds you irrevocably to the Rose. I have never doubted that the Rose
has some compelling quality shared not by other flowers. I know not
whether it comes from centuries of establishment as a race-symbol, or
from some inherent witchery of the plant, but it certainly exists.
The variety of Roses known to old American gardens, as to English
gardens, was few. The English Eglantine was quickly established here in
gardens and spread to roadsides. The small, ragged, cheerful little
Cinnamon Rose, now chiefly seen as a garden stray, is undoubtedly old.
This Rose diffuses its faint "sinamon smelle" when the petals are dried.
Nearly all of the Roses vaguely thought to be one or two hundred years
old date only, within our ken, to the earlier years of the nineteenth
century. The Seven Sisters Rose, imagined by the owner of many a
Southern garden to belong to colonial days, is one of the family _Rosa
multiflora_, introduced from Japan to England by Thunberg. Its catalogue
name is Greville. I think the Seven Sisters dates back to 1822. The
clusters of little double blooms of the Seven Sisters are not among our
beautiful Roses, but are planted by the house mistress of every Southern
home from power of association, because they were loved by her
grandmothers, if not by more distant forbears. The crimson Boursaults
are no older. They came from the Swiss Alps and therefore are hardy, but
they are fussy things, needing much pruning and pulling out. I recall
that they had much longer prickles than the other roses in our garden.
The beloved little Banksia Rose came from China in 1807. The Madame
Plantier is a hybrid China Rose of much popularity. We have had it about
seventy or eighty years. In the lovely garden of Mrs. Mabel Osgood
Wright, author of _Flowers and Trees in their Haunts_, I saw, this
spring, a giant Madame Plantier which had over five thousand buds, and
which could scarcely be equalled in beauty by any modern Roses. Its
photograph gives scant idea of its size.
What gratitude we have in spring to the Sweetbrier! How early in the
year, from sprouting branch and curling leaf, it begins to give forth
its pure odor! Gracious and lavish plant, beloved in scent by every one,
you have no rival in the spring garden with its pale perfumes. The
Sweetbrier and Shakespeare's Musk Rose (_Rosa moschata_) are said to be
the only Roses that at evening pour forth their perfume; the others are
what Bacon called "fast of their odor."
The June Rose, called by many the Hedgehog Rose, was, I think, the first
Rose of summer. A sturdy plant, about three feet in height; set thick
with briers, it well deserved its folk name. The flowers opened into a
saucer of richest carmine, as fragrant as an American Beauty, and the
little circles of crimson resembling the _Rosa rugosa_ were seen in
every front dooryard.
[Illustration: Cinnamon Roses.]
In the Walpole garden from whence came to us our beloved Ambrosia, was
an ample Box-edged flower bed which my mother and the great-aunt called
The Rosery. One cousin, now living, recalls with distinctness its charms
in 1830; for it was beautiful, though the vast riches of the Rose-world
of China and Japan had not reached it. There grew in it, he remembers,
Yellow Scotch Roses, Sweetbrier (or Eglantine), Cinnamon Roses, White
Scotch Roses, Damask Roses, Blush Roses, Dog Roses (the Canker-bloom of
Shakespeare), Black Roses, Burgundy Roses, and Moss Roses. The
last-named sensitive creatures, so difficult to rear with satisfaction
in such a climate, found in this Rosery by the river-side some exact
fitness of soil or surroundings, or perhaps of fostering care, which in
spite of the dampness and the constant tendency of all Moss Roses to
mildew, made them blossom in unrivalled perfection. I remember their
successors, deplored as much inferior to the Roses of 1830, and they
were the finest Moss Roses I ever saw blooming in a garden. An amusing
saying of some of the village passers-by (with smaller gardens and
education) showed the universal acknowledgment of the perfection of
these Roses. These people thought the name was Morse Roses and always
thus termed them, fancying they were named for the family for whom the
flowers bloomed in such beauty and number.
Among the other Roses named by my cousin I recall the White Scotch Rose,
sometimes called also the Burnet-leaved Rose. It was very fragrant, and
was often chosen for a Sunday posy. There were both single and double
varieties.
The Blush Rose (_Rosa alba_), known also as Maiden's blush, was much
esteemed for its exquisite color; it could be distinguished readily by
the glaucous hue of the foliage, which always looked like the leaves of
artificial roses. It was easily blighted; and indeed we must acknowledge
that few of the old Roses were as certain as their sturdy descendants.
The Damask Rose was the only one ever used in careful families and by
careful housekeepers for making rose-water. There was a Velvet Rose,
darker than the Damask and low-growing, evidently the same Rose. Both
showed plentiful yellow stamens in the centres, and had exquisite rich
dark leaves.
The old Black Rose of The Rosery was so suffused with color-principle,
so "color-flushing," that even the wood had black and dark red streaks.
Its petals were purple-black.
The Burgundy Rose was of the Cabbage Rose family; its flowers were very
small, scarce an inch in diameter. There were two varieties: the one my
cousin called Little Burgundy had clear dark red blossoms; the other,
white with pink centres. Both were low-growing, small bushes with small
leaves. They are practically vanished Roses--wholly out of cultivation.
We had other tiny roses; one was a lovely little Rose creature called a
Fairy Rose. I haven't seen one for years. As I recall them, the Rose
plants were never a foot in height, and had dainty little flower
rosettes from a quarter to half an inch in diameter set in thick
clusters. But the recalled dimensions of youth vary so when seen
actually in the cold light of to-day that perhaps I am wrong in my
description. This was also called a Pony Rose. This Fairy Rose was not
the Polyantha which also has forty or fifty little roses in a cluster.
The single Polyantha Rose looks much like its cousin, the Blackberry
blossom.
Another small Rose was the Garland Rose. This was deemed extremely
elegant, and rightfully so. It has great corymbs of tiny white blossoms
with tight little buff buds squeezing out among the open Roses.
Another old favorite was the Rose of Four Seasons--known also by its
French name, _Rose de Quartre Saisons_--which had occasional blooms
throughout the summer. It may have been the foundation of our Hybrid
Perpetual Roses. The Bourbon Roses were vastly modish; their round
smooth petals and oval leaves easily distinguish them from other
varieties.
Among the several hundred things I have fully planned out to do, to
solace my old age after I have become a "centurion," is a series of
water-color drawings of all these old-time Roses, for so many of them
are already scarce.
The Michigan Rose which covered the arches in Mr. Seward's garden, has
clusters of deep pink, single, odorless flowers, that fade out nearly
white after they open. It is our only native Rose that has passed into
cultivation. From it come many fine double-flowered Roses, among them
the beautiful Baltimore Belle and Queen of the Prairies, which were
named about 1836 by a Baltimore florist called Feast. All its vigorous
and hardy descendants are scentless save the Gem of the Prairies. It is
one of the ironies of plant-nomenclature when we have so few plant names
saved to us from the picturesque and often musical speech of the
American Indians, that the lovely Cherokee Rose, Indian of name, is a
Chinese Rose. It ought to be a native, for everywhere throughout our
Southern states its pure white flowers and glossy evergreen leaves love
to grow till they form dense thickets.
People who own fine gardens are nowadays unwilling to plant the old
"Summer Roses" which bloom cheerfully in their own Rose-month and then
have no more blossoming till the next year; they want a Remontant Rose,
which will bloom a second time in the autumn, or a Perpetual Rose, which
will give flowers from June till cut off by the frost. But these
latter-named Roses are not only of fine gardens but of fine gardeners;
and folk who wish the old simple flower garden which needs no
highly-skilled care, still are happy in the old Summer Roses I have
named.
[Illustration: Cottage Garden with Roses.]
A Rose hedge is the most beautiful of all garden walls and the most
ancient. Professor Koch says that long before men customarily surrounded
their gardens with walls, that they had Rose hedges. He tells us that
each of the four great peoples of Asia owned its own beloved Rose,
carried in all wanderings, until at last the four became common to all
races of men. Indo-Germanic stock chose the hundred-leaved red Rose,
_Rosa gallica_ (the best Rose for conserves). _Rosa damascena_, which
blooms twice a year, and the Musk Rose were cherished by the Semitic
people; these were preferred for attar of Roses and Rose water. The
yellow Rose, _Rosa lutea_, or Persian Rose, was the flower of the
Turkish Mongolian people. Eastern Asia is the fatherland of the Indian
and Tea Roses. The Rose has now become as universal as sunlight. Even in
Iceland and Lapland grows the lovely _Rosa nitida_.
We say these Roses are common to all peoples, but we have never in
America been able to grow yellow Roses in ample bloom in our gardens.
Many that thrive in English gardens are unknown here. The only yellow
garden Rose common in old gardens was known simply as the "old yellow
Rose," or Scotch Rose, but it came from the far East. In a few
localities the yellow Eglantine was seen.
The picturesque old custom of paying a Rose for rent was known here. In
Manheim, Pennsylvania, stands the Zion Lutheran Church, which was
gathered together by Baron William Stiegel, who was the first glass and
iron manufacturer of note in this country. He came to America in 1750,
with a fortune which would be equal to-day to a million dollars, and
founded and built and named Manheim. He was a man of deep spiritual and
religious belief, and of profound sentiment, and when in 1771 he gave
the land to the church, this clause was in the indenture:--
"Yielding and paying therefor unto the said Henry William Stiegel,
his heirs or assigns, at the said town of Manheim, in the Month of
June Yearly, forever hereafter, the rent of _One Red Rose_, if the
same shall be lawfully demanded."
Nothing more touching can be imagined than the fulfilment each year of
this beautiful and symbolic ceremony of payment. The little town is rich
in Roses, and these are gathered freely for the church service, when One
Red Rose is still paid to the heirs of the sainted old baron, who died
in 1778, broken in health and fortunes, even having languished in jail
some time for debt. A new church was erected on the site of the old one
in 1892, and in a beautiful memorial window the decoration of the Red
Rose commemorates the sentiment of its benefactor.
The Rose Tavern, in the neighboring town of Bethlehem, stands on land
granted for the site of a tavern by William Penn, for the yearly rental
of One Red Rose.
In England the payment of a Rose as rent was often known. The Bishop of
Ely leased Ely house in 1576 to Sir Christopher Hatton, Queen
Elizabeth's handsome Lord Chancellor, for a Red Rose to be paid on
Midsummer Day, ten loads of hay and ten pounds per annum, and he and his
Episcopal successors reserved the right of walking in the gardens and
gathering twenty bushels of Roses yearly. In France there was a feudal
right to demand a payment of Roses for the making of Rose water.
Two of our great historians, George Bancroft and Francis Parkman, were
great rose-growers and rose-lovers. I never saw Mr. Parkman's Rose
Garden, but I remember Mr. Bancroft's well; the Tea Roses were
especially beautiful. Mr. Bancroft's Rose Garden in its earliest days
had no rivals in America.
The making of potpourri was common in my childhood. While the petals of
the Cabbage Rose were preferred, all were used. Recipes for making
potpourri exist in great number; I have seen several in manuscript in
old recipe books, one dated 1690. The old ones are much simpler than the
modern ones, and have no strong spices such as cinnamon and clove, and
no bergamot or mints or strongly scented essences or leaves. The best
rules gave ambergris as one of the ingredients; this is not really a
perfume, but gives the potpourri its staying power. There is something
very pleasant in opening an old China jar to find it filled with
potpourri, even if the scent has wholly faded. It tells a story of a day
when people had time for such things. I read in a letter a century and
a half old of a happy group of people riding out to the house of the
provincial governor of New York; all gathered Rose leaves in the
governor's garden, and the governor's wife started the distilling of
these Rose leaves, in her new still, into Rose water, while all drank
syllabubs and junkets--a pretty Watteau-ish scene.
The hips of wild Roses are a harvest--one unused in America in modern
days, but in olden times they were stewed with sugar and spices, as were
other fruits. Sauce Saracen, or Sarzyn, was made of Rose hips and
Almonds pounded together, cooked in wine and sweetened. I believe they
are still cooked by some folks in England, but I never heard of their
use in America save by one person, an elderly Irish woman on a farm in
Narragansett. Plentiful are the references and rules in old cookbooks
for cooking Rose hips. Parkinson says: "Hippes are made into a conserve,
also a paste like licoris. Cooks and their Mistresses know how to
prepare from them many fine dishes for the Table." Gerarde writes
characteristically of the Sweetbrier, "The fruit when it is ripe maketh
most pleasant meats and banqueting dishes, as tarts and such-like; the
making whereof I commit to the cunning cooke, and teeth to eat them in
the rich man's mouth."
Children have ever nibbled Rose hips:--
"I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws--
Hard fare, but such as boyish appetite
Disdains not."
The Rose bush furnished another comestible for the children's larder,
the red succulent shoots of common garden and wild Roses. These were
known by the dainty name of "brier candy," a name appropriate and
characteristic, as the folk-names devised by children frequently are.
[Illustration: Madame Plantier Rose.]
On the post-road in southern New Hampshire stands an old house, which
according to its license was once "improved" as a tavern, and was famous
for its ghost and its Roses. The tavern was owned by a family of two
brothers and two sisters, all unmarried, as was rather a habit in the
Mason family; though when any of the tribe did marry, a vast throng of
children quickly sprung up to propagate the name and sturdy qualities of
the race. The men were giants, and both men and women were hard-working
folk of vast endurance and great thrift, and, like all of that ilk in
New England, they prospered and grew well-to-do; great barns and
out-buildings, all well filled, stretched down along the roadside below
the house. Joseph Mason could lay more feet of stone wall in a day,
could plough more land, chop down more trees, pull more stumps, than any
other man in New Hampshire. His sisters could bake and brew, make soap,
weed the garden, spin and weave, unceasingly and untiringly. Their
garden was a source of purest pleasure to them, as well as of hard work;
its borders were so stocked with medicinal herbs that it could supply a
township; and its old-time flowers furnished seeds and slips and bulbs
to every other garden within a day's driving distance; but its glory was
a garden side to gladden the heart of Omar Khayyam, where two or three
acres of ground were grown over heavily with old-fashioned Roses. These
were only the common Cinnamon Rose, the beloved Cabbage Rose, and a pale
pink, spicily scented, large-petalled, scarcely double Rose, known to
them as the Apothecaries' Rose. Farmer-neighbors wondered at this waste
of the Masons' good land in this unprofitable Rose crop, but it had a
certain use. There came every June to this Rose garden all the children
of the vicinity, bearing milk-pails, homespun bags, birch baskets, to
gather Rose petals. They nearly all had Roses at their homes, but not
the Mason Roses. These Rose leaves were carried carefully to each home,
and were packed in stone jars with alternate layers of brown or scant
maple sugar. Soon all conglomerated into a gummy, brown, close-grained,
not over alluring substance to the vision, which was known among the
children by the unromantic name of "Rose tobacco." This cloying
confection was in high repute. It was chipped off and eaten in tiny
bits, and much treasured--as a love token, or reward of good behavior.
The Mason house was a tavern. It was not one of the regular
stopping-places on the turnpike road, being rather too near the town to
gather any travel of teamsters or coaches; but passers-by who knew the
house and the Masons loved to stop there. Everything in the well-kept,
well-filled house and barns contributed to the comfort of guests, and it
was known that the Masons cared more for the company of the traveller
than for his pay.
There was a shadow on this house. The youngest of the family, Hannah,
had been jilted in her youth, "shabbed" as said the country folks. After
several years of "constant company-keeping" with the son of a neighbor,
during which time many a linen sheet and tablecloth, many a fine
blanket, had been spun and woven, and laid aside with the tacit
understanding that it was part of her wedding outfit, the man had fallen
suddenly and violently in love with a girl who came from a neighboring
town to sing a single Sunday in the church choir. He had driven to her
home the following week, carried her off to a parson in a third town,
married her, and brought her to his home in a triumph of enthusiasm and
romance, which quickly fled before the open dislike and reprehension of
his upright neighbors, who abhorred his fickleness, and before the years
of ill health and ill temper of the hard-worked, faded wife. Many
children were born to them; two lived, sickly little souls, who,
unconscious of the blemish on their parents' past, came with the other
children every June, and gathered Rose leaves under Hannah Mason's
window.
Hannah Mason was called crazy. After her desertion she never entered any
door save that of her own home, never went to a neighbor's house either
in time of joy or sorrow; queerer still, never went to church. All her
life, her thoughts, her vast strength, went into hard work. No labor was
too heavy or too formidable for her. She would hetchel flax for weeks,
spin unceasingly, and weave on a hand loom, most wearing of women's
work, without thought of rest. No single household could supply work for
such an untiring machine, especially when all labored industriously--so
work was brought to her from the neighbors. Not a wedding outfit for
miles around was complete without one of Hannah Mason's fine
tablecloths. Every corpse was buried in one of her linen shrouds.
Sailmakers and boat-owners in Portsmouth sent up to her for strong duck
for their sails. Lads went up to Dartmouth College in suits of her
homespun. Many a teamster on the road slept under Hannah Mason's heavy
gray woollen blankets, and his wagon tilts were covered with her canvas.
Her bank account grew rapidly--she became rich as fast as her old
lover became poor. But all this cast a shadow on the house. Sojourners
would waken and hear throughout the night some steady sound, a
scratching of the cards, a whirring of the spinning-wheel, the
thump-thump of the loom. Some said she never slept, and could well grow
rich when she worked all night.
[Illustration: Sun-dial and Roses at Van Cortlandt Manor.]
At last the woman who had stolen her lover--the poor, sickly wife--died.
The widower, burdened hopelessly with debts, of course put up in her
memory a fine headstone extolling her virtues. One wakeful night, with a
sentiment often found in such natures, he went to the graveyard to view
his proud but unpaid-for possession. The grass deadened his footsteps,
and not till he reached the grave did there rise up from the ground a
tall, ghostly figure dressed all in undyed gray wool of her own weaving.
It was Hannah Mason. "Hannah," whimpered the widower, trying to take her
hand,--with equal thought of her long bank account and his unpaid-for
headstone,--"I never really loved any one but you." She broke away from
him with an indescribable gesture of contempt and dignity, and went
home. She died suddenly four days later of pneumonia, either from the
shock or the damp midnight chill of the graveyard.
As months passed on travellers still came to the tavern, and the story
began to be whispered from one to another that the house was haunted by
the ghost of Hannah Mason. Strange sounds were heard at night from the
garret where she had always worked; most plainly of all could be heard
the whirring of her great wool wheel. When this rumor reached the
brothers' ears, they determined to investigate the story and end it
forever. That night their vigil began, and soon the sound of the wheel
was heard. They entered the garret, and to their surprise found the
wheel spinning round. Then Joseph Mason went to the garret and seated
himself for closer and more determined watch. He sat in the dark till
the wheel began to revolve, then struck a sudden light and found the
ghost. A great rat had run out on the spoke of the wheel and when he
reached the broad rim had started a treadmill of his own--which made the
ghostly sound as it whirred around. Soon this rat grew so tame that he
would come out on the spinning-wheel in the daytime, and several others
were seen to run around in the wheel as if it were a pleasant
recreation.
The old brick house still stands with its great grove of Sugar Maples,
but it is silent, for the Masons all sleep in the graveyard behind the
church high up on the hillside; no travellers stop within the doors, the
ghost rats are dead, the spinning-wheel is gone, but the garden still
blossoms with eternal youth. Though children no longer gather rose
leaves for Rose tobacco, the "Roses of Yesterday" bloom every year; and
each June morn, "a thousand blossoms with the day awake," and fling
their spicy fragrance on the air.
Index
Abbotsford, Ivy from, 62;
sun-dial from, 219, 377.
Achillaea, 238.
Aconite, 266.
Acrelius, Dr., quoted, 208.
Adam's Needle. _See_ Yucca.
Adlumia, 183.
Agapanthus, 52.
Ageratum, as edging, 60, 264.
Ague-weed, 146.
Akers, Elizabeth, quoted, 152.
Alcott, A. B., cited, 120.
Alka, 359.
Alleghany Vine. _See_ Adlumia.
Allen, James Lane, quoted, 195.
Almond, flowering, 39, 41, 159.
Aloe, 429.
Alpine Strawberries, 62.
Alstroemeria, 438.
Alyssum, sweet, 59-60, 179;
yellow, 137.
Ambrosia, 48, 235 _et seq._
_Anemone japonica_, 67, 187.
Annunzio, G. d', quoted, 94.
Apple betty, 211.
Apple butter, 212-213.
Apple frolic, 211 _et seq._
Apple hoglin, 211.
Apple-luns, 209.
Apple mose, 209.
Apple moy, 209.
Apple paring, 207.
Apple pie, 208.
Apple sauce, 213.
Apple slump, 211.
Apple stucklin, 211.
Apple tansy, 209.
Aquilegia, 260.
Arabis, 47.
Arbors, 384.
Arbutus, trailing, 166, 291, 299.
Arches, 384, 387, 418.
Arch-herbs, 384.
Arethusa, 247 _et seq._, 295, 299 _et seq._
Arlington, pergola at, 385.
Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 225, 226.
Ascott, sun-dial at, 98.
Asters, 179, 180.
Athol porridge, 393.
Azalea, 16.
Baby's Breath, 257.
Bachelor's Buttons, 52, 176, 265, 291.
Back-yard, flowers in, 154.
Bacon-and-eggs, 138.
Bacon, Lord, cited, 44-45, 55, 56, 144.
Balloon Flower. _See_ _Platycodon grandiflorum_.
Balloon Vine, 183-184.
Balsams, 257.
Baltimore Belle Rose, 468.
Bancroft, George, Rose Garden of, 471.
Banksia Rose, 463.
Bare-dames, 17.
Barney, Major, landscape art of, 101.
Bartram, John, 12.
Basil, sweet, 121 _et seq._
Battle of Princeton, 78.
Batty Langley, cited, 383.
Bayberry, 302.
Beata Beatrix, 380.
Beaver-tongue, 347-348.
Beech, weeping, 231.
Bee-hives, 354, 391 _et seq._
Beekman, James, greenhouse of, 19.
Bee Larkspur, 265, 268.
Bell-bind, 181, 182.
Bell Flower, Chinese or Japanese. _See_ _Platycodon grandiflorum_.
Belvoir Castle, Lunaria at, 171-172.
Bergamot, 166.
Bergen Homestead, garden of, 23.
Berkeley, Bishop, Apple trees of, 194-195.
Bitter Buttons. _See_ Tansy.
Bitter-sweet, 25, 238.
Black Cohosh, 423-424.
Black Roses, 466.
Bleeding-heart. _See_ Dielytra.
Blind, herb-garden for, 131.
Bloodroot, 154, 457.
Bluebottles, 265.
Blue-eyed Grass, 278-279.
Blue-pipe tree, 144.
Blue Roses, 253.
Blue Sage, 264.
Blue Spider-flower, 435.
Bluetops, 265.
Bluets, 260.
Blue-weed. _See_ Viper's Bugloss.
Blush Roses, 466.
Bocconia. _See_ Plume Poppy.
Boneset, 145 _et seq._
Bosquets, 387.
Botrys. _See_ Ambrosia.
Boulder, sun-dial mounted on, 377.
Bouncing Bet, 52, 450.
Bourbon Roses, 467.
Boursault Roses, 48, 463.
Bowers, 385.
Bowling greens, 240.
Bowne, Eliza Southgate, diary of, 31.
Box. _See_ Chapter IV.;
also 29, 47, 48, 54, 59, 71, 80, 112, 338.
Break-your-spectacles, 265.
Brecknock Hall, Box at, 103-104.
Bricks for edging, 59, 71;
for walls, 71-72, 412 _et seq._
Brier candy, 473.
British soldiers, graves of, 77 _et seq._
Broom. _See_ Woad-waxen.
Broughton Castle, Box sun-dial at, 97, 98.
Brown, Dr. John, cited, 103.
Browne, Sir Thomas, quoted, 306.
Brunelle. _See_ Prunella.
Buck-thorn, 387, 407.
Bulbs, 157.
Burgundy Roses, 465, 466, 467.
Burnet, 305.
Burnet-leaved Rose, 466.
Burroughs, J., quoted, 195, 451-452.
Burying-grounds,
Box in, 94;
Dogwood in, 155;
Thyme in, 303;
Spurge in, 434.
Butter-and-eggs. _See_ Toad-flax.
Buttercups, 166, 291, 294.
Cabbage Rose, 297, 320, 459, 460, 471.
Calceolarias, 179.
Calopogon, 247.
Calycanthus, 297.
Cambridge University, sun-dial at, 97.
Camden, South Carolina, gardens at, 15.
Camellia Japonica, 16.
Camomile, 192.
Campanula, 52, 262.
Candy-tuft, as edging, 59.
Canker-bloom, 465.
Canterbury Bells, 34, 162, 262, 333 _et seq._
Caraway, 341, 342.
Carnation, green, 239.
Catalpas, 26, 31, 293.
Cat-ice, 453.
Catnip, 315.
Cat road, 452.
Cat's-fancy, 315.
Cat-slides, 453.
Cat-sticks, 453.
Cedar hedges, 387.
Cedar of Lebanon, 29.
Centaurea Cyanus. _See_ Bachelor's Buttons.
Cerinthe. _See_ Honeywort.
Charles I. sun-dials of, 357.
Charles II. sun-dials of, 357.
Charlottesville, Virginia, wall at, 414.
Charmilles, 387.
Chaucer, Geoffrey, quoted, flowers of, 215.
Checkerberry, 345.
Checker lily. _See_ Fritillaria.
Chenopodium Botrys. _See_ Ambrosia.
Cherokee Rose, 468.
Cherry blossoms, 158, 193, 197.
Cheshire, Connecticut, Apple tree in, 194.
Chicory, 266 _et seq._
Chinese Bell Flower. _See_ _Platycodon grandiflorum_.
Chionodoxa, 137.
Chore-girl, 393.
Christalan, statue of, 84, 85.
Chrysanthemums, 179.
Cider, manufacture of, 202 _et seq._
Cider soup, 212.
Cinnamon Fern, 332.
Cinnamon Roses, 463, 465.
Civet, 317.
Clair-voyees, 389.
Clare, John, quoted, 227, 309.
Claymont, Virginia, garden at, 181, 182.
Claytonia, 294.
Clematis, Jackmanni, 182.
Clove apple, 210.
Clover, 165.
Clover, Italian, 241.
Codlins and Cream, 138.
Cohosh. _See_ Snakeroot.
Colchicum, 455.
Columbia, South Carolina, gardens at, 15.
Columbine, 260, 424-425.
Comfort Apple, 210.
Concord, Massachusetts, British dead at, 78;
Sunday observance in, 345 _et seq._
Cooper, Susan, quoted, 289.
Corchorus, 190.
Cornel, 332.
Cornelian Rose, 17.
Cornuti, Dr., list of plants, 10.
Corydalis, 154.
Costmary, 347-348.
Covert walks, 59.
Cowslips, 294.
Cowslip mead, 393.
Crab Apple trees, 192.
Craigie House, 141.
Crape Myrtle, 16, 71.
Creeping Jenny, 60.
Crocus, 136.
Crown Imperial, 40;
_loquitur_, 322 _et seq._
Culpepper, N., cited, 349.
Cupid's Car, 266.
Currant, flowering, 298.
Cyanus, 33.
Cyclamens, 448.
Cylindres, 355.
Cypress, 406.
Daffodil Dell, 84.
Daffodils, 137 _et seq._;
318.
Dahlias, 176 _et seq._
Daisies, 165.
Damask Roses, 462, 465, 466.
Dames' Rocket, 422.
Dandelion, 117, 135, 154-155, 330.
Dante's Garden, 228.
Deland, Margaret, quoted, 64, 229, 267, 429.
Delphinum. _See_ Larkspur.
Derby family, gardens of, 30-31.
Deutzias, 189.
Devil-in-a-bush, 435.
Devil's-bit, 289.
Dialling, taught, 372.
Dicentra. _See_ Dielytra.
Dickens, Charles, sun-dial of, 376.
Dickinson, Emily, quoted, 341, 417.
Dielytra, 185 _et seq._
Dill, 5, 341-343.
Dodocatheon, 448.
Dog Roses, 465.
Dogtooth Violet, 434, 437.
Dogwood, 155.
Double Buttercups, 176.
Double flowers, 425.
Douglas, Gavin, quoted, 257.
Dovecotes in England, 394;
at Shirley-on-James, 394 _et seq._
Draytons, garden of, 16.
Drumthwacket, garden at, 76 _et seq._
Drying Apples, 207.
Dudgeon, 99-100.
Dutch gardens, 19, 20 _et seq._, 71 _et seq._
Dutchman's Pipe, 184.
Dumbledore's Delight, 266.
Dyer's Weed. _See_ Woad-waxen.
Egyptians, sun-dials of, 359.
Elder, 304.
Election Day, lilacs bloom on, 148.
Elijah's Chariot, 271.
Ely Place, rental of, 471.
Emerson, R. W., quoted, 138, 376.
Endicott, Governor, garden of, 3;
nursery of, 24;
bequest of Woad-waxen, 24, 25;
sun-dial of, 358.
Erasmus quoted, 109.
Evening Primrose, 10, 428, 429.
Everlasting Pea, 427.
Fairbanks, Jonathan, sun-dial of, 344, 358.
Fairies, charm to see, 304.
Fair-in-sight, 334.
Fairy Roses, 467.
Fairy Thimbles, 337.
Faneuil, Andrew, glass house of, 19.
Fennel, 5, 341 _et seq._
Fitchburg, Massachusetts, garden at jail, 101, 102.
Fitzgerald, Edward, quoted, 316, 330.
Flag, sweet, striped, 438;
blue, 278.
Flagroot, 343 _et seq._
Flax, 262.
Flower closes, 240.
Flower de Luce, 257 _et seq._
Flowering Currant, 64.
Flower-of-death, 441.
Flower-of-prosperity, 42.
Flower toys, 156.
Flushing, Long Island, nurseries at, 26;
_et seq._, 156, 230 _et seq._
Fore court, 40.
Forget-me-not, 265.
Formal garden, 78 _et seq._
Forsythia, 133, 189, 190.
Forth rights, 58.
Fortune, Robert, 187 _et seq._
Fountains, 69, 85-86, 380, 389.
Fox, George, bequest of, 11;
at Sylvester Manor, 105.
Foxgloves, 162, 427.
Frankland, Sir Henry, 29.
Franklin cent, 365.
Fraxinella, 432.
Fringed Gentian, 265, 273, 294.
Fritillaria, 81, 165, 446 _et seq._
Fuchsias, 52, 331.
Fugio bank note, 364, 365.
Fumitory, Climbing, 183.
Funerals, in front yard, 51;
Tansy at, 128 _et seq._
Funkias, 70.
Gardener's Garters, 438.
Garden Heliotrope, 313.
Garden of Sentiment, 110.
Garden Pink. _See_ Pinks.
Garden, Significance of name, 280.
Garden-viewing, 338.
Gardiner, Grissel, 104.
Garland of Julia, 323.
Garland Roses, 467.
Garrets with herbs, 115.
Garth, 39.
Gas-plant. _See_ Fraxinella.
Gate of Yaddo, 81, 82;
at Westover-on-James, 388, 389;
at Bristol, Rhode Island, 389.
Gatherer of simples, 118.
Gaultheria, 118.
Gem of the Prairies Rose, 468.
Genista tinctoria. _See_ Woad-waxen.
Geraniums, 244.
Germander, 59.
Germantown, Pennsylvania, gardens at, 11, 12;
sun-dial at, 371 _et seq._
Ghosts in gardens, 431.
Gilly flowers, 5.
Ginger, Wild, 343.
_Girls' Life Eighty Years Ago_, 31.
Glory-of-the-snow, 137.
Gnomon of sun-dial, 379 _et seq._
Goethe, cited, 431.
Goncourt, Edmond de, quoted, 248, 249.
Gooseberries, 338, 339 _et seq._
Goosefoot, 59.
Gorse, 221, 222.
Grace Church Rectory, sun-dial of, 364, 374.
Grafting, 391.
Grape Hyacinth, 255 _et seq._
Graveyard Ground-pine, 434.
Green apples, 200 _et seq._
Green, color, 138, 233 _et seq._
Green galleries, 385.
Greenhouse, of James Beekman, 19;
of T. Hardenbrook, 19.
Ground Myrtle, 439.
Groundsel, 292.
Guinea-hen flower, 447.
Gypsophila, 175.
Hair-dye, of Box, 99.
Hampton Court, Box at, 94.
Hampton, garden at, 14, 58, 60, 95, 101.
Hancock garden, 30.
Hawdods, 265.
Hawthorn, 292, 300.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, quoted, 153, 299.
Headaches, 309.
Heart pea, 184.
Heather, 221, 222.
Hedgehog Roses, 464.
Hedgerows, 399 _et seq._, 403 _et seq._
Hedges, of Box, 99;
of Lilac, 143-144, 406;
of Privet, 406, 408;
of Locust, 406.
Heliotrope, scent of, 319.
Hermerocallis. _See_ Lemon Lily.
Hemlock hedges, 406.
Henbane, 434.
Hepatica, 259.
Herbaceous border, 113 _et seq._
Herber, 113, 384.
Herbert, George, quoted, 114.
Herb twopence, 61.
Hermits, 245.
Herrick, flowers of, 216.
Hesperis, 421-422.
Hiccough, 342.
Higginson, T. W., quoted, 74.
Hips of Roses, 472.
Holly, 406.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, quoted, 91, 139-140, 226, 268, 301, 313.
Hollyhocks, 5, 6, 33, 52, 332 _et seq._, 336.
Honesty. _See_ Lunaria.
Honeyblob gooseberries, 338.
Honey, from Thyme, 303;
in drinks, 393.
Honeysuckle, 182, 332, 450.
Honeywort, 33, 442.
Hood, quoted, 228-229.
Hopewell, Lilacs at, 148.
Houstonia, 260.
Howitt Garden, 223.
Howitt, Mary, quoted, 326, 330, 345.
Humming-birds, 243.
Hundred-leaved Rose, 460, 469.
Hutchinson, Governor, garden of, 54.
Hyacinths, 257.
Hydrangea, 182;
blue, 260;
at Capetown, 261.
Hyssop, 54.
Iberis. _See_ Candy-tuft.
Independence Trees. _See_ Catalpa.
Indian Hill, 144, 415 _et seq._
Indian Pipe, 455.
Indian plant names, 293 _et seq._
Innocence. _See_ Houstonia.
Iris, 427. _See_ also Flower de Luce.
Italian gardens, 75 _et seq._
Jack-in-the-pulpit, 154.
Jacob's Ladder, 265.
James I., quoted, 62.
Japan, flowers from, 40, 67, 157, 158, 406.
Jenoffelins, 17.
Jewett, S. O., quoted, 38, 49.
Joepye-weed, 145 _et seq._
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, dial motto of, 219.
Jonquils, 318.
Joseph and Mary, 437, 438.
Josselyn, John, quoted, 4 _et seq._, 8.
Joy-of-the-ground, 441.
Judas tree, 158.
June Roses, 464.
Kalendars, 355.
Kalm, cited, 128, 203, 408.
Karr, Alphonse, quoted, 272, 302, 453, 454.
Katherine flowers, 435.
Keats, cited, 223 _et seq._
Kiskatomas nut, 294.
Kiss-me-at-the-garden-gate, 135.
Kitchen door, 69.
Knots, described, 54 _et seq._
Labels, 217.
Labrador Indians, sun-dials of, 359.
Laburnum, 168, 169, 231.
Ladies' Delights, 48, 133 _et seq._
Lad's Love. _See_ Southernwood.
Lady's Slipper, 293.
Lafayette, influence of, 241;
dial of, 357.
Lamb, Charles quoted, 360.
Landor, Walter Savage, quoted, 140, 362-363, 415, 420.
Larch, 300.
Larkspur, 33, 162, 267 _et seq._
Latin names, 291.
Lavender, 5, 33, 121.
Lavender Cotton, 5, 61.
Lawns, 53, 240.
Lawson, William, quoted, 56.
Lebanon, Cedar of, 29.
Lemon Lily, 45, 80.
Lennox, Lady, Box sun-dial of, 97-98.
Leucojum, 234-235.
Lilacs, at Hopkinton, 29, also 140-153, 318 _et seq._, 406.
Lilies, 180.
Linen, drying of, 99;
bleaching of, 99.
Linnaeus, classification of, 282;
horologe of, 381-382;
discovery of daughter of, 431 _et seq._
Liricon-fancy, 45.
Little Burgundy Rose, 467.
Live-forever. _See_ Orpine.
Live Oaks, 16.
Lobelia, 33, 271-272.
Loch, 259.
Locust, as house friend, 22-23;
blossoms sold, 155;
on Long Island, 156;
in Narragansett, 401 _et seq._;
in a hedge, 406-407.
Loggerheads, 265.
Lombardy Poplars, 27.
London Pride, 45, 443.
Longfellow, quoted, 141;
garden of, 102, 431.
Lotus, 74.
Lovage-root, 343.
Love divination, with Lilacs, 150;
with Apples, 205 _et seq._;
with Southernwood, 349.
Love-in-a-huddle, 435.
Love-in-a-mist, 435.
Love lies bleeding, 287.
Love philtres, 118 _et seq._
Lowell, J. R., quoted, 48-49, 89, 227, 277.
Luck-lilac, 150.
Lunaria, 5, 33, 170 _et seq._
Lungwort, 437-438.
Lupines, 33, 163, 253, 275 _et seq._
Lychnis. _See_ Mullein Pink; also London Pride.
Lyre flower. _See_ Dielytra.
Lyres, 385, 386.
Madame Plantier Rose, 71, 463, 464.
Magnolia-on-the-Ashley, gardens at, 16.
Magnolias, 26, 71, 155-156.
Maiden's Blush Roses, 466.
Maize, 293-294.
Maltese Cross, 443.
Manheim, Rose for rent in, 470.
Maple, only Celtic plant name, 292.
Marigolds, 33, 52, 315 _et seq._
Maritoffles, 17.
Markham, Gervayse, cited, 40, 54, 115.
Marsh Mallow, 434.
Marsh Marigold, 294.
Marvell, Andrew, quoted, 231, 239, 381.
Mather, Cotton, quoted, 337, 342.
Matrimony Vine, 185, 449-450.
Mayflower, 166, 291, 299.
Maze, described, 54-55;
in America, 55;
at Sylvester Manor, 106.
Meadow Rue, 175-176.
Meet-her-in-the-entry, Kiss-her-in-the-buttery, 135.
Meeting-plant, 348.
Meet-me-at-the-garden-gate, 135.
Meredith, Owen, quoted, 166.
Meresteads, 3.
Meridian lines, 355.
Mertensia, 438.
Michigan Roses, 62, 468.
Mignonette, scent of, 319.
Milkweed silk, 328, 331.
Mills, for cider-making, 203.
Minnow-tansy, 127.
Mint family, 117-264.
Miskodeed, 294.
Missionary plant, 25.
Mitchell, Dr., disinterment of, 129 _et seq._
Mithridate, 123.
Moccasin flower, 293.
Mole cider, 212.
Molucca Balm, 436-437.
Money-in-both-pockets, 170 _et seq._
Moneywort, 60-61.
Monkshood, 266, 329, 433.
Moon vine, 430-431.
Moosewood, 452 _et seq._
Morning-glory, 181-182.
Morristown, sun-dial at, 359, 374.
Morris, William, quoted, 240, 425.
Morse, S. B. F., lines on sun-dial motto, 363.
Mosquitoes, 74.
Moss Roses, 345, 465, 466.
Mottoes on sun-dials, 88, 360, _et seq._
Mountain Fringe. _See_ Adlumia.
Mount Atlas Cedar, 29.
Mount Auburn Cemetery, sun-dial at, 373.
Mount Vernon, garden at, 11-12;
sun-dial at, 369.
Mourning Bride, 297, 339 _et seq._
Mulberries, 27.
Mullein Pink, 174.
Musk Roses, 464, 469.
Names, old English, 284 _et seq._
Naked Boys, 455.
Napanock, garden at, 69-70.
Naushon, Gorse on, 222;
sun-dial at, 374.
Nemophila, 315.
New Amsterdam, flowers of, 17-18.
_New England's Prospect_, 3.
New England's Rarities, 5.
Nicotiana, 423.
Nigella, 33, 434, 435.
Night-scented Stock, 421-422.
Nightshade, 448.
Night Violets, 422.
Noon-marks, 355.
None-so-pretty, 135.
Oak of Jerusalem. _See_ Ambrosia.
Obesity, cure for, 122.
Old Man. _See_ Southernwood.
Oleanders, 52, 329-330.
Olitory, 113.
Open knots, 57-58.
Ophir Farm, sun-dial at, 376 _et seq._
Opyn-tide, meaning of, 143.
Orange Lily, 50.
Orchard seats, 192.
Orpine, 444-445.
Orris-root, 259.
Osage Orange, 69, 406.
Ostrowskia, 262.
"Out-Landish Flowers," 58.
Oxeye Daisies, introduction to America, 25.
Oxford, sun-dial at, 97.
Pansies, 134, 318.
Pappoose-root, 293.
Parkman, Francis, Rose Garden of, 471.
Parley, Peter, quoted, 343.
Parsons, T. W., on Lilacs, 153.
Parterre, 58 _et seq._
Pastorius, Father, 11.
Patagonian Mint, 347-348.
Patience, 6.
Paulownias, 29.
Peach blossoms, 158.
Peacocks, 395 _et seq._
Pear blossoms, scent of, 318.
Pedestals for sun-dials, 374 _et seq._
Pennsylvania, sun-dials in, 370 _et seq._
Penn, William, encouraged gardens, 11.
Peony, 42 _et seq._
Peppermint, as medicine, 118.
Pergolas, 82-83, 385 _et seq._
Peristyle, 389.
Periwinkle, 62, 439 _et seq._
Perpetual Roses, 468.
Persians, colors of, 253;
plant names of, 292;
flower love of, 462.
Persian Lilac, 152.
Persian Yellow Rose, 320, 469.
Peter's Wreath, 41-42.
Petunias, 179, 423.
Phlox, 40, 45, 162, 423.
Piazzas, 388-389.
Pig-nuts, 332.
_Pilgrim's Progress_, quotations from, 201.
Pinckney, E. L., floriculture by, 14.
Pine at Yaddo, 90.
Pink-of-my-Joan, 135.
Pinks, as edgings, 34, 47, 61, 292, 422-423.
Pippins, 345.
Plane trees in Pliny's garden, 97.
Plantain, 197, 443-444.
Plant-of-twenty-days, 42.
_Platycodon grandiflorum_, 262.
Playhouse Apple tree, 199.
Pliny, quoted, 342, 349;
gardens of, 96-97.
Plum blossoms, 157-158.
Plume Poppy, 175 _et seq._
Plymouth, Massachusetts, early gardens at, 3.
Poet's Narcissus, 318.
Pogonia, 247.
Poison Ivy, 403.
Polling, of trees, 387.
Polyantha Rose, 467.
Polyanthus, as edging, 62.
Pomander, 212.
Pomatum, 209-210.
Pompeii, standards at, 87 _et seq._
Pond Lily, 345.
Pony Roses, 467.
Poppies, 163-164, 243-244, 309 _et seq._, 431.
Pops, 337.
Portable dials, 356-357.
Portulaca, 178-179.
Potatoes, planted by Raleigh, 230.
Potocka, Countess, quoted, 327.
Pot-pourri, 471.
Preston Garden, 15-16, 18, 24, 101.
Prick-song plant. _See_ Lunaria.
Primprint. _See_ Privet.
Prince Nurseries, 26 _et seq._, 230.
Privet, 54, 317, 406, 408.
Provence Roses, 459.
Prunella, 264-265.
Prygmen, 99.
Pudding, 304.
Pulmonaria, 437-438.
Pumps, old, 67-68.
Pussy Willows, 155, 247.
Puzzle-love, 435.
Pyrethrum, 242.
_Quabbin_, 419.
Queen Anne, hatred of Box, 94.
Queen's Maries, bower of, 103.
Queen of the Prairies Rose, 468.
Quincy, Josiah, 407.
Ragged Robin, 291.
Ragged Sailors, 265.
Rail fences, 399 _et seq._
Railings, 62.
Raleigh, Sir Walter, garden of, 230.
Rapin, Rene, quoted, 94, 323;
on gardens, 227.
Red, influence of, 251.
Remontant Roses, 468.
Rent, of a Rose, 469 _et seq._
_Rescue of an Old Place_, cited, 103, 290.
Rhodes, Cecil, garden of, 261.
Rhododendrons, 42, 182, 244, 245.
Ridgely Garden, 57, 60, 95, 101.
Ring dials, 356.
Rock Cress. _See_ Arabis.
Rocket. _See_ Dames' Rocket.
Rose Acacia, 185, 406.
Rose Campion, 33, 174, 175.
Rose Garden, at Yaddo, 81 _et seq._
Rosemary, 5, 55, 59, 110.
Rose of Four Seasons, 467.
Rose of Plymouth, 295.
Rose Tavern, 470.
Rose tobacco, 475.
Rose-water, 472.
Rossetti, D. G., picture by, 380;
quoted, 380.
Roxbury Waxwork. _See_ Bittersweet.
Rue, 5, 110, 123 _et seq_, 434.
Ruskin, John, quoted, 243, 283, 255, 279, 309.
Sabbatia, 295.
Saffron-tea, 118.
Sage, 125 _et seq._
Sag Harbor, sun-dial at, 362.
Salpiglossis, 262.
Salt Box House, 128.
Sand, in parterres, 56, 58.
Santolina. _See_ Lavender Cotton.
Sapson Apples, 201-202.
Sassafras, 343.
Satin-flower, 170 _et seq._
Sauce Saracen, 472.
Scarlet Lightning, 443.
Scilla, 255.
Scotch Roses, 48, 464, 469.
Scott, Sir Walter, sun-dial of, 219, 377.
Scythes, 391.
Seeds, sale of, 32 _et seq._
Serpentine Walls, 414.
Setwall. _See_ Valerian.
Seven Sisters, 435.
Seven Sisters Rose, 463.
Shade alleys, 59.
Shaded Walks, 64.
Shakespeare Border, 217 _et seq._
Sheep bones, as edgings, 57-58.
Shelley, Garden, 223.
Shell flower, 436-437.
Shirley Poppies, 255, 312.
Simples, 115.
Skepes, 354, 391 _et seq._
Slugs, in Box, 95.
Smithsonian Institution, sun-dials in, 357-358.
Snakeroot, 423-424.
Snapdragons, 33, 175.
Snowballs, 71.
Snowberry, 169.
Snowdrops, 234.
Snow in Summer, 47.
Snow Pink. _See_ Pinks.
Soldier and his Wife, 438.
Sops-o'-wine. _See_ Sapson.
Sorrel, 6, 240, 332.
South Carolina, gardens of, 14.
Southernwood, 5, 341, 348 _et seq._
Southey, Robert, quoted, 266.
Spenser, Edmund, quoted, 54;
flowers of, 215, 284.
Spider-flower. _See_ Love-in-a-mist.
Spiders in medicine, 303, 343.
Spiderwort, 435-436.
Spiraeas, 189.
Spitfire Plant. _See_ Fraxinella.
Spring Beauty, 294.
Spring Snowflake, 234, 235.
Spruce gum, 332.
Spurge, Cypress, 434 _et seq._
Squirrel Cups, 260.
Squirt, for water, 390.
Star of Bethlehem, 34, 235.
Star Pink. _See_ Pink.
Statues in garden, 85, 389.
Stockton, Richard, letter of, 30-31.
Stones, for edging, 58.
Stonecrop, 135.
Stone walls, 399 _et seq._
Strawberry Bush. _See_ Calycanthus.
Striped Grass, 438-439.
Striped Lily, 61.
Stuyvesant, Peter, garden of, 18-19.
Succory. _See_ Chicory.
Summer-houses, 392.
Summer Roses, 468.
Summer savory, 124.
Summer-sots, 17.
Sun-dials of Box, 62, 80, 87, 88, 97 _et seq._
Sun-flowers, 178, 287.
Sunken gardens, 72-73.
Sunshine Bush, 189.
Swan River Daisy, 263, 264.
Sweet Alyssum. _See_ Alyssum.
Sweet Brier, 6, 25, 48, 302, 464, 465.
Sweet Fern, 2.
Sweet Flag, 343.
Sweet Johns, 285.
Sweet Marjoram, 124.
Sweet Peas, 33, 178, 224.
Sweet Rocket, 34.
Sweet Shrub. _See_ Calycanthus.
Sweet Williams, 34, 162, 285 _et seq._
Sylvester Manor, gardens at, 104 _et seq._
Syringas, 71.
Tansy, 6, 126 _et seq._
Tansy bitters, 128.
Tansy cakes, 128.
Tasmania, Thistles in, 26.
Tea Roses, 320, 469.
Telling the bees, 393.
Temperance Reform, 204.
Tennyson, on blue, 266;
on white, 420-421.
Thaxter, Celia, cited, 311.
Thistles, in Tasmania, 26.
Thomas, Edith, quoted, 229.
Thoreau, H. D., quoted, 148, 197, 198, 199, 275, 276, 345, 346, 417.
Thoroughwort, 145 _et seq._
Thrift, sun-dials in, 97;
as edging, 61-62.
Thyme, 34, 60, 302 _et seq._
Tiger Lilies, 45, 162.
Toad-flax, 450 _et seq._
Tobacco. _See_ Nicotiana.
Tongue-plant, 347-348.
Topiary work in England, 408;
at Wellesley, 409 _et seq._;
in California, 412.
Tradescantia. _See_ Spiderwort.
Trailing Arbutus, 299.
Traveller's Rest, sun-dial at, 350, 370.
Tree arbors, 199, 384-385.
Tree Peony. _See_ Peony.
Trillium, 154, 457, 458.
Trumpet vine, 449-450.
Tuckahoe, Box at, 102, 105.
Tudor gardens, 55.
Tudor Place, garden at, 103.
Tulips, 18, 138, 168.
Turner, cited, 61, 236.
Tusser, Thomas, quoted, 115.
Twopenny Grass, 61.
Valerian, 34, 313 _et seq._
Van Cortlandt Manor, garden at, 20 _et seq._
Van Cortlandt, Pierre, 21.
Vancouver's Island, 26.
Van der Donck, Adrian, quoted, 17-18.
Velvet Roses, 466.
Vendue, 50-51.
Venus' Navelwort, 33, 441-442.
Versailles, Box at, 97.
Victoria Regia, 74-75.
Vinca. _See_ Periwinkle.
Viola tricolor, 134.
Violets, edgings of, 71;
in backyard, 154;
gallant grace of, 166;
scent of, 259, 317-318.
Viper's Bugloss, 273-274.
Virginia Allspice. _See_ Calycanthus.
Virginia, sun-dials in, 369-370;
Rose-bowers in, 385;
lyres in, 385.
Virgin's Bower. _See_ Adlumia.
Wake Robin. _See_ Trillium.
Walden Pond, 198, 345.
Walpole, New Hampshire, garden in, 237 _et seq._, 464 _et seq._
Walton, Izaak, 127.
Wandis, 62.
Warwick, Lady, sun-dial of, 98;
gardens of, 84, 85, 110;
Shakespeare Border of, 217.
Washings, semi-annual, 99.
Washington, Betty, sun-dial of, 370.
Washington Family, in England, 367;
sun-dial of, 367 _et seq._
Washington, George, sun-dials of, 357, 368.
Washington, Martha, garden of, 12-13.
Washington, Mary, sun-dial of, 369;
garden of, 370.
Wassailing, 206.
Waterbury, Connecticut, sun-dial at, 379.
Waterford, Virginia, bee-hives at, 393.
Water gardens, 73-74.
Watering-pot, 391.
Watson, Forbes, cited, 425, 433.
Waybred, 443-444.
Weed-smother, 300.
Weeds of old garden, 8, 48, 52.
Wellesley, gardens at, 409 _et seq._
Well-sweeps, 68, 390.
White animals on farm; 416 _et seq._
White Garden, 415 _et seq._
Whitehall, home of Bishop Berkeley, 194, 195.
White Man's Foot, 443-444.
White Satin, 170 _et seq._
White, value in garden, 157, 255, 419.
Whiteweed, 291. _See_ Oxeye Daisy.
Whitman, Walt, quoted, 152-153.
Whittier, J. G., sun-dial motto by, 373-374.
Wild gardens, 237 _et seq._, 453-454.
Wine-sap. _See_ Sapson.
Winter, in a garden, 327 _et seq._
Winter posy, 131.
Winthrop, John, quoted, 1, 3.
Wistaria, 166, 182, 188 _et seq._, 232.
Woad-waxen, 24, 25.
Wordsworth, W., quoted, 193.
Wort, 113.
Wort-cunning, 113.
Yaddo, garden at, 81 _et seq._
Yew, 406.
York and Lancaster Rose, 62, 460 _et seq._
Yucca, 293, 429-430.
Zodiac, signs of, on sun-dial, 376.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
A prescription symbol on page 304 is represented in this text as "Rx".
Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been corrected without
comment. One example of an obvious error is on page 126 where the word
"perservation" was changed to "preservation" in the phrase: "...
preservation of all perishable food...."
With the exception of obvious errors, inconsistencies in the author's
spelling and use of punctuation and hyphenation are left unchanged,
as in the original text.
One error which has been retained in this version is on Page 415, where
the attribution line for the poem reads "Walter Savage Landor" while the
correct author of the poem is Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Illustrations have been moved to the nearest, most appropriate paragraph
break.