These are out of fashion now, suggests some modern florist; well, they may be, but the flowers are just as showy as ever they were, and I don't believe any of the novelties, with great long latin names, are any more valuable for the modern style of gardening. A circle cut in the smoothly shaven turf, and filled with the Double Yellow or Orange Marygold, and edged with an outer ring of the dwarf French striped variety, is difficult to excel. If the bed should be raised in the center, it will look better. It will bloom all summer long, and won't cost $5 or $10 to fill, either. Now, whilst I am talking about

Old-fashined Flowers, let me speak a good word for a few of the old time favorites that my grandmother delighted in, and which are being hunted up - why? Because they are better than scores of the newer kinds that have usurped their places. Every one who owns a group or belt of shrubbery (and I sincerely pity the man who don't), should, in early spring, dig a few holes here and there through it, fill them with generous compost, and insert one or more Sunflowers, Castor Oil Beans, Tobacco plants, Hollyhocks, etc., wherever they will look the most appropriate. It is wonderful what a change these will effect in the mass; indeed, they seem to give a tropical aspect to its otherwise tame character. Still, on the ancient order of plants, I ask what is the reason that as soon as a citizen concludes that he has sufficient means to buy a home in the country, that the first plants he wants to set out, are

Old-fashioned Shrubs? - Yes, he is scarcely inside the nursery office before he asks if he can procure a Lilac, Snowball, Sweet - scented Shrub, Mock Orange, Corcho-rus, and a Honeysuckle,; and I honor him for it too, for beautiful as many of the newer candidates for popular favor are, I say none of them excel, in fragrance, the Lilac and Mock Orange or Syringa.

As a background to a group of low-growing shrubs, or as a mass to conceal some unsightly object, nothing can possibly surpass the list that I have enumerated.

As I stroll down the garden walk, my goodly row of

Currants catch my eye, all of the real old-fashioned variety, too - the Red Dutch; and I remember how a few years since I planted another row close beside it, composed of one plant of every kind I could obtain either in Europe or this country as well. Now where are they? the labels are rotted off, and the names are illegible; but I do not care, for one by one I eagerly watched for superiority, and one by one they disappointed me, and so they disappeared over the fence.

Some of them were larger than the old "stand-by," and some were perhaps a little less tart, but the weight of fruit was always in favor of the latter, and therefore I want no other. I don't like

Gooseberries, they are insipid, tasteless fruits, at best, and as for tarts in a green state, they are tart enough themselves, to not disgrace their names. I am too poor to purchase enough sugar to make them toothsome, and even could I afford such an act of extravagance, it would not pay, for they would be nothing but Gooseberries after all. I grow a few bushes of the same kind that my grandfather did before me, and I am satisfied that I have the best; although some people call them the Cluster, and others the American Seedling) they are nothing but the old-fashioned kind, and I must have them, because - well, because folks must have Gooseberries, you know. And in fondly lingering over all the requisites to form a popular garden in the "for away times," memory recalls the two flower beds that edged the one straight walk down the center of the enclosure. The most of the ornamental plants that used to grace these borders, have now very nearly passed away, but they have yet a place in the memories of some true lovers of the good old days, when one begged a slip of this, and a root of the other plant, and never knew what a floral establishment was intended for.

Prominently among these,

Old Border Plants was the gorgeous

Double Crimson Paeonia; now excelled in size and fragrance perhaps, but in brilliancy never; we cling to it as the antiquarian does to his old edition of some rare work, but with this difference, that while the latter is valued merely on account of its antiquity, the former has the additional merit of being as valuable to-day as ever it was. And then the old Blue Flag, what a host of pleasant memories the very name recalls! Here, too, the skill of the modern florist has given us an almost endless list of varieties, with every imaginable shade of color, but amidst them all the old favorite holds its place with a pertinacity that seems impossible to overcome. The Daffys, too, or to speak correctly, the Narcissus - I must not forget them, although it is not at all probable. If I had the space, I really believe I could write quite an interesting paper on this one family of plants. When massed thickly in beds, they show to much greater advantage than when placed singly in a mixed border.

A circle, for instance, filled with the Orange Phoenix, and edged with a ring of Albas adoratus, or Pheasant's eye, makes a superb show when in bloom and thoroughly established. And again, there is another old-fashioned bulb, the Crown Imperial; how seldom we see it now in cultivation, and yet how deserving it is of more notice. To be sure, the odor does not remind one of "sweet-smelling incense," but what of that? it is made to look at, not to handle. One objection is, the plants do not remove as easily as some other bulbs, but care in the transaction will overcome all difficulties.

Whilst we must acknowledge that great improvements have been made in the hardy Garden Pinks, still our long acquaintance with the old Pheasant-eyed variety, causes it to be more appreciated by some; and it is beautiful yet, if its new relations are finer-formed and brighter-colored. Occasionally our ancestors introduced a plant that was inclined to presume on its position, and so prove rather too familiar - such was the Copper-colored Day Lily. It was showy and easily cultivated, and when a gardener once had it established, the next serious question arose, how to get rid of it, for the succeeding season, in the place of one, we were liable to have a dozen, and so on forever after, until there was no room for anything else.

In the rush for novelties, one is apt to turn his back on the old friends that are even yet worthy of his regard, hence my prolonged dissertation on their merits; and dearly as I love to test the newer introductions, there still remains, for the old-time flowers, a large corner in the grounds of an "Old Gardener."