No longer supported by the fallen house, a Trumpet Creeper, which trailed along the ground, has been clipped into a compact bush. A venerable Althaea, which we did our best to save, blossomed feebly for a season or two and then perished, deprived of the accustomed shelter of the porch; but great bushes of the old-fashioned White Rose abound, and there, too, is the sweet Blush Rose, beloved of the bee and the sturdy Hessian. A large Damask Rose still flourishes under the Lilacs, and a luxuriant Baltimore Belle climbs in reckless profusion over its confining wires. Where the fence stood is a low cluster of bushes covered in summer with a bold Red Rose, single and splendid, the remote parent, perhaps, of the Jacqueminot; they call it here the Russian Rose, but I do not know what its real name may be; and down in the orchard I found a bush of the dear, thorny little Scotch Rose, the smell of which is laden, as is no other, with the memories of childhood.
There are clumps of Tiger Lilies, and old-fashioned small Bluebells, and Sweet Williams, and a Barberry bush swings its yellow blossoms and red berries over the rear wall; and under the Box-arbor I found Spiderwort growing in great clusters.
One day, while strolling down along the orchard fence, a familiar odor, heavy and sweet, led me on to where a wild Azalea was hanging out its fragrant blossoms. I do not see why a hedge of these might not do well in this moist soil. I hailed this one with delight as an ornament to the place.
But what we like best is the fine old Box arbor, which has grown up from a garden border until its stout trees are now six inches in diameter, and nearly ten feet high, which shows their great age. They were fair-sized bushes when old men of this town were boys, and to make even a bush of a Box plant is slow work. Here, shaded by a young Elm which has sprung up in the kindly shelter of these twisted old trunks, we sit and look out upon the meadow and the growing plants, and feel linked with the past by this memento of those who loved this garden spot, and toiled to make it fair and fruitful, even as we, too, toil to restore its beauty and productiveness.