The originator of the "Mansion House" was compelled to obey literally the scripture injunction and "build upon a rock." A substratum of that safe "foundation" lay directly beneath the site chosen for his home and must have been hewn or exploded out previous to the placing of its corner stone. Consequently within a good foot or more of the house there is found but a thin layer of soil, where climbers may not obtain a foothold. I had formerly great success with perennial vines and creepers, among them may be counted Bignonia Radicans (Trumpet Creeper), "Baltimore Belle" (rose), Matrimony (now nearly obsolete), which I once trained with yellow Flowering Currant over the entire length and breadth of a veranda. This method of growing the Currant I claim as entirely my own. We latticed the piazza with copper wire, and its combination with the Matrimony (or "Tea Vine") was most effective and made a very dense screen. My Prairie Rose was also a marked success. So was my Hop Vine, my Scarlet Honeysuckle, and a pink climbing rose given me by a neighbor. I cannot recall its name, but well remember how it ran riot over an entire lattice, arched over the long French window in my first parlor, and how the June west wind blew its petals in from the raised window, in scented showers, about the parlor floor.

Among the annual vines I have had fine Coboea Scandens—climbing like "Jack's bean" to the very top of things. With Moonflower I have failed, although I soaked the big seed over night and sowed with great care. It is an exquisite flower, and I have seen it brought into beautiful bloom. The common native Morning Glory, which "grows and takes no care," as a matter of course does well with all.

Not so the Japanese (Ipomoea Imperialis). Lured by the seedsman's pictures of this wonder, year after year I waste good money on seed packets of that disappointing flower. My seed germinates after a fashion and sometimes I get a flower or two a trifle larger than those on the native vines, but about the same in color. Three summers ago I potted a seedling and gave it a small trellis. To my great delight it bore a few precious flowers of cerulean hue daintily striped with white. Thus encouraged I still include Japanese Morning Glories in my list of annuals, ordering them from one seedsman after another, if, peradventure, I might hit the man who furnishes the marvels which I have read about—the fluted, fringed, and rainbow-hued, the bona fide Ipomoea Imperialis.

When, fifteen years ago, after a long absence, I went for a summer outing to my native town it was the time of Honeysuckles—the evening air was loaded with their perfume, for there not to have a Honeysuckle is to be poor indeed.

Glad was I to walk in the June moonlight and again revel in the dear familiar odor. When I again left my old home I bore with me three thrifty roots of this lovely vine given me by kind friends. These were carefully planted in a sheltered corner of our Cambridge garden. From that hour I have had Honeysuckles to spare. Grown to big precious vines the three came with us to this garden, where they now cover four wooden trellises, a bit of the garden wall, and an irregular arch at the end of our piazza. Their runners have supplied the entire neighborhood with young vines, twelve of which have already come into bloom, not counting one in Malden and another in Chelsea. Last winter in common with many others I suffered a partial loss of my Honeysuckles from winter-killing. The roots were, however, still intact, and, though we missed their full bloom, their foliage is now (middle of August) as fine as ever.

It is but lately that I have learned that the Honeysuckle and the Woodbine of England are one and the same.

The English Honeysuckle blooms monthly; the Japanese Honeysuckle is not a monthly bloomer. It blossoms with the June roses, and sometimes bears a spray or two of bloom in late autumn. It differs in other ways from the English—has not its pink shading nor its dainty scent. Milton, in Lycidas, calls it "the well-attired Woodbine"—perhaps this is because of its continuous flowering. The oriental variety has in this day superseded the English. More rapid in growth and easier of culture it falls in with the hurrying sentiment of the time. It has been my good fortune to possess in my day three English Honeysuckles—now, mine are all Japanese. The poets, from Chaucer down to Wordsworth, have sung the praises of the Woodbine.

The elder poet drew his image of constant affection from the clinging nature of the Woodbine (or "bind") and its enduring hold on the wedded tree. Contrary to the habit of most other vines the Honeysuckle follows, in its windings, the sun.

The Weigelia, a shrub belonging to the Honeysuckle family, was introduced from China, and is named after Weigel, a German naturalist.

Here end my hints in regard to the selection and culture of such everyday herbaceous plants, shrubs, annuals, and vines as are attainable to the garden-lover of moderate means. Many rarer specimens are (as a matter of course) within reach of one with a longer purse, who holds (with me) that Victor Hugo "hit the nail on the head" when he paradoxically asserted that "the beautiful is as useful as the useful, perhaps more so."

To me one of the beautiful uses of flowers is to cut them for interior decoration.

Our grandmothers had no vocation for out-of-door life. A garden was to them a place to "grow things" in, to work and walk in, but to sit in? never! All the same the big "bowpots" were duly filled, and although less artistically arranged than the vases of today, were a part of the housewife's plan of living, and bore witness to the divine truth that "man cannot live by bread alone."

Lafcadio Hearn tells us that "to the Japanese the arranging of a bough of blossoms is a serious act of life. That the placing of flowers is indeed an exact science, to the study of which a man may devote seven years, even fourteen years, before he will be acknowledged a master."

As a rule avoid painted china vases in arranging cut flowers. Let the vase be artistic in shape and well adapted to the flowers it holds, but never so gay in color as to rival them. Single flowers arrange best, and, as a general rule, put each variety in a glass by itself. Roses, Nasturtiums, and Sweet Peas seem especially well-suited to table decoration. They are all "good enough to eat."