The ancient Greeks are said to have held the plant in high repute, believing it to be of divine origin, and an emanation from the moon. Pagan superstitions die hard, and in our Christian civilization still hold their own among the ignorant masses.
Mrs. Pratt tells us that in England "the lower classes turn beads of the Peony root, which form necklaces for their children, and are supposed to aid dentition, and prevent convulsions."
We learn from her that at the end of the 16th century the double red Peony—at that time introduced into Antwerp from Switzerland—was too expensive a flower for any but the rich man's garden, a single plant selling for twelve pounds! "The Mongols," she tells us, "use the seed of the wild Peony in tea, and flavor their broth with its roots."
Among ourselves no garden is complete without this lovely hardy perennial.
From my childhood the big red Peony—coming in late May-time—has been, to my mind, the very embodiment of Spring! Of all the Peonies this flower of my early love is most precious—beloved less for its dear blowsy self than for its sweet associations—memories of by-gone springs when life and joy went hand in hand, and grass was not greening on the graves of my dead.
I have in my borders but four colors of this fine flower—red, white, pink, and pink with white center—this last a single variety, and an indefatigable bloomer. The red, white, and rose pink are all the doublest of their kind, and the two latter are deliriously odorous. Of late, Peonies of many colors are to be had from the seedsman—pink, purple, and salmon-colored varieties of exquisite form and color.
The Peony is greatly disquieted by removal, and, though sturdily tenacious of life, refuses for a year or two after transplanting, to "do its level best." It is increased by division of tubers, or may be propagated by seed. The division and replanting should be done in October, and one should see that there is, at least, one eye on each tuber.
The Peony may be commended to the perennial grower, not only as a lovely flower, but as a plant to "tie to." It never gets winter-killed, blossoms punctually, and has no pernickity notions in regard to situation. It will grow in any soil, but to do its best requires to be well fed and to have the loam about it kept loose and friable, the same as for the rose.
The Foxglove (Digitalis) beautifully repays one's care. Unhappily it has a tendency to succumb to the harshness of our climate, and often gets winter-killed; surviving this ordeal, it is—with its charming spikes of white, purple, and pinkish lilac bloom—the pride of the garden. Four years ago I had, in the western end of a southward-facing border, a superb clump of this lovely biennial. Many times a day I went to look at these exquisite flowers. As I stood before them in admiration a friend often joined me, and while we stood admiring them, I thought of the Persian flower-worship—an account of which I had come across in my reading and stored in my collection of "Useful Clippings." Here it is. I cannot now recall the name of its author: