When I see those Yuccas in bloom I fully believe that they are the grandest flowers of our gardens; but happily, I have a short garden memory, so I mourn not the Yucca when I see the _Anemone japonica_ or any other noble white garden child. [Illustration: Yucca, like White Marble against the Evergreens.] Here at the end of the garden walk is an arbor dark with the shadow of great leaves, such as Gerarde calls "leaves round and big like to a buckler." But out of that shadowed background of leaf on leaf shine hundreds of pure, pale stars of sweetness and light,--a true flower of the night in fragrance, beauty, and name,--the Moon-vine. It is a flower of sentiment, full of suggestion. Did you ever see a ghost in a garden? I do so wish I could. If I had the placing of ghosts, I would not make them mope round in stuffy old bedrooms and garrets; but would place one here in this arbor in my Moonlight Garden. But if I did, I have no doubt she would take up a hoe or a watering-pot, and proceed to do some very unghostlike deed--perhaps, grub up weeds. Longfellow had a ghost in his garden (page 142). He must have mourned when he found it was only a clothes-line and a long night-gown. It was the favorite tale of a Swedish old lady who lived to be ninety-six years old, of a discovery of her youth, in the year 1762, of strange flashes of light which sparkled out of the flowers of the Nasturtium one sultry night. I suppose the average young woman of the average education of the day and her country might not have heeded or told of this, but she was the daughter of Linnaeus, the great botanist, and had not the everyday education. Then great Goethe saw and wrote of similar flashes of light around Oriental Poppies; and soon other folk saw them also--naturalists and everyday folk. Usually yellow flowers were found to display this light--Marigolds, orange Lilies, and Sunflowers. Then the daughter of Linnaeus reported another curious discovery; she certainly turned her nocturnal rambles in her garden to good account. She averred she had set fire to a certain gas which formed and hung around the Fraxinella, and that the ignition did not injure the plant. This assertion was met with open scoffing and disbelief, which has never wholly ceased; yet the popular name of Gas Plant indicates a widespread confidence in this quality of the Fraxinella and it is easily proved true. Another New England name for the Fraxinella, given me from the owner of the herb-garden at Elmhurst, is "Spitfire Plant," because the seed-pods sizzle so when a lighted match is applied to them.