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A "long-haired Chrysanthemum" was among the autumn flowers, his tissue paper petals slightly wired to make them stand out, and a stalk of Joe-Pye-Weed strode along with his dull pink corymb proudly elevated above the throng. All alone as a representative of Winter was Tom Watkins, decorated superbly as a Christmas Tree.
Instead, the old leaves on the limbs rattle and waver down; the cornfield is only an area of stubs and long lines of yellow shocks; and in the corners of the meadow fence stand clumps of flower-stalks, joe-pye-weed, boneset, goldenrod, bare and already bleaching; and deep within their matted shade, where the brook bends about an elder bush, a single amber pendant of the jewel-weed, to which a bumble-bee comes droning on wings so loud that a little hyla near us stops his pipe to listen!
"This takes me back to the days when I used to follow the flowers through the whole summer," the invalid cried delightedly. "Ah, Joe-Pye-Weed has arrived," she exclaimed joyfully over the handsome blossom. When the Ethels and Dorothy received their first order for the decoration of a house for an afternoon reception they were somewhat overcome. "Can we do it?" they asked each other.
"Dorothy keeps her eye on the ball," complimented James. "Have we decided on the background flowers for the wild bed?" "Joe-Pye-Weed is tall enough," offered James. "It's way up over my head." "It wouldn't cover the fence much; the blossom is handsome but the foliage is scanty." "There's a feathery meadow-rue that is tall. The leaves are delicate."
The conspicuous roadside flowers for hundreds of miles, in fact, all the way from Pennsylvania to North Carolina, were the purple eupatorium, or Joe-Pye-weed, and the ironweed stately, hardy growths, and very pleasing to look upon, the ironweed with its crimson purple, and the eupatorium with its massive head of soft, pinkish purple.
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