THE MAGIC OF FLOWERS. 205 



At the head of this avenue we built a framework eighteen 

 feet long and twelve feet wide, covering all with heavy wire. On 

 the sides we planted woodbine and wild grape, and in three years 

 this had made almost a solid growth of living green over the en- 

 tire framework. In front of this pagoda, if I may be allowed the 

 name for so crude a structure, we planted sumach with beds of 

 ferns underneath. We took the fallen branches of a silver poplar 

 to make a rustic railing for steps, etc., and let me assure you that 

 combined with the wonderful perfume of the wild grape, the ten- 

 der white and blue wood violets in the spring, it was a bower of 

 beauty, while in the autumn the woodbine and the sumach pro- 

 duced a mad riot of color. In the heat of the day, 'tis like 

 Arthur's island valley of Avalon, a place to say to a weary soul, 

 "take thy rest." Such a setting is a rebuke to all unkind thoughts. 



Now, will you go with me to the west side of the house, where 

 live a wonderful old couple whose knowledge of garden lore is 

 past all finding out. The second year after we had purchased 

 adjoining homes, they asked me what I thought of a rose hedge 

 as a dividing line, suggesting rose bushes. I was enthusiastic. 

 In four years that hedge was a feast to the eyes, and though I 

 have seen rose hedges in California, England, Scotland and Italy, 

 yet never have I seen a more luxuriant growth or profusion of 

 bloom than our dividing line rose hedge. In the corner I grouped 

 golden elders, with their lovely creamy bloom in June,, turning 

 in the fall to rich purple berries, making a banquet for the birds. 



A few feet from this hedge we drove in four posts, used 

 laths for the latticed roof and woven wire for the four sides, and 

 planted around it "Jackmanii Clematis" for early blooming and 

 the "Paniculata Clematis" for later blooming, whose small, beau- 

 tiful white clusters form a most attractive bower. A tiny wild 

 climbing rose, that now is a joy to the eye, runs in profusion over 

 the sides and roof. 



I make it a point to name after the donor everything given 

 me for my garden, which gives one's friends a personal interest 

 in the grounds. I covered the floor of my wee house with white 

 gravel, took the old trunk of a tree for a table, for 'tis there we 

 love best to have our four o'clock tea, or it is a place in which our 

 young guests may linger, two by two, for "There's nothing half 

 so sweet in life as love's young dream." 



In the center of my lawn, oh joy! is my fish and bird pond. 

 'Tis but one year old. My friends scoffed at me. "The man of 

 wrath" said, "It could not be done." A landscape man told me 



