THE AMATEUR GARDEN 



may have, all winter, for the asking — if we 

 will but ask ourselves instead of the lawn- 

 mower man — an effect of home, of comfort, 

 cheer and grace, of summer and autumn remi- 

 niscences and of spring's anticipations, immeas- 

 urably better than any ordinary eye or fancy 

 can extort from the rectangular and stiffened- 

 out nakedness of unplanted boundaries; im- 

 measurably better than the month-by-month 

 daily death-stare of shroud-like snow around 

 houses standing barefooted on the frozen ground. 

 It may be by hearty choice that we abide where 

 we must forego outdoor roses in Christmas 

 week and broad-leaved evergreens blooming at 

 New Year's, Twelfth-night or Carnival. Well 

 and good ! But we can have even in mid- 

 January, and ought to allow ourselves, the lawn- 

 garden's surviving form and tranced life rather 

 than the shrubless lawn's unmarked grave 

 flattened beneath the void of the snow. We 

 ought to retain the sleeping beauty of the 

 ordered garden's unlost configuration, with the 

 warm house for its bosom, with all its remoter 

 contours — alleys, bays, bushy networks and 



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