SUBURBAN GARDENING 



house. Underfoot was a brick path edged with violets, over- 

 head were grape-vines, and on each side, half under the arbor 

 and half outside, were peonies and irises. No one thought of 

 calling it a pergola. It was merely the way to the kitchen- 

 garden, of which one had a glimpse through an archway in the 

 tall hedge of privet at the end of the path. The mere charm 

 of the arbor would tempt any housewife to go through it and 

 inspect the fresh vegetables. 



We Northerners seem to plan our grounds to be looked at 

 from the porch, and not lived in at all; for which reason our 

 gardens pose; they seem as self-conscious as a child in unac- 

 customed new clothes. One longs to see them look as if they 

 were lived in and played in, and made to fit the needs and 

 uses of their owners. 



A small garden may be limited in scope, but it often has 

 possibilities of charm that a large place has not. A miniature 

 may be a better work of art than that portrait of his family 

 which the Vicar of Wakefield was unable to bring into the 

 house. 



Charm is an exquisite quality in a garden, but as rare and 

 elusive as a hermit- thrush. It comes of itself when plants 

 are happily placed, feel at home in the garden, and begin to 

 be on terms of friendly intimacy with every one. Mere ex- 

 penditure is powerless to bring it in. The garden may be a 

 blare of color and an admirably arranged show-case of hand- 

 some plants, but it will be as sounding brass or a tinkling cym- 

 bal if the love for the plants is not there, while the simplest of 

 gardens may have an abiding and inescapable charm if the 

 gardener has a real love for it. When our gardens are loved 

 enough, there will be no question about their being charming. 



