THE GARDEN IN TOWN 



throughout the summer, then his garden should be to him a 

 place of pleasant refuge. He may not be able to compass the 



"Rose grot, 

 Fringed pool, 

 Ferned plot" 



of the much-quoted poet, but at least he can make provision 

 for the simpler luxury of a green thought in a green shade. 



Take a small, paved yard near one of the business streets. 

 Great office-buildings cut off the light; one has its immensely 

 tall brick back set squarely against the end of the lot, which 

 for only an hour a day is visited by the sunshine. Yet here 

 the semblance of a garden is not impossible. One could make 

 the tiniest of summer-houses to dwarf the yard, and make it 

 miniature instead of inadequate. Against the brick of the 

 tall building a small fountain might be set, for water is easily 

 had. There would be a broad shelf on each side of this whereon 

 plants in pots would stand, to be changed for others when 

 their glory has departed. If the soil is quite hopeless, then 

 it is best to grow plants in concrete boxes, in which the earth 

 can be replenished as often as needed. 



Viewed in the right light, another seeming excrescence of 

 our civilization affords an opportunity for the exercise of our 

 city gardener's cleverness; this is the arrangement for drying 

 clothes with which many extension roofs are adorned. It is 

 made of "two-by-four" uprights set at the roof edge at about 

 six-foot intervals, stayed by longitudinal boards. Now, if, in- 

 stead of the defensive boards, there were a lattice of a twelve- 

 inch square, on the outside edge one could fasten boxes a foot 

 deep and therein plant vines nasturtiums, morning-glories, 

 or gourds. Enough air will come through for the clothes; 

 there can be wide windows in the lattice. Except when uti- 

 lized of a Monday, this makes a pleasant outdoor room. 



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