MR. URBAN AND A COUNTRY HOUSE 



wooden puppets. A Grecian temple for a coal 

 shed, or a small Strasburg minster for a dog- 

 house, will help largely to make a country 

 house absurd. Nay, an excess of nicety upon 

 the walks, as if the spade and roller of the 

 gardener left it only yesterday and would be 

 there again next morning, takes off the edge of 

 a true home relish; even flowers themselves, 

 if piled up in very trim and very orderly 

 masses, as in the show-rows of a florist, will 

 lose half their power to lend grace; still worse 

 if they are perched in soldierly array along the 

 porch or veranda, renewed so soon as their 

 bloom fades, like children never allowed to 

 appear even in party dress save under promise 

 of keeping still. Who, pray, can take comfort 

 in lounging upon a porch, where a careless step 

 may break off some floweret of a rare cactus, 

 or enjoy a bit of greensward where he fears 

 to knock off the ashes of his cigar? Who 

 wants to be petrified in a country house, either 

 his own or another's? I have seen them be- 

 fore now so terribly fine, so prudishly neat, 

 so martinet-like in order, that it seemed to me 

 the very gardeners should be wearing leathern 

 stocks and pipe-clay: a week of such atmos- 

 phere would drive me mad. 



Perhaps I am peculiar in these notions about 



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