THE T E R R A C E S 



of the year." In Summer these window-boxes are filled with a 

 special salmon-pink shade of geranium the Mrs. E. G. Hill, I 

 think, is its name - which blossoms freely until frost. The color 

 blends well with the soft browns and grays of the house, but it has 

 one fault, it does not go with the American flag, so that we are 

 not alwavs as patriotic outwardly as inwardly. Close to the house, 

 in the floor of the terrace, openings two feet wide were left and 

 filled with rich soil to nourish the vines and the rose geraniums 

 planted there. 



Oyer the low boulder wall clambers the sweet-scented honey- 

 suckle, clematis, both Jackmani and the Japanese, the crimson 

 rambler, and the memorial rose. The clematis does not. confine 

 its affections to the wall alone, but clings to the rhodotypus and 

 spinea Van Ilouttei, to the rosa rugosa and the aralia pentaphvlla, 

 to the Indian currant and the forsythia, to the privet and even to 

 the Hercules' club, wherever they come within reach of its twining 

 leaves. At first I struggled with strings tied to bricks to hold these 

 wandering tentacles from the neighboring shrubs, but one year I 

 arrived too late and the vines were permitted their own sweet way. 

 The result was utterly charming and apparently not hurtful to the 

 bushes, so that within certain limits the clematis has had its own 

 \vay ever since. 



At the east end of the terrace a marble bench invites one to a 

 cool repose. It is flanked by large terra cotta pots of the Chinese 



rose-mallow, while a big green Italian oil jar makes a nice bit of 



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