THE FORMAL GARDEN 



the cultivated evening primrose, the yellow loosestrife, Achillea 

 the pearl, the pink spiraea and the blue wild indigo, all running 

 riot as if they had escaped from man's control and were having a 

 good time by themselves. Beside the path leading into the for- 

 est, grow demurely the prim clumps of showy stonecrop, setting the 

 example as it were in the midst of all this frivolity. But the yellow 

 buttercups dance on undismayed. The Sieboldei polvgonuro 

 from Japan, rustles her cloud of white blossoms, and a clump of 

 wild gooseberry under the maples and hickories tell us we have 

 reached the woods again. 



That first frost of Autumn, how unnecessary it seems! In 

 the morning the garden was a blaze of marigolds and dahlias; 

 the Japanese anemones and blue sal via, the saucy petunias and 

 phlox seemed to speak of midsummer. The plentiful buds of the 

 chrysanthemums almost convinced one that the blossoming sea- 

 son was just beginning, only the feathery masses of the clematis 

 and the rich red of the Virginia creeper on the wall told us that 

 Autumn had come. Suddenly a wind arose out of the north, bring- 

 ing a chill of ice. Surely there could be no frost with this gale, but 

 all the tender plants in pots were carried quickly under cover, the 

 great sheets of cheese-cloth and canvas were spread wherever 

 possible, and the wind died down. Brilliant starlight followed, 

 with crisp air exhilarating to us, but not to the garden! Alas! 

 the daylight disclosed a piteous spectacle. All the proud dahlias 

 bent black against their posts, the anemones hung their waxen 



heads, the marigolds fell in limp dismay, there was even a film 



10.5 



