i8 MY GARDEN 



Of my house I say nothing. It belongs to the 

 most uncompromising stucco period, and is hideous 

 without ceasing from doorstep to chimney. I am 

 trying hard to conceal it ; but it resists vegetable 

 loveliness with a grim ferocity. We shall smother 

 it in time, though the operation may take years. 

 Every winter I urge on vitis inconstans and solanum 

 jasminoides with praise and rich mulches ; every year 

 I encourage renewed efforts from passiflora " Con- 

 stance Elliott," from roses, the giant magnolia, and 

 other willing and hearty things ; and next spring 

 buddlea variabilis is going to help ; but there is much 

 yet to be desired ; indeed, at one point only does the 

 sulky face of my dwelling entirely disappear. Here 

 dwells a Banksian rose thirty feet high, whose creamy 

 glories atone for much in spring. Chimonanthus also 

 covers a good patch of wall with its fragrant leaves 

 during summer, but when pale lemon flowers stud 

 the plant in January their beauty is lost against the 

 dismal stucco behind them. To see chimonanthus 

 fragrans^is a shrub, standing alone like a flame of 

 scented fire, as one does in the south of France, is 

 a noble experience. 



My hideous house is one of similar hundreds. 

 They are called "villa residences." Nature made 

 this place as beautiful as any spot in Devon ; then 

 came the doctors and said that it was good ; and 

 then rushed in a horde of builders who piled up 

 stucco with feverish activity for those people the 

 doctors directed to come here. We live in what 

 is called a "resort" that word of dreadful note. 



