178 TOWN GAKDENING AS IT MIGHT BE 



my flowerless sill, in some of which I have partaken 

 of liberal hospitality at tables laden with lovely flowers. 

 But only two out of these two dozen houses display 

 growing flowers in the windows. Fashion is con- 

 veniently impersonal ; let us lay the blame on her, and 

 reflect if we could not get more lasting enjoyment out 

 of our flower bills for ourselves and, less selfishly, for 

 the man in the street. 



Much as may be got out of window gardening, there 

 is still more to be made out of our areas. In window- 

 boxes the plants are popped out in full flower, and the 

 wayfarer cannot mark his calendar by burgeoning bud 

 and lengthening spray. It is the exception to see any 

 of the green things of the earth trained against the 

 dreary leagues of brick and stucco of western London, 

 unless it be the American mock-vine Ampelopsis or 

 Virginian creeper. That vigorous climber is certainly 

 something to be grateful for, so bravely does it thrive 

 in the alternation of torrid drought and noxious vapour 

 which constitutes London climate; in autumn, when 

 all the gay people have fled, it veils with its long tresses 

 many an ugly object. But it is very late in habit; 

 often, as happened this year (1898), the last sands of 

 leafy June are running out before the mock-vine spreads 

 its green mantle. There are other good things, hardly 

 less patient of London air, for training on house fronts, 

 which one very seldom sees. Roses, honeysuckle, even 

 ivy, must be despaired of; these, and many other fair 

 things, cannot endure the scorching of the sun refracted 

 from walls and pavement. Here and there, indeed, 



