THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 



hour or two in the garden, and we used to leave him 

 to wander about there by himself, smelling at the flow- 

 ers or eating the fruit in its season. At times he would 

 stay out there an entire afternoon, hidden from sight 

 among the bushes, or, if any of us did cross his path, 

 smiling silently and looking very content. Later on, 

 he used to bring his wife, and while we were getting 

 tea we could hear them laughing and chatting. He 

 loved flowers, I think." 



The garden was trimmer in those days, and the old 

 ladies young. But the green old age of both is very 

 sweet, very peaceful, and the spirit of a vanished day 

 is still incarnate there. 



New England had its big places too. There is an 

 ancient garden in Sharon, Connecticut, that began to 

 take shape as soon as the Revolution had ceded to 

 peace. The fine house, high and broad, high enough 

 to admit a world of sun and air, broad enough to pro- 

 duce a sense of brooding tenderness, the sense of home ; 

 the terraces, the orchards, the fish-ponds, many of the 

 flowering trees and shrubs, remain much as they were, 

 except that the honey-locusts have grown gigantic, and 

 the lilacs and syringa look in at the second-story 

 windows. 



A tall, green fence of palings whose tops are cut into 

 a clover-leaf shape protects the place and sequesters the 

 garden proper from the fields and lawns. In the past 

 this terraced portion covered two acres, planted with 



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