THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 



lawn and running brook, the purple shadows under the 

 arches contrasting with the green dusk of the wood ; 

 many a man has spent his thousands on a vast estate, 

 and never compassed such beauty as this. 



Another small garden that is yet great enough to 

 lap the spirit in complete content is the one made by 

 the late Richard Watson Gilder on his place in Tyring- 

 ham Valley. The house, old, wide-spreading, infin- 

 itely homelike, is backed by the uprising hills clothed 

 in pine and hardwood, and faces upon a meadow across 

 the road, through which flows a wild brook bordered 

 by willows. To the left, inclosed within high walls 

 over which the vines hang down, hides the little, infin- 

 itely precious flower garden, separated from the rougher 

 elements outside, kept safe as a jewel in a casket. You 

 open the gate straight upon a path that leads to an 

 oblong marble basin brimming with water so clear as 

 to be almost invisible, were it not for the rose leaves 

 afloat upon it. The flower beds are set in a frame of 

 grass, and the walls thick-hung with climbers of many 

 varieties, against which tall, spiky flowers stand primly. 

 The garden is a happy arrangement of straight lines 

 softened by the growth of the plants and the harmony 

 of colors. At one side a charming tea-house shelters a 

 table and a few inviting chairs, a wonderful spot in 

 which to dream away a summer afternoon or to sit in 

 idle conversation with a congenial spirit. When the 

 moon comes into this garden and sets the shadows of 



