THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 



or terraced hill-slope around a tiny bungalow or hidden 

 spot near the town are the work and the joy of single 

 women. Costing little, but yielding much, these oases 

 are charming evidence of a new birth in garden history, 

 and seem destined to spread all over the continent, 

 drawing recruits from the ranks that used to fill the 

 rocking-chairs on the verandas of summer hotels, from 

 the idle as well as from the busy. 



So it is that those of us who particularly love gar- 

 dens look forward comfortably to the next ten or fif- 

 teen years as a time when there will be much digging 

 and planting and training up of vines. Much improve- 

 ment, too, in garden architecture, and the gradual sub- 

 stitution of taste for ostentation in the estates of the 

 wealthier among us. The day is not far off, its sun- 

 shine is already upon us, when each suburban house 

 will have its secret garden, whispering over the wall 

 or through the gate to the world outside, possibly 

 joining openly with the general scheme in front, but 

 keeping somewhere a real " close " planted with the 

 finest of the flowers and sheltered from all but the most 

 intimate. An hour in such a spot is filled with balm 

 and potent for the refreshment of worn bodies and 

 harassed minds. 



Let nobody misprise a garden, or think it not worth 

 the trouble it costs. For this is part of the enchant- 

 ment, that the very trouble becomes delectable, the 

 pulling of weeds as keen a pleasure as cutting roses, 



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