THE DELIGHTS OF FAITH 21 



Japanese morning-glories climbing the porch, of young 

 crimson ramblers, and of an old-fashioned garden bed 

 with a big clump of the new yellow snapdragons attended 

 by an orchestra of bumblebees drilling the nectarines for 

 feasts of honey. 



Far down the road a cock crows lustily. His triumph- 

 ant note is that of a true trumpeter of spring hailing good 

 tidings. Led by his call, the woman looks in the distance. 

 What is it that hides the grove since last she looked that 

 way, and what the caricature of chanticleer; what ani- 

 mals, strange and grotesque, parade the painted barri- 

 cade ? The woman sighs ; she might have known that the 

 billboard fiend had made his plans and stolen a march on 

 suburban beauty. 



Little tragedies such as these make a plea for walled 

 gardens from which the world may be shut out. As 

 much as we Americans like open lawns upon which the 

 houses stand looking toward neighbors with hospitable 

 intent, the only way to gain privacy and the restful seclu- 

 sion of a garden out of sight of suggestions of billboards 

 and posters that tear the mind here and there with a 

 thousand inconsequential distractions, is to erect screens 

 for vines, plant shrubs, or to make a concerted attack on 

 the billboards for spoiling rural beauty. 



A corner in the library devoted to books of magic may 

 be counted among the things needful to get in tune with 

 gardens. Sketching plans on paper, marking off beds with 



