The Garden Magazine, September, 1919 



65 



blossoming — late April in my neighborhood — is delightful 

 and its rich coloring at this season of delicate hues makes it 

 a tree to be desired. The firm from whom 1 procured it 

 offers both Pyrus baccata and Pyrus Niedzwetzkyana. but 

 as the latter is described as bearing "a wealth of large white 

 blossoms shaded pink early in the spring" it is not possible 

 to predict just what an order for it would bring forth. 



T 



HOSE of us who have known inti- 

 mately a really old old-fashioned 



The Charm of 



the Old Garden 



garden will doubtless be agreed that it 

 possessed at least one endearing qual- 

 ity not always to be found in the finest modern gardens. 

 I mean, to use a homely phrase, its " comfortable feel." Like 

 charm in a person, this attribute is not easy to define or elu- 

 cidate, but when it is present it is always recognized and 

 responded to; and the garden that has it is altogether de- 

 lightful, and that without it, however well planned and car- 

 ried out, leaves us cold, though perhaps considerably im- 

 pressed. A garden, to fulfil all its requirements, should (it 

 seems to me), appeal to the mind, to the heart, and to the 

 imagination; should be a spot where repose is induced and 

 the contemplative mood invited — where one feels easy and 

 at home, and well companioned though alone. And, unless 

 sentiment plays tricks with memory, all this one got in the 

 really old-fashioned gardens. 



Their peculiar charm was not dependent upon the presence 

 of rare plants, an intriguing color scheme, or the latest thing 



in garden, furniture. Indeed, the old gardens it has been 

 mv privilege to know have been conspicuously lacking in 

 these things — the simplest places in the world, with straight 

 paths along which pear and quince trees marched among 

 the smiling flowers, where Johnny-jump-ups scuttled in and 

 out the Box edgings and Tiger Lilies flamed in the sun. 

 There were white bee hives beneath the pear trees and many 

 fragrances wafted about; and there was always a "green 

 shade" at the point of weariness and a comfortable seat. 

 In these old gardens one lingered to muse or chat, while in 

 too many modern gardens one naturally repairs to the well- 

 furnished piazza after the round of the garden has been made, 

 its treasures and its artistic planting duly observed. Many 

 of them seem as impersonal, as uninviting as the formal 

 reception room, while the old garden is as warm in its in- 

 vitation as an old arm chair. 



I don't pretend to say what is the matter with us modern 

 gardeners that we do not endow our gardens with this "com- 

 fortable feel," but I do think that a closer study of old gar- 

 dens, wherever we ma)' see them, would be helpful; My 

 own notion is that some sort of enclosure is necessary to 

 gain the "comfortable feel," or at least well defined bound- 

 aries; that trees are a help; that seats should be placed be- 

 neath the trees — and not in the sun; that there should be 

 the sound of falling water and the music of birds and bees; 

 and plenty of Honeysuckle and Lilac, and Heliotrope and 

 such other long-loved fragrant flowers; for nothing so much 

 as a familiar perfume so ensnares the wandering spirit. 



THE REALLY OLD GARDEN HAS A "COMFORTABLE FEEL" 

 Not dependent upon rare plants, an intriguing color scheme, or the latest thing in garden furniture . . . With its straight paths along which pear 



and quince trees marched among the smiling flowers " 



