iv AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS ) September, 1909 
MOTTS PLUMBING 
m@XPERIENCED hotel owners, who provide from 200 to 1000 
bathrooms under one roof, know that the qualities of dura- 
bility, cleanliness and beauty are imperative. On a strictly 
business basis of value the following modern hotels have been 
equipped with Mott’s Fixtures. Read the list (a partial one) and con- 
sider its significance to every home or building owner in this country: 
In New York City, The In Boston, The Touraine. In Salt Lake City, The 
Plaza, St. Regis, Waldorf- In Philadelphia, The Belle- Utah. 
Astoria, Astor, Holland vue-Stratford. In New Orleans, The 
House, Knickerbocker, Jn Chicago, The La Salle. Monteleone and The 
Imperial, Manhattan and Jy Minneapolis, The Rad- Grunewald. 
Savoy. Also the new isson, The Dyckman. In Quebec, The Chateau 
Apthorp and Belnord Jn San Antonio, The St. Frontenac. 
Apartments. Anthony. In Rome(Italy), The Regina. 
“Modern Plumbing” 
A booklet showing 24 model 
bathroom equipments costing 
from $85 to $3000. Full 
descriptions with price of 
each fixture and helpful hints 
on tiling and decoration. 
Will be sent on receipt of 
4 cents to cover postage. 
THEI. UO MOnE 
IRON WORKS 
Fifth Ave. and 17th Street 
NEW YORK CITY 
BRANCHES: 
Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, Pitts- 
burgh, Detroit, Minneapolis, Wash- 
ington, St. Louis, New Orleans, San 
Francisco, San Antonio, Atlanta, 
Seattle and Indianapolis. 
CANADA: 83 Bleury St., Montreal. 
1828 —OVER EIGHTY YEARS OF SUPREMACY —1909 
HANGERS 
The Standard of 
Excellence 
TROLLEY 
SLIDING DOOR HANGER 
SEND FOR COMPLETE CATALOG 
Di LANE BROTHERS CO. 
TIMBER “BALL-BEARING” 
HANGER SLIDING DOOR HANGER 434-466 Prospect St., Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 
THE HOME TOWN 
By Aldis Dunbar 
HOSE who go “a-moving” are either 
house-hunters or home-seekers. One 
goes on quest for the body, the other 
for the soul of an ideal dwelling-place. Selec- 
tions once. made, house-hunters become tem- 
porary occupants, more or less critical; home- 
seekers, if the real resemble even faintly their 
ideal, true lovers. To many of these the up- 
to-date suburb, with asphalt roadways, trol- 
ley and electric-light wires, thinly veneered 
cement pavements and rows of half-hearted 
saplings, arisen ready-made from an outskirt 
of the city, are far less attractive than some 
modest village whose great elms and maples, 
sidewalks of wood or tanbark, hold a personal 
charm, where each house was built for some- 
body, not hurried into being, one of a whole- 
sale batch. 
No cluster of homes, whether near the 
stir of a great city or among remoter valleys, 
can avoid changes. It is the law. The most 
conservative hamlet must either progress or 
go tottering backward. It is for those who, 
loving their home town, would see it retain 
its homely, wholesome character, to say 
whether it shall thrive quietly or wither up 
and decay. Given men and women born and 
brought up with real affection for it, no home 
town need suffer when compared with its 
rival, the modern suburb. 
Families die out or move away. Then you, 
who remain, must decide who shall replace 
them. Restless house-hunters, here and gone, 
leaving only a trail of fads. Home-seekers, 
whose children will grow up with yours, to 
become responsible citizens. Which class 
would you attract? Manifestly the latter. 
But how? Frankly, few home-seekers will 
settle by choice in a town out at heels and 
elbows—a reputation far too easily acquired. 
Here is a modest little woman, cultivated, 
mother of children, wife of a business man. 
On his account the quiet nest she seeks must 
not be too far from the city, yet she longs 
for one within reach of real country, fields 
and forests, for her boys and girls. So, con- 
sulting maps, time-tables and advertisements, 
she fares forth cheerily. 
The spring afternoon is sunny. ‘To eyes 
wearied by the glare on cement and asphalt 
at Chippendale-on-the-River and Queen Anne 
Heights, visited earlier, the maple shadows 
on our quiet main street fall pleasantly. 
Green lawns and shady yards bring thought 
for “the children” as she passes them, guided 
by a clerk from the local real-estate office. 
Attractive, as she approaches, is an’ old square 
brick mansion, over which wistaria and Vir- 
ginia creeper straggle, long ends hanging loose 
where winds have torn them free. They 
half conceal the faded “To Let” and “For 
Sale” signs, and wickedly suggest an untidy 
old person who has “‘slept in her hair.” 
A latticed arbor in the side yard conjures 
up dolls’ tea parties; but bricks are missing 
from the walk leading to the paneled front 
door with quaint fanlight. A queer down- 
chimney smell pervades the damp hall. The 
massive woodwork is worthy attention, and in 
the dining-room are fascinating cupboards 
with diamond-paned doors, perilously loose 
on their hinges, as are those of the bedrooms 
upstairs, one of which must be lifted open. 
“Plenty of closets!” Yes, but she notes 
with creepy distaste the splotches of dirty 
gray paint on the uneven boards. Rugs lie 
on the neatly stained floors of her city flat, 
and—moving costs without buying carpets. 
Going out she catches sight of the missing 
front gate under lilac bushes whose sprouts 
have grown up through its rusty ironwork. 
Facing a charming lane is a low brown frame 
cottage. Barberry hedges enclose it, and dormer 
