74 TOWN AND WINDOW GARDENING 



thereof are personally unknown. Everything beyond 

 their own wall is pervaded by a sense of mystery. They 

 see a halo round every flower, which blooms more 

 brightly than any in the home patch ; the lawns are 

 greener, and the trees and bushes give a pleasanter shade. 

 Things half seen and only guessed at are fraught with 

 breathless interest, and stray glimpses from the top of a 

 dust-bin are heaven itself. The barriers of reserve 

 once down, more than half of the excitement and all the 

 glamour have departed. 



Then there is the question of bonfires. Some people 

 enjoy bonfires — I do myself — but the smoke of burn- 

 ing weeds in an adverse wind is liable to be too choky 

 for choice. I have known the bonfire to rankle. As 

 regards the hanging out of clothes to dry (smoke reminds 

 me of them), I am informed that in the lease of many a 

 suburban house a clause is inserted to forbid the family 

 wash. I am quite sure, were such a thing attempted, the 

 breach of good manners would not be tolerated for one 

 moment in polite suburban circles. In one suburban house 

 I knew, the coachman's wife was allowed — once a week 

 — to dry her linen for two hours of the very early morn- 

 ing, before the world was up. She was quite alive to the 

 fearful necessity for punctuality, and this is really all I 

 know about "next door," except that, oddly enough, 

 it is possible to live for thirty years without making any 

 acquaintance with a neighbour of the next-door garden, 

 and this simply for accidental reasons. In the thirty-first 

 year the neighbours may meet abroad and find them- 

 selves dear friends ! Such are the fruits of the whimsical 

 juxtaposition of small suburban gardens — " United, yet 

 divided." 



