72 JOURNAL OF THE ROYAL HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



each must be in most cases subject to some special circumstance of site 

 and locality. 



So far these general principles would apply to all gardens, whether 

 town or country, but with the modern country house the main lines of 

 the garden are now more often than not designed by the architect who 

 has designed the house, and who has given the subject special considera- 

 tion, and plans each to benefit and supplement the other, and who, seizing 

 some happy accident of nature, is often able to take full advantage of the 

 site, thus welding together house and garden, leaving them only to time 

 to blend into one harmonious whole. 



But with the design of the suburban house the architect is generally 

 conspicuous by his absence, and if anything at all has been done to the 

 garden, it has been done by the speculative builder, who is responsible for 

 the house, and it is as absolutely devoid of good taste or common sense 

 as the house itself. Here, then, we have an open field for inquiry, and 

 whether the house has 20 or 30 feet frontage the conditions for our con- 

 sideration are practically the same. 



There is the usual suburban road, with its rows of detached or semi- 

 detached houses on either side, set back from the oak fence or cast-iron 

 railing some 15, 20, or 30 feet, giving to the road that little forecourt 

 popularly designated 11 the front garden," which may become a dreary 

 desert, or, in the hands of a loving master or mistress, a very oasis of 

 beauty and colour. At the back there is often more scope, and generally 

 by sheer force of circumstances the main outline of garden is of pleasing 

 rectangular shape, with boundaries of no uncertain or indeterminate form, 

 which, if of brick and properly used, become a real delight and use to the 

 garden-lover. As with the front garden, it is of small moment whether 

 the depth be 50, 80, or 100 feet, or even more, for, aspect excepted, there 

 is the same set of conditions on either side of the road and throughout 

 its length, the only difference being that perhaps some one garden, more 

 fortunate than its fellows> has in it a relic of former pristine glory in the 

 shape of a gnarled Elm or sturdy old Apple, the solitary survivor of a 

 jerry-builder's wiles. 



These, then, are our conditions : 



In front — the forecourt, open to the raking fire of inquisitiveness from 

 passers-by. In summer the constant cloud of dust between the long- 

 spaced intervals of the water-cart's round, with nothing to break the 

 dreary prospective of turgid architecture, save the cast-iron railing. 



At the back — the view is probably limited, from the ground floor at 

 least, by the three walls, which with the house confine the plot, leaving 

 no ambiguity as to size, and forcing its limits upon us with a steady 

 insistence and monotony. If we stir from the shelter of the house we 

 are at once exposed to a cross-fire from our neighbour's upper windows, 

 and though these conditions weigh less heavily upon us as the size of 

 our plot increases, they are in effect the conditions of almost every 

 suburban house, unless it stands in at least half an acre of ground, or 

 forms the solitary vanguard which will soon be but one of battalions of 

 its fellows. 



How, then, do our underlying principles of seclusion, usefulness, and 

 pleasure affect us here ? Can we apply them to these novel modern con- 



