You climb picturesque stone steps to English woods and Mrs. 
lawns. The garden itself is original and suggestive. ' A circular Chester 
pool is surrounded by four oblong ones with grey stone edges. Bolton's 
Over these edges grow Forget-me-nots which soften and orna- Garden near 
nient the rough stone. Around each pool is a wide border of May-Field 
flowers rather simply planted and edged with Taxus cuspid.ata 
hrevifolia. This was the real accent of the garden, though a 
centre fountain by Edith Parsons gave a charming detail, and 
a beautiful Beech tree at its end showed why the garden had 
been planted in that very spot. Some old lead urns on a distant 
wall and sweeps of lawn and shrubbery gave promise of other 
delights. 
This Was the last Cleveland garden visited, and the Pitts- 
burgh train was responsible for a regretfully short visit. 
K. L. B. 
Never was there such a train as that which carried us from 
Cleveland to Pittsburgh ! There must always be a fragrance of 
gardens about that train. Compare it with the trains of Bank- 
ers whose talk is all of money or finance; here the talk was all 
of gardens, of flowers, women perched upon the arms of 
chairs to talk, note-books came out, experiences in gardens were 
discussed; an air of "Garden Gaiety" pervaded all the Pull- 
mans. I suggest that a painted bouquet henceforth adorn each 
door of those cars with the proud legend, "Once I carried the 
Garden Club of America." 
L. Y. K. 
Alighting at Sewickiey 
Aboard the "Special" from Cleveland to Pittsburgh I was 
waited upon by two efficient ladies who informed me briefly 
that my hostess of the immediate future would be Number 12, 
that her chauffeur, her car, any of her family who might happen 
to be at the station would be Number 12, and that for the sake 
of identification my name, personality and identity must like- 
wise be sunk into this magic number. I was moreover given 
tags bearing the mystic sign with which to evidence this merger 
or close corporation. 
In an effort to affix one of these tags to my luggage I dis- 
covered that the large bag standing on end by my chair was not 
mine after all, so calling the porter, whose harassed and perspiring 
visage was scarcely visible behind a buttress of luggage in the 
vestibule, I announced "Porter, I must find my own bag." 
' ' What is it like, Ma 'am ? " he inquired hopelessly. " It is black, ' ' 
I stated demurely, whereupon he rolled a pair of large eyes in 
my direction as if to investigate my sanity. Conservatively 
speaking, there were six hundred pieces of hand-luggage aboard 
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