December, 1920 
ODDS AND ENDS. 
Individuality in the Small Lot. 
Individuality in the landscape treat- 
ment of the small lot is not usual and 
yet when it is present it proves richly 
suggestive for the handling of similar 
bits of ground. 
You have seen, perhaps, one of those 
delightful little Dutch Colonial houses 
with a trellised stoop, set about twenty- 
five feet back from the pleasantly 
shaded street. A straight path cuts 
the greensward which runs unbroken 
from the sidewalk up to the low-set 
house. On either side, arcs of forsythia 
sweep down upon the grass, erect 
growing Lilacs rise above them : the 
white house, the enframing green, the 
flickering shadows form a simple but 
satisfying picture. To the north the 
service path is overshadowed by shade 
enduring shrubs and edged with ferns 
and rocks and wildlings. It seems 
more a woodland trail than one of pure 
utility. To the south of the house is a 
wee garden, box edged on the further 
side, its narrow paths of flagging over- 
run with mats of Phlox and Clove 
Pinks with upstanding Asters and Iris 
behind. This is but a 15 x 25 foot 
garden below the living room windows 
— we pass down a few stone steps in- 
to another picture, just a woodland 
glade with Azaleas and great patches 
of Maiden’s Hair Ferns beneath the 
trees which in spring are lit by the 
white flowering Dogwood. And the 
wonder of it all is how much has been 
done with so small an area, on every 
side of the house a picture has been 
formed, not at great expense but by 
the careful use of shrubs and flowers. 
There is another bit of garden that 
I remember, far less attractive to be 
sure and yet, in plan, of interest. Here 
advantage has been taken of land below 
the level of the street and there is a long 
strip of sunken garden, grass-pathed, 
with neat beds and the smoothed forms 
of dwarf thuyas. It is a rather long 
and narrow strip and the hedge is not 
old enough to give that sense of seclu- 
sion so necessary to a real garden, but 
every time I motor by I slow down and 
peer in. The word seclusion recalls a 
quite different handling, for the house 
itself is, in this case, practically on the 
village street and its shingled wall has 
been continued to make more private 
the ground within. I do not believe 
the lot is over fifty feet wide but 
through the white gate one glimpses 
grass and flowers and a vineclad trellis 
that suggests a hidden picture beyond. 
You may imagine an out-of-door room, 
a seat of oak, a bower of fragrant 
Honeysuckle or what you will. 
The old country dooryard with its 
stone posts and white palings has an 
air of dignity. The trees that stand 
sentry are large, Lilies of the Valley 
and Johnny-run-over-the-ground take 
the place of grass, day Lilies grow in 
formal lines against the house and in 
their season tawny “Tigers” and yel- 
low Lilies give a touch of color as they 
(Brower 
crowd further and further under the 
fence as the years go by. Such a door- 
yard demands a house of some sim- 
plicity but the principle might fit 
as well a bungalow, though there I 
should prefer the enclosure to be a 
true garden with a broad brick path to 
the door and borders of perennials, a 
few shrubs of rather symmetrical 
growth and vines ramping to the 
eaves. Originally I suppose the fence 
was made for practical country rea- 
sons, to keep away from the front 
door the wandering animals of the 
farm, but so pleasing is the effect 
that it is worth transplanting to our 
suburbs. 
Where the service wing helps to 
form a warm corner, I know of a 
flagged garden that seems to gather 
every particle of sunlight on a mild 
winter’s day. The house is of con- 
crete, rather warm in color, and there 
is a light frame- work of cedar for vines 
that carries one back to the vineyards 
that look down across the bay to Capri. 
The area is square, bounded on two 
sides by the house, on two sides by a 
low wall with evergreens beyond ; 
there is a pool with bubbling water 
and placid goldfish, creeping plants 
have been allowed to sow themselves 
in the crevices of the flagging while 
here and there, for color, are set flow- 
ering plants in dull terra cotta pots. It 
is a haven of peace and quietude. 
The word garden has a very broad 
meaning, we may find it used to cover 
and palliate many an atrocity, but I 
like to think of it in its old time mean- 
ing of garth, an enclosure, a place shut 
out from prying eyes. The idea that 
our front lawns should be open to the 
street has undoubtedly added greatly 
to the park effect of our lesser road- 
ways but it has not acted wholly to the 
advantage of the real owner who gives 
thus to each passer-by an opportunity 
to share his property. Who can en- 
joy the slow personal development of 
his land in such a glare of publicity? 
The pleasure of delving in the dirt in 
garden togs is spoiled when your 
friends and neighbors overlook and 
criticise the process at their leisure. 
And in this connection I wish to quote 
a few maxims from a letter of Fred- 
erick Law Olmsted, probably the 
greatest landscape architect of our 
country. It was written in 1889 to the 
editor of the American Garden and 
published in August of that year but 
I think the words will strike you as 
still eminently worth consideration : 
“ What is to be seen in looking from 
the dwelling of a family is of more im- 
portance than what is to be seen in 
looking toward it. 
“It is more important that a home 
should be loved by those living in it 
than it should be admired by the public. 
“To look point blank into a street is 
not helpful to the home quality of a 
house or garden.” 
R. S. Sturtevant. 
Put a thermometer in your storage 
cellar. Know that it is accurate, and 
watch that thermometer during cold 
weather. Supply heat before the danger 
point is reached, 
193 
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S I 
THE DAHLIA 
Dahlia Ideals. 
We feel like registering a well-meaning 
protest in respect to the course which Dahlia 
development seems to follow of late, judg- 
ing from what has been shown in the exhibi- 
tions in the last year or two. The tendency 
to overexploit the so-called Peony-flowered 
and decorative classes is very evident. Rag- 
gedness and lack of symmetry in a flower 
are seemingly regarded as chief “qualities” 
for these modern classes and, consequently, 
a lot of stuff is put forward that, as it seems 
to us, should have gone to the rubbish heap. 
We do not wish to be understood as casting 
disfavor on the Peony and decorative types 
of Dahlia or comparing these types to their 
disadvantage with the old formal super sym- 
metrical standards. On the contrary, we 
have a very decided partiality to the bold- 
ness and artistic “abandon” of the now popu- 
lar classes over the old-time favorites, of 
which Glenny, eighty years ago, said, “The 
bloom should be perfectly circular and be- 
tween half and two-thirds of a ball, the 
petals should be regularly laid and alternate, 
like the scales of a fish; the petals should be 
so true as to form circles to the centre and 
the circle formed by the ends of the petals 
should become narrower as they approach 
the centre,” etc., etc. But Glenny laid down 
other rules, some of which the Dahlia rais- 
ers of the present day might profitably heed. 
Coarseness, distortion, dull washy colors, 
flimsiness of petal, weakness or tendency to 
crookedness in the stem — all these defects 
are far too common in some of the collec- 
tions one sees nowadays. Mere bigness 
seems to have usurped refinement in the 
estimate of essential qualities in a Dahlia. — 
Horticulture. 
Dahlia tubers are best stored stalk 
downward in barrels or boxes. Some 
pack in dry sand, some use leaves or 
other coarse material. In a dry cel- 
lar some protection from the air is 
needed to prevent excessive drying out. 
The Evening Hour. 
[ IVrittrn expressly for The Usurer Grower.] 
The air was sweet with the perfume 
From myriads of bloss’ming flowers, 
The lingering rays of the setting sun 
Filled the world with golden showers. 
The purple Clematis blossoms 
Fluttered softly in the breeze, 
The last faint notes of the oriole 
Sounded from the trees. 
A rustle of wings from the arbor, 
As the sun sank from sight in the west, 
A sweet, low trill from the snowball bush, 
And the birds settled down to rest. 
I wandered away in the twilight. 
To the pasture on the hill, 
Glad that the busy day was done 
And the noisy world was still. 
The cattle and sheep were resting, 
Nor stirred as I passed them by. 
The slender pines, on the distant crest, 
Stood like sentinels ’gainst the sky. 
Like a silver disk, the moon arose, 
Pressing back the curtains of night, 
And flooding the quiet, peaceful scene. 
With its beams of silvery light. 
Anon there swept through the silence, 
Like sorrow’s fabled surcease, 
The hedge sparrow’s evening hymn, 
With its tender notes of peace. 
Then my lonely heart caught the spirit 
Of worship and sweet grateful praise, 
And I thanked the Father in heaven 
For the birds and their restful lays. 
Mrs. Grace E. Bruce 
