CITY GARDENS. 
79 
Sometimes, perhaps, on an exploring walk or car ride 
through the streets that have a sort of terra incognita 
within city limits, one comes unexpectedly upon some oasis 
in the general Sahara, a bower of greenness haying, prob¬ 
ably, an unobtrusive little house for a foundation, but with 
some trick of porch, or veranda, or trellised window, with 
clustering vines and blooming flowers, that photographs it 
at once on the memory and refreshes the summer pedestrian 
like a draught of country milk. Possibly the vines are 
only morning-glories and scarlet-runners, climbing-rose, 
or common woodbine, but they do their office of love, and 
cover with dewy, protecting arms the helpless walls through 
the long summer siege, and smile at the fiery sun that tries 
so hard to pierce the joints in their armor. 
“ I have seen/’ says some one, “ a small house in a dusty 
street with a bit of garden in front; over its windows and 
doors pretty vines climbed, bright roses, marigolds, and 
honeysuckles lighted up the dark, sad cloud of poverty that 
hung about the place. Though they were of no economical 
value as food, drink, or clothing, they gladdened the minds 
of the laborers who passed to and fro from their work 
morning and night.” 
That is just it. A city garden gladdens the eyes of so 
many besides its owners, and we recall vividly the surprise 
of beauty from a wide, gracious-looking mansion in the 
suburbs, the second-story balcony of which was fringed 
with a continuous line of brilliant verbenas, blooming with 
the most generous prodigality, in narrow boxes placed just 
behind the stone ledge. 
But, it is argued, some city fronts are so low and nar¬ 
row and shaded, or rather the street on which they are 
situated is all three of these, that anything like plant cul¬ 
tivation is altogether out of the question, as nothing could 
possibly thrive in such a cheerless situation. Even with 
these drawbacks, however, one need not despair, and green 
