THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
hour or two in the garden, and we used to leave him 
to wander about there by himself, smelling at the flow¬ 
ers or eating the fruit in its season. At times he would 
stay out there an entire afternoon, hidden from sight 
among the bushes, or, if any of us did cross his path, 
smiling silently and looking very content. Later on, 
he used to bring his wife, and while we were getting 
tea we could hear them laughing and chatting. He 
loved flowers, I think.” 
The garden was trimmer in those days, and the old 
ladies young. But the green old age of both is very 
sweet, very peaceful, and the spirit of a vanished day 
is still incarnate there. 
New England had its big places too. There is an 
ancient garden in Sharon, Connecticut, that began to 
take shape as soon as the Revolution had ceded to 
peace. The fine house, high and broad, high enough 
to admit a world of sun and air, broad enough to pro¬ 
duce a sense of brooding tenderness, the sense of home; 
the terraces, the orchards, the fish-ponds, many of the 
flowering trees and shrubs, remain much as they were, 
except that the honey-locusts have grown gigantic, and 
the lilacs and syringa look in at the second-story 
windows. 
A tall, green fence of palings whose tops are cut into 
a clover-leaf shape protects the place and sequesters the 
garden proper from the fields and lawns. In the past 
this terraced portion covered two acres, planted with 
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