THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
her orders for the planting of this and that in her gar¬ 
dens, saw that the paths were raked and the beds 
weeded, and sent word through her distinguished hus¬ 
band to thank a friend for the present of “roots and 
flower seeds.” Probably Miss Custis moved about the 
sweet-smelling beds a good deal, vivid as a flower her¬ 
self, on visits there. And the General’s nephew, George, 
with his own wife, also dwelt in the “ Delightful Man¬ 
sion/’ going the rounds for his uncle when affairs of 
state called the latter away; for Washington was still 
needed by his country. 
The best time in which to see this beautiful and 
kindly spot, and to conjure up its past, is when the long 
shadows begin to stretch themselves on the grass, jveary 
of their dancing through the day. A mist lies white on 
the river, stealing up as the twilight deepens to creep 
among the trees and drift over the garden in wraith-like 
wisps. Gone are the excursionists with their noisy ad¬ 
miration; not a footstep passes, at least no human 
tread. Instead there are scurryings of the little creatures 
of the earth and air, the chuchurr of myriads of insects, 
the evening song of birds in the rich gold and purple 
light of the dying day, the stirring of the wind in the 
trees. So many birds! The cardinal, fluting its joyous 
notes before it drops like a flame to the ground from 
the dark mystery of a huge oak; the song-sparrows and 
linnets, measuring their ripple of music over and over 
again; the robins calling from every tree-top ; then, 
5 2 
