THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
lawn and running brook, the purple shadows under the 
arches contrasting with the green dusk of the wood; 
many a man has spent his thousands on a vast estate, 
and never compassed such beauty as this. 
Another small garden that is yet great enough to 
lap the spirit in complete content is the one made by 
the late Richard Watson Gilder on his place in Tyring- 
ham Valley. The house, old, wide-spreading, infin¬ 
itely homelike, is backed by the uprising hills clothed 
in pine and hardwood, and faces upon a meadow across 
the road, through which flows a wild brook bordered 
by willows. To the left, inclosed within high walls 
over which the vines hang down, hides the little, infin¬ 
itely precious flower garden, separated from the rougher 
elements outside, kept safe as a jewel in a casket. You 
open the gate straight upon a path that leads to an 
oblong marble basin brimming with water so clear as 
to be almost invisible, were it not for the rose leaves 
afloat upon it. The flower beds are set in a frame of 
grass, and the walls thick-hung with climbers of many 
varieties, against which tall, spiky flowers stand primly. 
The garden is a happy arrangement of straight lines 
softened by the growth of the plants and the harmony 
of colors. At one side a charming tea-house shelters a 
table and a few inviting chairs, a wonderful spot in 
which to dream away a summer afternoon or to sit in 
idle conversation with a congenial spirit. When the 
moon comes into this garden and sets the shadows of 
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