THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
or terraced hill-slope around a tiny bungalow or hidden 
spot near the town are the work and the joy of single 
women. Costing little, but yielding much, these oases 
are charming evidence of a new birth in garden history, 
and seem destined to spread all over the continent, 
drawing recruits from the ranks that used to fill the 
rocking-chairs on the verandas of summer hotels, from 
the idle as well as from the busy. 
So it is that those of us who particularly love gar¬ 
dens look forward comfortably to the next ten or fif¬ 
teen years as a time when there will be much digging 
and planting and training up of vines. Much improve¬ 
ment, too, in garden architecture, and the gradual sub¬ 
stitution of taste for ostentation in the estates of the 
wealthier among us. The day is not far off, its sun¬ 
shine is already upon us, when each suburban house 
will have its secret garden, whispering over the wall 
or through the gate to the world outside, possibly 
joining openly with the general scheme in front, but 
keeping somewhere a real “ close ” planted with the 
finest of the flowers and sheltered from all but the most 
intimate. An hour in such a spot is filled with balm 
and potent for the refreshment of worn bodies and 
harassed minds. 
Let nobody misprise a garden, or think it not worth 
the trouble it costs. For this is part of the enchant¬ 
ment, that the very trouble becomes delectable, the 
pulling of weeds as keen a pleasure as cutting roses, 
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