HOUSE AND GARDEN 
June, 
i9 r 3 
477 
Sweet alyssum, fragrant with the 
morning dew or the noonday sun, 
tumbles over the edges of the path 
that leads from the gate to the cottage 
door. A profusion of heliotrope, 
mignonette, daisies, larkspur, fox¬ 
glove, hollyhocks and a dozen other 
grateful bloomers fill the little plot 
before the doorstep, knee deep with 
blossoms. 
The garden, only thirty feet square, 
is entirely enclosed. On one side nes¬ 
tles the cottage itself, its door shaded 
by a plum tree and its end guarded by 
a lovely old quince in which Jennie 
Wren and her brood have pre-empted 
as their summer home a rustic sphere 
resembling a hornets’ nest. 
On the other sides the boundaries 
are a high arbor vita hedge, a grape 
trellis and a dense screen of Cobaa 
scandens mixed with morning glories, 
stunning dark green backgrounds for 
the planting within. Absolute privacy 
is the feeling aroused in this tiny gar¬ 
den, for even the entrance is barred 
by a gate that clicks, and guarding the 
white gate is a Cape Cod sailor boy 
who whirls his tiny oars in consterna¬ 
tion at the approach of even the 
slightest breeze. By June of the first 
IPHi 
year the wealth of the growth was 
something to be marveled at, for we 
had not spared water every evening, 
and the perfection of form and color 
of the flowers was nothing short of a 
miracle. The gate would say to me 
each morning, “Come in, Come in,” 
the flowers murmured “Stay a while,” 
and the settle at the cottage door said, 
“You must sit here for a spell”; and 
I would always accept that invi¬ 
tation. 
The doorstep, after all, is the key¬ 
note to the place. From the settle I 
sit and watch the bees carry their 
heavy loads of honey from the two 
beautiful standard fuchsias which give 
a little air of formality to the cottage 
doorway. The wrens sing their sweet 
notes of love from the blossoming 
quince, and the little garden offers up 
its nightly gift of fragrance to do 
homage to its author, the sun. 
As in any garden, the true meaning 
of its beauty cannot come to you until 
you have sat in it a while in silence. 
Then and then only can you know it, 
and when this thing of living beauty 
has been created by your hand out of 
A Russian samovar furnishes the gate-legged table a dream of your imagination, your cup 
and with it forms a social center in the room is happiness and your reward is great. 
At the left of the entrance are the fireplace and settles. The half 
door with its appropriate knocker is especially attractive 
The fireplace extends across the full width of the room, and it has 
a red tile hearth ten by ten feet between the Dutch seats 
