THE TECHNICS OF GARDENING.[37]
"Nothing is more the Child of Art than a Garden."
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
[Footnote 37: These notes make no pretence either at originality or
completeness. They represent gleanings from various sources, combined
with personal observations on garden-craft from the architect's point of
view.--J. D. S.]
"For every Garden," says Sir William Temple, "four things are to be
provided--Flowers, Fruit, Shade, and Water, and whoever lays out a
garden without these, must not pretend it in any perfection. Nature
should not be forced; great sums may be thrown away without Effect or
Honour, if there want sense in proportion to this." Briefly, the old
master's charge is this: "Have common-sense; follow Nature."
Following upon these lines, the gardener's first duty in laying out the
grounds to a house is, to study the site, and not only that part of it
upon which the house immediately stands, but the whole site, its aspect,
character, soil, contour, sectional lines, trees, &c. Common-sense,
Economy, Nature, Art, alike dictate this. There is an individual
character to every plot of land, as to every human face in a crowd; and
that man is not wise who, to suit preferences for any given style of
garden, or with a view to copying a design from another place, will
ignore the characteristics of the site at his disposal.
Equally unwise will he be to follow that school of gardening that makes
chaos before it sets about to make order. Features that are based upon,
or that grow out of the natural formation of the ground, will not only
look better than the created features, but be more to the credit of the
gardener, if successful, and will save expense.
The ground throughout should be so handled that every natural good
point, every tree, mound, declivity, stream, or quarry, or other chance
feature, shall be turned to good account, and its consequence
heightened, avoiding the error of giving the thing mock importance, by
planting, digging, lowering declivities, raising prominences, planting
dark-foliaged trees to intensify the receding parts, forming terraces on
the slope, or adding other architectural features as may be advisable to
connect the garden with the house which is its _raison d'etre_, and the
building with the landscape.
What folly to throw down undulations in order to produce a commonplace
level, or to throw up hills, or make rocks, lakes, and waterfalls should
the site happen to be level! What folly to make a standing piece of
water imitate the curves of a winding river that has no existence, to
throw a bridge over it near its termination, so as to close the vista
and suggest the continuation of the water beyond! Nay, what need of
artificial lakes at all if there be a running stream hard by?[38]
[Footnote 38: "All rational improvement of grounds is necessarily
founded on a due attention to the CHARACTER and SITUATION of the place
to be improved; the _former_ teaches what is advisable, the _latter_
what is possible to be done. The _situation_ of a place always depends
on Nature, which can only be assisted, but cannot be entirely changed,
or greatly controlled by ART; but the _character_ of a place is wholly
dependent on ART; thus the house, the buildings, the gardens, the roads,
the bridges, and every circumstance which marks the habitation of man
must be artificial; and although in the works of art we may imitate the
forms and graces of Nature, yet, to make them truly natural, always
leads to absurdity" (Repton, p. 341).]
It is of the utmost importance that Art and Nature should be linked
together, alike in the near neighbourhood of the house, and in its far
prospect, so that the scene as it meets the eye, whether at a distance
or near, should present a picture of a simple whole, in which each item
should take its part without disturbing the individual expression of the
ground.
To attain this result, it is essential that the ground immediately about
the house should be devoted to symmetrical planning, and to distinctly
ornamental treatment; and the symmetry should break away by easy stages
from the dressed to the undressed parts, and so on to the open country,
beginning with wilder effects upon the country-boundaries of the place,
and more careful and intricate effects as the house is approached. Upon
the attainment of this appearance of graduated formality much depends.
One knows houses that are well enough in their way, that yet figure as
absolute blots upon God's landscape, and that make a man writhe as at
false notes in music, and all because due regard has not been paid to
this particular. By exercise of forethought in this matter, the house
and garden would have been linked to the site, and the site to the
landscape; as it is, you wish the house at Jericho![39]
[Footnote 39: Not so thinks the author of "The English Flower
Garden":--"Imagine the effect of a well-built and fine old house, seen
from the extremity of a wide lawn, with plenty of trees and shrubs on
its outer parts, and nothing to impede the view of the house or its
windows but a refreshing carpet of grass. If owners of parks were to
consider this point fully, and, as they travel about, watch the effect
of such lawns as remain to us, and compare them with what has been done
by certain landscape-gardeners, there would shortly be, at many a
country-seat, a rapid carting away of the terrace and all its adjuncts."
Marry, this is sweeping! But Repton has some equally strong words
condemning the very plan our Author recommends: "In the execution of my
profession I have often experienced great difficulty and opposition in
attempting to correct the false and mistaken taste for placing a large
house in a naked grass field, without any apparent line of separation
between the ground exposed to cattle and the ground annexed to the
house, which I consider as peculiarly under the management of art.
"This line of separation being admitted, advantage may be easily taken
to ornament the lawn with flowers and shrubs, and to attach to the
mansion that scene of 'embellished neatness' usually called a
pleasure-ground" (Repton, p. 213. See also No. 2 of Repton's
"Objections," given on p. 116).]
As the point of access to a house from the public road and the route to
be taken afterwards not infrequently determines the position of the
house upon the site, it may be well to speak of the Approach first. In
planning the ground, care will be taken that the approach shall both
look well of itself and afford convenient access to the house and its
appurtenances, not forgetting the importance of giving to the visitor a
pleasing impression of the house as he drives up.
In Elizabethan and Jacobean times, the usual form of approach was the
straight avenue, instances of which are still to be seen at Montacute,
Brympton, and Burleigh.[40] The road points direct to the house, as
evidence that in the minds of the old architects the house was, as it
were, the pivot round which the attached territory and the garden in all
its parts radiated; and the road ends, next the house, in a quadrangle
or forecourt, which has either an open balustrade or high hedge, and in
the centre of the court is a grass plot enlivened by statue or fountain
or sundial. And it is worthy of note that they who prefer a road that
winds to the very door of a house on the plea of its naturalness make a
great mistake; they forget that the winding road is no whit less
artificial than the straight one.
[Footnote 40: As an instance of how much dignity a noble house may lose
by a meanly-planned drive, I would mention Hatfield.]
The choice of avenue or other type of approach will mainly depend upon
the character and situation of the house, its style and quality. Repton
truly observes that when generally adopted the avenue reduces all houses
to the same landscape--"if looking up a straight line, between two green
walls, deserves the name of a landscape." He states his objections to
avenues thus--"If at the end of a long avenue be placed an obelisk or
temple, or any other eye-trap, ignorance or childhood alone will be
caught and pleased by it; the eye of taste or experience hates
compulsion, and turns away with disgust from every artificial means of
attracting its notice; for this reason an avenue is most pleasing
which, like that at Langley Park, climbs up a hill, and passing over the
summit, leaves the fancy to conceive its termination."
The very dignity of an avenue seems to demand that there shall be
something worthy of this procession of trees at its end, and if the
house to which this feature is applied be unworthy, a sense of
disappointment ensues. Provided, however, that the house be worthy of
this dignity, and that its introduction does not mar the view, or
dismember the ground, an avenue is both an artistic and convenient
approach.
Should circumstances not admit of the use of an avenue, the drive should
be as direct as may well be, and if curved, there should be some clear
and obvious justification for the curve or divergence; it should be
clear that the road is diverted to obtain a glimpse of open country that
would otherwise be missed, or that a steep hill or awkward dip is thus
avoided. The irregularity in the line of the road should not, however,
be the occasion of any break in the gradient of the road, which should
be continuously even throughout. In this matter of planning roads,
common sense, as well as artistic sense, should be satisfied; there
should be no straining after pompous effects. Except in cases where the
house is near to the public road, the drive should not run parallel to
the road for the mere sake of gaining a pretentious effect. Nor should
the road overlook the garden, a point that touches the comfort both of
residents and visitors; and for the same reason the entrance to the
garden should not be from the drive, but from the house.
The gradient recommended by Mr Milner,[41] to whose skilled experience I
am indebted for many practical suggestions, is 1 in 14. The width of a
drive is determined by the relative importance of the route. Thus, a
drive to the principal entrance of the house should be from 14 to 18
ft., while that to the stables or offices 10 ft. Walks should not be
less than 6 ft. wide. The width of a grand avenue should be 50 ft, and
"the trees may be preferably Elm, Beech, Oak, Chestnut, and they should
not be planted nearer in procession than 40 ft., unless they be planted
at intervals of half that distance for the purpose of destroying
alternate trees, as their growth makes the removal necessary."
[Footnote 41: Milner's "Art and Practice of Landscape-Gardening," pp.
13, 14.]
The entrance-gates should not be visible from the mansion, Repton says,
unless it opens into a courtyard. As to their position, the gates may be
formed at the junction of two roads, or where a cross-road comes on to
the main road, or where the gates are sufficiently back from the public
road to allow a carriage to stand clear. The gates, as well as the
lodge, should be at right angles to the drive, and belong to it, not to
the public road. Where the house and estate are of moderate size,
architectural, rather than "rustic," simplicity best suits the character
of the lodge. It is desirable, remarks Mr Milner, to place the entrance,
if it can be managed, at the foot of a hill or rise in the public road,
and not part of the way up an ascent, or at the top of it.
If possible, the house should stand on a platform or terraced eminence,
so as to give the appearance of being well above ground; or it should be
on a knoll where a view may be had. The ground-level of the house should
be of the right height to command the prospect. Should the architect be
so fortunate as to obtain a site for his house where the ground rises
steep and abrupt on one side of the house, he will get here a series of
terraces, rock-gardens, a fernery, a rose-garden, &c. The ideal site for
a house would have fine prospects to the south-east and to the
south-west "The principal approach should be on the north-western face,
the offices on the north-eastern side, the stables and kitchen-garden
beyond. The pleasure-gardens should be on the south-eastern aspect, with
a continuation towards the east; the south-western face might be open to
the park" (Milner).
If it can be avoided, the house should not be placed where the ground
slopes towards it--a treatment which suggests water draining into
it--but if this position be for some sufficient reason inevitable, or
should it be an old house with this defect that we are called to treat,
then a good space should be excavated, at least of the level of the
house, with a terrace-wall at the far end, on the original level of the
site at that particular point. And as to the rest of the ground,
Repton's sound advice is to plant up the heights so as to increase the
effect of shelter and seclusion that the house naturally has, and
introduce water, if available, at the low-level of the site. The air of
seclusion that the low-lying situation gives to the house is thus
intensified by crowning the heights with wood and setting water at the
base of the slope.
The hanging-gardens at Clevedon Court afford a good example of what can
be done by a judicious formation of ground where the house is situated
near the base of a slope, and this example is none the less interesting
for its general agreement with Lamb's "Blakesmoor"--its ample
pleasure-garden "rising backwards from the house in triple terraces; ...
the verdant quarters backwarder still, and stretching still beyond in
old formality, the firry wilderness, the haunt of the squirrel and the
day-long murmuring wood-pigeon, with that antique image in the centre."
Before dealing with the garden and its relation to the house it may be
well to say a few words upon Planting. Trees are among the grandest and
most ornamental effects of natural scenery; they help the charm of hill,
plain, valley, and dale, and the changes in the colour of their foliage
at the different seasons of the year give us perpetual delight. One of
the most important elements in ornamental gardens is the dividing up and
diversifying a given area by plantations, by grouping of trees to form
retired glades, open lawns, shaded alleys, and well-selected margins of
woods; and, if this be skilfully done, an impression of variety and
extent will be produced beyond the belief of the uninitiated who has
seen the bare site before it was planted.
To speak generally, there should be no need of apology for applying the
most subtle art in the disposal of trees and shrubs, and in the
formation of the ground to receive them. "_All Art_," as Loudon truly
says (speaking upon this very point), "_to be acknowledged as Art, must
be avowed._" This is the case in the fine arts--there is no attempt to
conceal art in music, poetry, painting, or sculpture, none in
architecture, and none in geometrical-gardening.
In modern landscape-gardening, practised as a fine art, many of the more
important beauties and effects produced by the artist depend on the use
he makes of foreign trees and shrubs; and, personally, one is ready to
forgive Brown much of his vile vandalism in old-fashioned gardens for
the use he makes of cedars, pines, planes, gleditschias, robinias,
deciduous cypress, and all the foreign hardy trees and shrubs that were
then to his hand.
Loudon--every inch a fine gardener, true lineal descendant of Bacon in
the art of gardening--recommends in his "Arboretum" (pp. 11, 12) the
heading down of large trees of common species, and the grafting upon
them foreign species of the same genus, as is done in orchard
fruit-trees. Hawthorn hedges, for instance, are common everywhere; why
not graft some of the rare and beautiful sorts of tree thorns, and
intersperse common thorns between them? There are between twenty and
thirty beautiful species and varieties of thorn in our nurseries. Every
gardener can graft and bud. Or why should not scarlet oak and scarlet
acer be grafted on common species of these genera along the margins of
woods and plantations?
* * * * *
In planting, the gardener has regard for character of foliage and tints,
the nature of the soil, the undulations of ground and grouping, the
amount of exposure. Small plantations of trees surrounded by a fence are
the best expedients to form groups, says Repton, because trees planted
singly seldom grow well. Good trees should not be encumbered by peddling
bushes, but be treated as specimens, each having its separate mound. The
mounds can be formed out of the hollowed pathways in the curves made
between the groups. The dotting of trees over the ground or of specimen
shrubs on a lawn is destructive of all breadth of effect. This is not to
follow Nature, nor Art, for Art demands that each feature shall have
relation to other features, and all to the general effect.
In planting trees the variety of height in their outline must be
considered as much as the variety of their outline on plan; the
prominent parts made high, the intervening bays kept low,[42] and this
both in connection with the lie of the ground and the plant selected.
Uniform curves, such as parts of circles or ovals, are not approved;
better effects are obtained by forming long bays or recesses with
forked tongues breaking forward irregularly, the turf running into the
bays. Trees may serve to frame a particular view and frame a picture;
and when well led up to the horizon will enhance the imaginative effect
of a place: a _beyond_ in any view implies somewhere to explore.
[Footnote 42: "One deep recess, one bold prominence, has more effect
than twenty little irregularities." "Every variety in the outline of a
wood must be a _prominence_ or a _recess_" (Repton, p. 182).]
All trees grow more luxuriantly in valleys than on the hills, and on
this account the tendency of tree-growth is to neutralise the difference
in the rise and fall of the ground and to bring the tops of the trees
level. But the perfection of planting is to get an effect approximating
as near as may be to the charming undulations of the Forest of Dean and
the New Forest. Care will be taken, then, not to plant the fast-growing,
or tall-growing trees in the low-ground, but on the higher points, and
even to add to the irregularity by clothing the natural peaks with
silver fir, whose tall heads will increase the sense of height. The
limes, planes, and elms will be mostly kept to the higher ground,
bunches of Scotch fir will be placed here and there, and oaks and
beeches grouped together, while the lower ground will be occupied by
maples, crabs, thorns, alders, &c. "Fringe the edges of your wood with
lines of horse-chestnut," says Viscount Lymington in his delightful and
valuable article on "Vert and Venery"--"a mass in spring of blossom, and
in autumn of colour; and under these chestnuts, and in nooks and
corners, thrust in some laburnum, that it may push its showers of gold
out to the light and over the fence."
As to the nature of the soil, and degree of exposure suitable to
different forest-trees, the writer just quoted holds that, for exposure
to the wind inland, the best trees for all soils are the beech, the
Austrian pine, and the Scotch fir.
For exposure in hedgerows, the best tree to plant ordinarily is the elm.
For exposure to frost, the Insignis pine, which will not, however, stand
the frosts of the valley, but prefers high ground. For exposure to
smoke, undoubtedly the best tree is the Western plane. The sycamore will
stand better than most trees the smoke and chemical works of
manufacturing towns. For sea-exposure, the best trees to plant are the
goat willow and pineaster. Among the low-growing shrubs which stand
sea-exposure well are mentioned the sea-buckthorn, the snow-berry, the
evergreen barberry, and the German tamarisk; to which should be added
the euonymus and the escallonia.
With regard to the nature of the soil, Lord Lymington says: "Strong clay
produces the best oaks and the best silver fir. A deep loam is the most
favourable soil for the growth of the Spanish chestnut and ash. The
beech is the glorious weed of the chalk and down countries; the elm of
the rich red sandstone valleys. Coniferous trees prefer land of a light
sandy texture; ... but as many desire to plant conifers on other soils,
I would mention that the following among others will grow on most soils,
chalk included: the _Abies excelsa_, _canadensis_, _magnifica_,
_nobilis_, and _Pinsapo_; the _Pinus excelsa_, _insignis_, and
_Laricio_; the _Cupressus Lawsoniana_, _erecta_, _viridis_, and
_macrocarpa_; the _Salisburia adiantifolia_, and the _Wellingtonia_. The
most fast-growing in England of conifers is the Douglas fir.... It grows
luxuriantly on the slopes of the hills, but will not stand exposure to
the wind, and for that reason should always be planted in sheltered
combes with other trees behind it.
"In moist and boggy land the spruce or the willow tribes succeed best."
"In high, poor, and very dry land, no tree thrives so well as the Scotch
fir, the beech, and the sycamore."
Avoid the selfishness and false economy of planting an inferior class of
fast-growing trees such as firs and larches and Lombardy poplars, on the
ground that one would not live to get any pleasure out of woods of oaks
and beech and chestnut. How frequently one sees tall, scraggy planes, or
belts of naked, attenuated firs, where groups of oaks and elms and
groves of chestnut might have stood with greater advantage.
Avoid the thoughtlessness and false economy of not thoroughly preparing
the ground before planting. "Those that plant," says an old writer,
"should make their ground fit for the trees before they set them, and
not bury them in a hole like a dead dog; let them have good and fresh
lodgings suitable to their quality, and good attendance also, to
preserve them from their enemies till they are able to encounter them."
Avoid trees near a house; they tend to make it damp, and the garden
which is near the house untidy. Writers upon planting have their own
ideas as to the fitness of certain growths for a certain style of house.
As regards the relation of trees to the house, if the building be of
Gothic design with the piquant outline usual to the style, then trees of
round shape form the best foil; if of Classic or Renascence design, then
trees of vertical conic growth suit best. So, if the house be of stone,
trees of dark foliage best meet the case; if of brick, trees of lighter
foliage should prevail. As a backing to the horizontal line of a roof to
an ordinary two-storey building, nothing looks better than the long
stems of stone pines or Scotch firs; and pines are health-giving trees.
Never mark the outline of ground, nor the shape of groups of trees and
shrubs with formal rows of bedding plants or other stiff edging, which
is the almost universal practice of gardeners in the present day. This
is a poor travesty of Bacon's garden, who only allows low things to grow
naturally up to the edges.
From the artist's point of view, perhaps the most desirable quality to
aim at in the distribution of garden space is that of breadth of
effect--in other words, simplicity; and the larger the garden the more
need does there seem for getting this quality. One may, in a manner,
_toy_ with a small garden. In the case of a large garden, where the
owner in his greed for prettiness has carried things further than
regulation-taste would allow, much may be done to subdue the
assertiveness of a multiplicity of interesting objects by architectural
adjuncts--broad terraces, well-defined lines, even a range of sentinel
yews or clipt shrubs--things that are precise, grave, calm, and
monotonous. Where such things are brought upon the scene, a certain
spaciousness and amplitude of effect ensues as a matter of course.
One sees that the modern gardener, with his augmented list of
specimen-plants of varied foliage, is far more apt to err in the
direction of sensationalism than the gardener of old days who was exempt
from many of our temptations. Add to this power of attaining sweetness
and intricacy the artist's prone aspirations to work up to his lights
and opportunities, and we have temptation which is seductiveness itself!
The garden at Highnam Court, dear to me for its signs and memories of my
late accomplished friend, Mr T. Gambier Parry, is the perfectest modern
garden I have ever seen. But here, if there be a fault, it is that Art
has been allowed to blossom too profusely. The attention of the visitor
is never allowed to drop, but is ever kept on the stretch. You are
throughout too much led by the master's cunning hand. Every known bit of
garden-artifice, every white lie of Art, every known variety of choice
tree or shrub, or trick of garden-arrangement is set forth there. But
somehow each thing strikes you as a little vainglorious--too sensible of
its own importance. We go about in a sort of pre-Raphaelite frame of
mind, where each seemly and beauteous feature has so much to say for
itself that, in the delightfulness of the details, we are apt to forget
that it is the first business of any work of Art to be a unit. There is
nothing of single specimen, or group of intermingled variety, or adroit
vista that we may miss and not be a loser; the only drawback is that we
see what we are expected to see, what everyone else sees. Here is
greenery of every hue; every metallic tint of silver, gold, copper,
bronze is there; and old and new favourites take hands, and we feel that
it is perfect; but the things blush in their conscious beauty--every
prospect is best seen "_there_!" England has few such beautiful gardens
as Highnam, and it has all the pathos of the touch of "a vanished hand,"
and ideals that have wider range now.
As to this matter of scenic effects, it is of course only fair to
remember that a garden is a place meant not only for broad vision, but
for minute scrutiny; and, specially near the house, intricacy is
permissible. Yet the counsels of perfection would tell the artist to
eschew such prettiness and multiplied beauties as trench upon broad
dignity. Sweetness is not good everywhere. Variations in plant-life that
are over-enforced, like variations in music, may be inferior to the
simple theme. A commonplace house, with well-disposed grounds,
flower-beds in the right place, a well-planted lawn, may please longer
than a fine pile where is ostentation and unrelieved artifice.
Of lawns. Everything in a garden, we have said, has its first original
in primal Nature: a garden is made up of wild things that are tamed. The
old masters fully realised this. They sucked out the honey of wild
things without carrying refinement too far before they sipped it; and in
garnering for their _House Beautiful_ the rustic flavour is left so far
as was compatible with the requirements of Art--"as much as may be to a
natural wildness." And it were well for us to do the same in the
treatment of a lawn, which is only the grassy, sun-chequered, woodland
glade in, or between woods, in a wild country idealised.
A lawn is one of the delights of man. The "Teutonic races"--says Mr
Charles Dudley Warner, in his large American way--"The Teutonic races
all love turf; they emigrate in the line of its growth." Flower-beds
breed cheerfulness, but they may at times be too gay for tired eyes and
jaded minds; they may provoke admiration till they are provoking. But a
garden-lawn is a vision of peace, and its tranquil grace is a boon of
unspeakable value to people doomed to pass their working-hours in the
hustle of city-life.
The question of planting and of lawn-making runs together, and Nature
admonishes us how to set about this work. Every resource she offers
should be met by the resources of Art: avoid what she avoids, accept and
heighten what she gives. Nature in the wild avoids half-circles and
ovals and uniform curves, and they are bad in the planted park, both for
trees and greensward. Nature does not of herself dot the landscape over
with spies sent out single-handed to show the nakedness of the land, but
puts forth detachments that befriend each the other, the boldest and
fittest first, in jagged outlines, leading the way, but not out of touch
with the rest. And, since the modern landscape-gardener is nothing if
not a naturalist, this is why one cannot see the consistency of so fine
a master as Mr Marnock, when he dots his lawns over with straggling
specimens. (See the model garden, by Mr Marnock in "The English
Flower-Garden," p. xxi, described thus--"Here the foreground is a
sloping lawn; the flowers are mostly arranged near the kitchen garden,
partly shown to right; the hardy ones grouped and scattered in various
positions near, or within good view of, the one bold walk which sweeps
round the ground.")
A garden is ground knit up artistically; ground which has been the field
of artistic enterprise; ground which expresses the feeling of beauty and
which absorbs qualities which man has discovered in the woodland world.
And the qualities in Nature which may well find room in a garden are
peace, variety, animation. A good sweep of lawn is a peaceful object,
but see that the view is not impeded with the modern's sprawling
pell-mell beds. And in the anxiety to make the most of your ground, do
not spoil a distant prospect. Remember, too, that a lawn requires a good
depth of soil, or it will look parched in the hot weather.
And since a lawn is so delightful a thing, beware lest your admiration
of it lead you to swamp your whole ground with grass even to carrying it
up to the house itself. "Nothing is more a child of Art than a garden,"
says Sir Walter, and he was competent to judge. If only out of
compliment to your architect and to the formal angularities of his
building, let the ground immediately about the house be of an ornamental
dressed character.
Avoid the misplaced rusticity of the fashionable landscape-gardener, who
with his Nebuchadnezzar tastes would turn everything into grass, would
cart away the terrace and all its adjuncts, do away with all flowers,
and "lawn your hundred good acres of wheat," as Repton says, if you will
only let him, and if you have them.
In his devotion to grass, his eagerness to display the measure of his
art in the curves of shrubberies and the arrangement of specimen plants
that strut across your lawn or dot it over as the Sunday scholars do the
croft when they come for their annual treat, he quite forgets the
flowers--forgets the old intent of a garden as the House Beautiful of
the civilised world--the place for nature-rapture, colour-pageantry, and
sweet odours. "Here the foreground is a sloping lawn; the _flowers are
mostly arranged near the kitchen garden_." Anywhere, anywhere out of the
way! Or if admitted at all into view of the house, it shall be with
little limited privileges, and the stern injunction--
"If you speak you must not show your face,
Or if you show your face you must not speak."
So much for the garden-craft of the best modern landscape-gardener and
its relation to flowers. If this be the garden of the "Gardenesque"
style, as it is proudly called, I personally prefer the garden without
the style.