Evening capital. (Annapolis, Md.) 1884-1910, 1886-07-28
The Tyranny orthe Garaen.

hO VI NaAC 0NAOCt.
But suppose the Spring work is done.
and the Summer has come and with il
a garden full of flowers. The tyranny
of the garden has just begun. Real love
of beauty, and the passion for color,
and fashion have changed this matter
of flowers into a hardship instead of a
blessing. Take modern country house
for example. As you enter the door,
great branches of towering shrubs give
you greeting On the parlor tables
stand baskets of purple coleus and scar
let gcranium relieved with white, blue
bowl of nasturtiums, glass pitcher full
of sweet peas. The corner is brilliant
with mass of coarser flowers against
leaves. Between the andirons is
chimney pot of country favorites, and
near by, tall waving ferns almost hide the
oxeye daisies dcftly placed among them.
When you sit down to the dainty break.
fast table, fresh roses lie at your plate,
and sweet mignonettc and heliotropc
add perfume to beauty among the moro
prosaic dishes. Wild flowers blossom
out of unexpected places; vases hang on
the wall, there are even great jars of
sunfowers or goldenrod on tho piazzal
All this makes perfect dream of beau
ty, and the visitor revels in il, and is
glad of the growing taste for flowers.
But to adopt the words of tragic poet:
s'No one hath knowledge how much blood it
costs.'
These flowers must all be removed every
second day, at least; some of them every
day. These elaborate arrangements,
these symphonies in color, this blend
ing of hues with the very vases that
hold them, arc the products of much
thought and cultivated faculty, of time
and patience and hard work. Merely
picking the blossoms is n considerable
labor; their arrangement Is more so. A
country house of moderate size cannot
be filled to ovcrnowing with flowers, as
the fashion now is, in any less than two
hours, and it is often the work of tho
whole hot dragging morning. Yet
every writer and teacher of household
decoration commends this result and
begs that we do not forget TO add the
flower which gives touch of poetry TO
our surroundings Is it necessary TO
have so much beauty at once? This
'.touch of poetry" becomes kind of
collection of verses, us 1t were, land
there is surfeitl would we had less
nosegays at a time, and less fatigue and
hurry.
The vines themselves help in the tyr
amy. The superabundant blossoms
must be closely picked or they will de-
sert us. Even the ncighbors get tired
of such profuse offers, and after awhile
they win not pick the sweet peas at all.
The flower mission is overrun with gifts.
There are not hands enough in the FAM
lily to keep up the supcrannuated mas
turtium; the pansies are gone already,
and the mignonette has been left TO
grow into spindling, ragged, hobblcde-
hoy stalks. You almost long for the
frost Alas for the inconsistency Of hui
manity! With the first cold night~a
panic seizes us. Our garden will be
gone tomorrow. And all the household
hurries out with all the multitudinous
issues of the daily press. for once
blessing. A whole week we do it. We
hurry to 'take up few of the more
hardy plants; we offer slips to all our
friends, whose windows are already
choked with little brown pots; we make
frantic raids on the brilliant Autumn
beauty, and fill the house fuller than
ever with extravagant lunches Of our
choicest blossoms. But they 20 ut last,
and we are surprised in guilty sigh Of
relief -Anna L. DaOes, IN Good House
keeping.