The Richmond Virginian. (Richmond, Va.) 1910-1920, 1910-08-06


if only the art could be kept in their sturdy hands
working among the cabbages, the corn and the
tomatoes. But, of course, it cannot be so con-
fined. This is the day of women, and what re-
joices the half centenariam's liver appeals to
the artistic ethuvia bathing the souls OF all the
gentler sex. Indeed, gardening for woman
needs only a piece of ground as big as pocket
handkerchief to give her diversion through hours
deeds by day, thoughts of them by night.
Formerly, when she presided in the old-fashioned
prim flower garden, with its green houses in one
corner and negro with spade IN the fore
ground, she, too, fitted the landscape. Now,
however, It's matter of art--and art can be
strangled by small white fingers as well as big
and bony hands.
And, ah, when the young women rush IN and
tamper with the soil, and the atmosphere, and
the sky line-it is then that art always related to
nature, may tremble indeedi Garden for your
shoulders says the Delincator; "for your COM
plexion', says the Ladies Home Journal; "for
your soul sighs the transcendental organ OF the
suffrage, that mixes politics of practical sort
with the tenuous uplift of seer-like vision. And
they "garden"-all of them-young and old,
plain and glorious, coy and efhcacious. They
garden Hoe in hand, fatal license in their
hearts, they despoil as and where they list!
Even the best Of them A path jumped the road
and sheered around house hidden in trees ex
cept in soft glimpses that spoke the love of the
home mingled with love of the woods Nature
and art had met and coalesced. Save for one
gray pebbled path cleaning not too brightly
white against the green, the place was an adapvs-
ton to the home of what grew in the place. The
garden was hidden in the cunningly pruned I'M
derbrush. Vines climbed the pine trees as though
they had made the conquest of themselves. Roses
bloomed and flowers peeped modestly from hid
den beds. The colors were those chance and not
too profuse ones that in favored spot one finds
In the deeps of forest In this little bit of
Already crouched the house, with the sweetness
OF love that is hidden from the world.
Like most of the fotsam of dreams, the place
was for sale. A woman, sick in heart and BODY,
'erept in the open hanging gate and lost herself
in the charm of the interior Stealthily, lest her
happiness be surprised, she scratched handful
Of grass seed into bare spot, and twined this
trumpet vines along the top strand of the wire
fence. Silently the wistaria carried its message
up the tall pines, and wonderful Burbank Der
ries ripened in the underbrush She shed timid.
ity, till ragged SNOWFALL bushes grew where they
might have grown before had nature done her
best, and sweetly cautious azalea flashed through
the holly thicket.
All this time health grew in the body as the
vines ran along the rustic pillars OF the porch,
until at length she stood in the garden no longer
wistful nor afraid, but sunburned and bold
And the sunlight flashed on the steel of her
hoe, as, in the very heart of her wilderness
should pulse her own ruddy strength, she plant
ed bed of gaudy, outstanding, boughten coleus,
raised in pots at the florists, set 'ageaming sham
lessly, like diamonds and decollete in church!
The young woman was well And the wilder
ness seemed to hang its nedding heads in shame