GARDENS AND GARDEN FURNITURE.
AGREAT authority, writing in his quaint way, says that a garden "ought to lie to the best parts of the house, or to those of the master's commonest use ; so as to be but like one of the rooms out of which you step into another." Here he touches the point (often missed) which gives its characteristic charm and worth to a garden. It must be immediately accessible. Adam and Eve lived in theirs ; but next to this (if such a recognition of its shelter and resources be now considered undesirable), it should be " like one of the rooms out of which you step into another." However well equipped, it loses half its value and influence if you have to put the machinery of judgment into operation and walk any distance before it can be entered. Again, as an adjunct of agreeable resort, it must not be too large. Then it is likely to be deprived even of its name, and to be called " grounds," in which grander title the sense of its peculiar " habitable " and exclusive homeliness is lost. There is another phase of influence, not always realised, which accompanies the use of a garden as a floral or grassy "with-drawing room." In a
well-appointed house, the furniture of one apartment differs from that of another, and some of the undefined agreeableness of the sensation felt in moving about it is caused by the con- trasts its different parts afford. And when we can step at once into a lawn furnished with flower-beds and shade, this 'feeling (perhaps unconsciously) receives another access of comparison. For in the " garden" drawing-room all the furniture is "grown." The carpet, indeed, is "swept," but it springs itself out of the floor which it covers. Then, too, if it should become anywise worn, we have only to leave it alone and the patches mend themselves. The "curtains," moreover, of the "garden " room (in the shape of variegated surrounding greenery) do not wear out, and they see to their own " spring cleaning" or renewal. It is true that you cannot indulge a restless caprice in a frequent shifting- about of ornaments (seen in, say, standard roses); but then they cannot be upset, and are not easily broken. Again, its airily patterned walls and luminously decorated ceilings, though these last certainly sometimes let the water through, are always provided free of cost, and woven according to the latest design. And when the hour comes for the lights to be put out and the blinds drawn down, this is ever punctually done by invisible ministrants who forget nothing, and serve us faithfully without needing tiresome directions or expecting any wages at all.
But, though carpeted, curtained with shrubberies, and decorated with flowers, a garden is supplied with no sofas and chairs. Of course, you can sometimes sit or lie upon the grass. But however agreeable this may be to children, who love to sprawl upon any floor, elders mostly prefer to have backs to their seats, and are conscious of adult prejudice in respect to those creeping things which share their occupation of a verdant couch. The pursuit of entomology loses much of its interest when its representatives are engaged in investi- gating the person of the observer at the same time. Thus, though otherwise pleasantly furnished, the enjoyment of a most naturally perfect garden is incomplete without some supply of sessional equipment. Thus we build summer- houses with little tables in them, but generally with such up- right backs to their seats as to preclude any attitude of repose for the sitter. Then, too, one can seldom secure un- disturbed possession of these tenements, since they are much fancied by earwigs, spiders, and other occupants, whom it is impossible to evict. Indeed, it is probable that they look on such buildings as erected especially for their convenience; and as these small people are left to inhabit them unques- tioned during the greater part of the year, they not un- naturally resent an invasion of their homes by a human giant as intrusive, and show their feelings by dropping into his tea, and making themselves disagreeable in his bread-and-butter. An unequivocal brick summer-house with a plastered ceiling and walls as impervious as those of an indoor parlour is an excellent garden retreat in warm weather, wet or dry, but your huts of reed and'creepers (animal as well as vegetable) are mostly places of torture.
The summer-house, however, is not strictly an article of outdoor furniture, being to a garden what a closet is to a room, and needing its own separate garnish in the way of table and seats. The best form of it is a " tent," which can be pitched as occasion arrives and convenience directs. More- over, since this is not put up till it is wanted, possession is not anticipated by our friends the spiders, &c., who make a permanent home of a but which always stands in the same spot. Another advantage of a suitable tent is that it screens its occupant from the inevitable eyes of those who must needs mow, dig, weed, and otherwise busy themselves about the place. A garden, with all its many charms, is, never- theless, a scene of incessant labour, and he who seeks to enjoy its legitimate repose often feels this to be frustrated by the contiguous presence of toil. While he is lounging with a novel in his hand, the workman is sweating at his task. This is all right, no doubt. The gardener is interested in his .calling, and glad to earn his wages ; but his conscientious diligence is apt to take its edge off the pleasure of one who, however justifiably, wishes to enjoy himself in doing nothing. If he reposes his limbs at length in an easy wicker-chair brought out of the horse during the busy day, he cannot help being aware of glances at his exceptional inactivity. But when bidden within the walls of a tent, he lights his pipe and opens his newspaper or book with the reflection that no prying eye watches his procedure. He may be awake or asleep, per- missibly idle or industriously employed. . No one knows. A tent is a screen as well as a shelter, and in working hours secures the enjoyment of that seclusion which no garden-seat though set in the shadiest nook, is then able to afford. In commending such a retreat, however, we exclude those gaudy awnings seen in illustrated advertisements. These are little more than magnified umbrellas, under which a gentleman, wearing very small boots, is seen seated in a smoking-chair, and blowing a cloud like the puff of a locomotive. We are thinking of a genuine, unpretentious tent, with one central pole and low "walls," capable of holding two or three chairs, or a wicker-lounge, and a little table. Such a canvas structure is cheap, easily pitched or packed up when not wanted. Moreover, it might be found to serve the purpose of an extra bachelor room when a house is full of summer guests. Boys especially world be delighted at being "put away" in so novel an apartment. Those, indeed, who have never tried " tent life" can hardly realise how convenient and even comfortable it is. Then, too, in warm weather it brings a sense of rustic change and varied experiences to a city dweller, such as no country bedroom can possibly create. One is felt in the way your whole apartment is lit up by early morning sunshine. This does not, then, come to you through, say, the window of a stuffy attic, where you are boxed-up, but illuminates the walls themselves of your chamber, and fills it with a veiled radiance which reveals a fresh perception of light itself. If, being awake, you choose to lie late, you can watch the gradual birth of the day, and apprehend, without moving, that ever- wonderful transition from early dawn to sunrise, which is invisible to the occupant of an indoor room unless he gets out of bed and waits at the window. But if you want to be astir very early, nothing will suit your purpose better than to sleep in a tent.
As an alternative to a fixed summer-hut of the ordinary sort, some have realised that one made of " glass " provides a retreat in Which the earliest spring, though chilly, may be en- joyed "out of doors." We are thinking of something different from a greenhouse. This, cynics say, would be delightful if it were not for the flowers. We mean a little " crystal" room (it might be on wheels) set fall in such sunshine as may be had in, say, March, when nobody thinks of sitting out in the garden. It should be furnished with table and chairs, but contain nothing likely to tempt any one in with apologies and an excuse that he wants to look after his "plants." You yourself must be the only living thing within its walls, which should not be transparent, but made of the cheapest corru- gated glass, letting in light and heat, but defying any inspection of the tenant they enclose. The warmth of such a snuggery is uniquely cordial in the midst of our bitter spring winds, being distinctly different from that of a conservatory or hothouse, where the air is often overladen with perfume (sometimes that of bad tobacco), and the gardener fusses about the opening or shutting of windows, and makes no secret of the fact that he thinks you a nuisance.
One article of garden furniture should always be a ham- mock, hung in the shade. Of course, you can at any time get a view of the upper world by simply lying on your back upon the ground ; but in a hammock you are lifted above the reach of insect excursion, and at leisure become aware of such ex- panse as no other conditions or attitude can reveal. A prone position within doors—on, say, on a sofa—shows only a ceiling (mostly whitewashed); and, though raised a foot or two from it, you still feel that you are resting on the hard floor. But when you hang, like Mahomet's coffin, between earth and heaven, you experience a sense of personal detachment from the ordinary conditions of life which, however easily realised, is simply unique. You lie upon the yielding air and look through a myriad of leaves, pierced here and there with little rays of light, into illimitable space. It is then, moreover, that you best take-in the special stillness of a sequestered garden. Birds which would not venture near you if seated in a chair, bop silently past; and the cooing of the invisible wood-pigeon above your head seems to greet you with fresh meaning, as if you were sharing the same tree-shelter as itself. Then too, perhaps, gazing upwards, you are led to think of the amazing productiveness of a single trunk, with its branches and countless twigs. Where was each of those million leaves before the hidden sap began to thrust it out from the hard wood, unfold the tracery of its veins, and weave the coloured, glossy texture of its delicate skin P There are some who, since each is suspended from a branch, might be tempted to put a " swing " into the same class of garden furniture as a " hammock "; but it is, rather, an insistent dispeller of silence and repose. Its use is generally marked by shrieks and shouts which may be heard all over the place, and you cannot go near it without being pressed into the service of the swingers. Let us provide it, by all means, for the children's sake, but recognise that it can be enjoyed only vicariously by their elders. When we see a parcel of young folks swinging their grandfather, we will reconsider our view of the matter. Meanwhile, let him repose in his hammock, the resources of which they never admit except when it is put in motion.
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