Garden walks are capable of great variety of treatment; they may be laid in several materials, and by their presence, both utilitarian and artistic ends may be compassed. The most common fault with designers is the formation of too many walks, a style of arrangement which is particularly objectionable in small gardens. An artificially constructed pathway is rarely in itself a beautiful object, though it may often appear so owing to the nature of its surroundings. For this reason a walk should generally be made to serve a useful purpose, rather than act as a mere foil to surroundings of a different type. The walks nearest to the house will, in many cases, form part of a terrace scheme, and it is well that these should be made a distinctive feature. Stone flags look extremely well, much better, in fact, than cobbles, which are tiring to walk upon. Dressed stone is expensive, but it is often possible to obtain suitable material at fairly cheap rates from the town authorities who have the disposal of old street pavements. Terrace walks are necessarily both formal and artificial, and remarks as to natural levels have no application where they are concerned. A fair width is advisable, but care must be taken that the house itself is not dwarfed by an undue expanse of terracing. If different levels are attempted, steps should be employed to give access from one to the other; a sloping path is quite out of place in a terrace scheme. I do not care for the practice of working in different coloured materials to form a mosaic; there should be sufficient variety, both of colour and form, in the living contents of the garden, without having to face the necessity for embellishments in stone and brick.
A PAVED WALK
When contemplating any special features in the way of design, always consider whether it is possible to approach them conveniently by a suitable pathway. All the best views should be readily accessible without the necessity for traversing possibly wet lawns, or pushing through heavy undergrowth. Paths leading direct from the stables to the flower-garden must be broad and well made, as they will be in constant use for heavy traffic, carting manure, water barrows, etc. The lesser frequented walks need not be so wide, and providing that they do not lead through highly cultivated portions, and are dry and well made, need not be kept scrupulously gravelled. A degree of wildness is quite in keeping with certain parts of the garden, though an ill-kept, weed-grown path is never permissible. The walks which traverse the wild garden, orchard and woodland, will destroy much of the charm of these sylvan retreats if they betray signs of too constant attention—their surface smooth, the grass edges rigorously trimmed, and evidences of the line, shears and roller everywhere apparent. A prim pathway would be a sad eyesore on the ragged face of the hillside, the mountain track equally ridiculous winding among shaven lawns and glowing flower-beds. It is often necessary to effect a satisfactory transition between these two styles, and this can only be done by means of a well-marked boundary. Either a broad hedge, a small gateway, or a short pergola may be depended upon in most instances to render the passage from one to the other free from incongruity. Two walks should never be seen running parallel to one another for any considerable distance; one or other is almost sure to appear needless. If the second path is a necessity, it should be screened from its fellow by suitable planting. In the same way, the junction of two distinct paths should be so arranged that there is no reason to suppose that either one or the other is superfluous. Repton’s ideas on this and kindred matters relating to walks are worthy of study and imitation. He makes it a rule that in the case of two walks branching off from one another, each should take a decided outward turn, as though there were no possibility of their meeting again.
Paths which lead “nowhere” are usually a failure, and we can most of us recall the annoyance experienced after following a walk for some distance only to find that it ended in a cul-de-sac. If such arrangement be necessary, as it sometimes is, some compensating influence should always be provided at the end. A small summer-house, a curved seat and sundial, a well grown tree inviting rest and shade beneath its branches—any of these will remove the pointless appearance.
There are absolutely no rules regarding the formation of serpentine walks, unless they be those of a negative quality. Such walks are always permissible and often charming if they are made in deference to the natural form of the ground. Divergence from the straight line is necessary to avoid a group of trees, to skirt a piece of water, or to embrace some particular view, but not for the purpose of deceiving the visitor as to the extent of the property. Twisted walks look very foolish in a place which obviously possesses straight boundaries, and however delightful it may be to lovers in the twilight to linger thus lovingly on their homeward way, the majority of us are merely annoyed by the mazelike contortions which the average “landscape gardener” sees fit to inflict upon us. So long as the curves are pleasing to the eye, there is no need to make them equal, rather the contrary; the great point to avoid is the creation of a hard line between two neighbouring bends.
Grass forms a delightful edging to garden paths, but it requires to be well kept, otherwise it is unsightly. To afford facilities for mowing, a level breadth of turf sufficient in width to accommodate the lawn-mower should be laid along either side; this is especially necessary if sloping banks rise immediately from the sides of the walk. In the wild garden, natural edgings, ground ivy, cotoneaster, or St John’s wort will look more appropriate than either mown turf or tiles. Walks and pathways must always be considered as part of design, but their utility and convenience should be the first point studied. It is disappointing to see in many places the arid stretches of gravel, walks of more than necessary width, and carriage sweeps large enough to turn a coach and four: all this lessens the space available for turf and flowers, and offers nothing in return, as the cost of up-keep is in no way decreased.
As a recent garden artist has declared, the lawn is the heart of the British garden. It is the centre of the social life which, in our too brief summer, is enacted out of doors; it is the setting for the host of beautiful flowers and shrubs which come to gladden our hearts as the warm sun dispels the snows and mists of winter. That style of design must be accounted best which spares no pains to give a fair spreading lawn to every garden, no matter what its size. Nothing tends to give greater breadth and dignity to a place than a stretch of well kept turf, and nothing is more restful to the eye than the prospect of cool greensward. The lawn, or a portion of it, should always be seen from the best parts of the house; not even the choicest shrubs, or the richest terrace gardens, will satisfy in the same manner. On large lawns there may be recesses at intervals, in which tender plants or choice colonies of lilies, backed with rhododendrons and azalea, will receive comparative shelter.
The size and shape of lawns intended for croquet and tennis will necessarily be determined by the rules of the game, often, unfortunately, to the detriment of the general effect. The sunk lawn, surrounded with a low bank, which is often made for croquet, is by no means beautiful, and the banks, unless made with an easy slope, are difficult to keep evenly trimmed. For both games the designer would do well to consider the comfort of spectators, who are frequently compelled to sit in the blazing sun. A shady pergola with convenient openings would be very welcome if covering a path running parallel to the lawn; or a clipped yew hedge, though somewhat heavy and lacking both colour and variety, might add considerably to the pleasures of the onlookers. At any rate, a shady cloister of living plants would be far preferable to the stuffy little summer-house which is often the only form of shelter.
The impression of space is very ably conveyed by a good lawn, and this is the more easily attained if there are but few walks in the vicinity. An irregular fringe of shrubs, with taller trees behind, the whole gradually merging into the distant vista, is one of the most satisfactory ways of closing in the lawn from the rest of the garden. It is often a temptation when space is limited to sacrifice a large portion of greensward, so that more flowers may be grown. It would be best to consider matters very carefully before removing a single sod of turf. If more room is needed, a few bold masses of herbaceous plants near the edge of the lawn will probably give the best results. There is no defence for the barbarous practice of dotting the grass with flower-beds, cut in a variety of ill-considered shapes, neither should clumps of shrubs be placed so that they destroy all sense of perspective. The softly undulating meadow lands of the English landscape, with their rich fringe of native woodland, will teach the designer much of the beauty and value of the garden lawn; and in the planning of the best effects, he may with safety study the lessons which Nature provides in almost every direction.