Here in America, though I have never been East, I know I should feel at home in a New England garden. My entire knowledge of them has been gained from books, but I am sure, from what I have read that these gardens are quite as charming as the more formal ones of other lands. Separated from the street by either a white picket fence or a row of lilac bushes, grow in their seasons nasturtiums, pinks, larkspur, mignonette, sweet peas, and forget-me-nots, in neat rows. All these are in such profusion that one sees only the glorious general effect and fails to notice that the garden has been planted with total disregard to the blending of colors. At the back, against the fence, tall sun flowers flaunt themselves, while in front are clumps of gorgeous peonies, and at the side beds of fragrant mint.
All these gardens I think of when spring comes, and my yearly gardening fever seizes me. But at the end of two months, when my radishes go to seed before attaining edible size, and those of my flowers that are not choked by weeds have been dug up by other members of the family, I go back to the dream gardens in my books.
Mary Eaton, ’26.
DIXIE
AN old man, ragged, but with an air of dignity, quickly glanced at his stop watch as a small figure, crouched over a shining black neck, shot by. With a thunder of hoofs the black horse whirled past and fought for her head down the stretch. She would win the following Saturday—she must! If she didn’t then she too would have to go and leave the ruined old gentleman, who looked so feeble leaning over the white rail which enclosed the mile track. After much coaxing the black colt came mincing up to her old master.
The small colored boy, as black as his mount, was bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Dat dehby, Suh, is going to be won by ma Dixie,” patting the curved neck of the horse.
The old gentleman looked up. “Mah boy, you must remembah that Dixie will have otheah good hawses to beat. Vixen is the favohite and very fast, although Ah know mah little black friend heah will do heh best to honah the purple and white,” glancing proudly at the headband of the black marvel. “Next Satahday will decide it all.”
A shadow fell across the colt. Looking up, the gentleman, known as Colonel Fairfax, saw a man dressed in a checkered suit and orange socks. On a tie to match was a monstrous, well polished diamond, which sparkled wickedly in the sun. The man stood staring at the stop-watch. “Ah beg yoh pahdon, Suh, but theh anything Ah could do foah you?”