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SECOND
SECTION
VOL. IX. NO. 230.
THE QUAINTEST GARDEN
ITS SPIRIT, AND A
IN ALL ATLANTA;
GROWN-UP PLAYHOUSE
Photos by Mathewson.
HOW MRS. ROBSON ANSWERED THE CALL OF THE SWEET BROWN EARTH.
Above le a glimpse of Mrs. Robson, bending tenderly over one of her nodding pets; next Is a glimpse of the gsrdep pergola. At the lower left la the
Interior of her nlaynotiae, with its good pictures and summer chairs, where ah* writes her flowers' biographies in her "Garden Book,”'and last is a
study of Mrs. Robson herself, perhaps the happiest old lady in all Georgia.
VIrs. Kate Robson Tends Her
Leafy Pets and Writes
Their Life-Stories in
Her “Garden Book.”
"The earth la so sweet and warm and
Jrown that I am unable to keep away
from It."
—From “Tho- Garden Book" of Mrs.
Kate Robson.
This Is the sentiment that made At
lanta’s quaintest garden.
Because the sweet warm earth called
her. when the spring stirred, and the
birds sang and high road and bypath
bloomed with little old-faahloned flow
ers. Mrs. Kate Robson, of Kirkwood,
three years past her three-score and
ten, has built a tog play house In the
pretty suburb and around It has plant
ed a garden of simple flowers.
In Kirkwood everyono knows “Grand
ma Robson's” garden. In It the Kirk
wood children play. In Kirkwood
homes Its blossoms light the tables and
•Ick chambers during the long summer^
Many Atlantans, too, have an acquain
tance with Its flower-fringed paths. But
few there are who know the garden's
secret. -
Several years ago when Mrs. Rob
son's health began to fall from adranc
Ing years and shut-in days, she longed
for a garden even os she says "It It
were no bigger than a bed quilt," so
that she might dig and delve In the
warm brown earth.
And so the garden came Into being.
A Grown-Up Play House.
.First the little log house was built,
a simple one-room affair hardly bigger
than a child's play house, built of slen
dor pine saplings and thatched with
brown shingles.
Behind the play house 'was' erected
an arbor, and over It clambers vines if
twisting roses.. From the play house
radiate four paths, bordored with o|d-
fashlonrd pinks and larkspur, that
pierce the garden thru like slender,
colorful ribbons.
But this garden has been the work
of years, and Its secret Is not to be
found In tho garden's physical contour.
The spirit of the garden Is no more In
Its play house. Its pale gray clumps of
lavender nor Its stretching beds of yel
low daffodils than Is the spirit of the
rose In the soft Intricacies of Its petals
or Its flaming hue.
As the shadow of tho rose Is the
spirit of the rose, so the shadow of Mrs
Robson Is the garden's secret
With tender care, with an all-pervad
ing love of each fragile blooming and
green thing, she has made this little
plot to blossom bright In the sunlight.
This Is the garden's secret and the
garden’s spirit, and it Is all Imprisoned
within the slender pages of a little vol-
ume which Mrs. Robson calts her "Gar
den Book."
Here the story of the months In the
garden. Is unfolded with the rare and
the grace and the tenderness that must
have been equal only to that bestowed
upon the garden.
It Is a record of the garden for all
the months of the year, carefully chron-
Jcled to bring out the stages thru which
the garden went before It attained Its
present beauty. When you come to
tbink or it It Is almost the garden’s au
tobiography.
What the garden really means to
Mrs. Robson Is brought out In the pages
of the "Garden Book.” Witness the
little chapter called "The Gardens of
the Poor."
•Is there anything more appealing,
nska The Garden Book, "or more pa
thetic, than the gardens of the poor?
Tears rise In my heart when I pass tho
dingy tenement with Its rickety soap
box or paint keg or tin can with Its pre
cious bit of plant life. These efforts tell
of the love of growing things and the
care thnt makes them live and blossom
against all odds. If I could I would put
overy blessed womnn or child who loves
and tends them Into Mr. Vanderbilt's,
or some other beautiful garden, and I
would feed and clothe and house them
nnd let them live and enjoy the flowers
as long as their spirits longed for
them."
And so goes the garden book, a sim
ple story of simple things, and thru It,
like the purple thread of phlox thru her
garden, runs the gentle spirit of Mrs.
Robson.
It’s Profitable, Too.
In addition to making her garden the
show place of Kirkwood, the sale of
flowers has during the last two years
proved profltable. Ope-half of the lit
tle plot Is planted In daffodils and jon
quils and during the months of March
and April or this year Mrs. Robson has
sold over 30.000 cut flowers.
During May her roses aro a source of
revenue, for she has been marvelously
successful In the cultivation of the
hardier kinds of roses. Several clumps
of lavender, scattered here and there
thru the garden, at this season as gray
as sago brush, produced pounds of sa
chet powder and were marketod at a
profit.
In fact, while the garden was found
ed to bring tho glow of health bark to
Mrs. Robson's cheeks and because she
loved to dig and plant nnd tend the
growing things. It has grown to be al
most a business.
But this Is not the pretense Mrs. Rob
son sets up. She lays claim to being
no outdoor florist. Intent upon the
flowers of her garden as a source of
revenue. The business end of her gar
den Is secondary and she plants with
magnificent disregard for anything but
quaint effects. She loves the old-fash
ioned flowers, sweet-williams, bache
lor buttons, hollyhocks and sunflowers
and with these the garden Is nited.
Her garden, she says. Is primarily a
place of rest and quiet pleasure, where
she can spend the long hours of the
days In the contemplation of growing
things and be. as she says, "in part
nership with the Almighty.”
80 over the door of her little cabin,
burned In a flat o«k board over the
horseshoe that hangs above the door,
Is this Inscription, which tells the story
of the garden and of the cabin and of
the heart' of Sirs. Robson In a single
Latin line:
Dues mlhl hanc sedem dedlt."
)0 YOU HAND OVER YOUR SALARY TO YOUR WIFE?
Momentous Question That Has Destroyed the Peace of Many a Home—How It May Be Easily Settled
By DOROTHY DIX.
A woman correspondent writes me
that she was recently one of a party of
married persons In which there was a
hot debate on whether a husband
should turn over his whole pay envel
ope to his wife or not. ,
The women, my correspondent says,
took the afllrmatlvo side of the ques
tion with vigor and vehemence, while
the men made a feeling- and passionate
defense of the negative point of view.
Then she asked my opinion of the
question.
I am sorry, ladles, not t j be able to
sgree with you. but I most emphatically
believe that the on# who earns tho
money has a right to dlsnense It, and
’hat It Is up to the monev-maker to
decide how this shall be done.
•f a man voluntarily turns over his
entire earnings to his wife and lets her
dole out to him what she t|tlnks It Is
Proper for him to spend, well and good,
*nd highly satisfactory to all concerned.
No doubt this method often works for
•be good of the family financially, for
"Omen are generally better economisers
|ban men, and It Is safe betting that no
wife is going to be overlavish In her
beer money allowance to hubby, or give
him enough loose change to make him
attractive to chorus girls.
Grinding Tyranny.
But If a man Isn’t of a heavenly,
meek and mild disposition, he Is pretty
apt to revolt at having to ask for street
car fare and to feel that he has a right
to at least handle the wages he has
tolled for; and under these circum
stances It Is certainly grinding tyranny
for his wife to expect hlin to give his
entire earnings.
Most women know, from experience,
how humiliating It la to have to do the
beggar act, to be compelled to ask some
one else for every penny and to have
to give an account of what you did
with the last dime and expect to do
with the one you are soliciting.
Consider, then, ladles. If you bate
and loathe to ask a man for money, and
It hurts your pride to do It, how much
more It must humble a man to ask a
woman for lunch money and a nickel
for a cigar.
Personally. I think a man must be an
archangel—or have ajnfghty poor spirit
—to stand such a thing.
It Is eternally true'that the band that
holds the pocketbook rules the roost.
We are all slaves to money, and the
lack of money breeds In us the vices of
staves, and this Is equally the case
with men and women.
They Falsify and- Hold Out Money.
Women whose husbands are mean to
them about money He and double deal
and falsify accounts and hold out'
money on .bills. Women who bold the
purse strings are treated In exactly the
same way by their husbands.
Once upon a time I knew a woman
who proudjy boasted that her 8am
brought home his pay envelope to her
every week without ever opening It,
and she gave him back an infinitesi
mally small sum—a sum so small that
he could not even Indulge In the luxury
of a cigar.
This woman also complained of the
penuriousnesa of her husband's em
ployers, for. altho Sam worked like a
'Trojan and had been advanced from
position to position until he was the
general manager of a large department,
he was never given a cent more salary.
Those of us who heard her plaint
would be convulsed with merriment,
for we knew that Sara's salary bad
I
been Increased until it was many times
the modest pay envelope that he
brought home, and that on the balance
he was leading a riotous life, of which
his tlght-ftated little wife never dream
ed.
And who could blame Sam? Not I.
Any one has got a right to outwit a
tyrant If he can.
Discord In Many Families. -
Undoubtedly the money question Is
the one that causes the most discord In
families, and yet It Is one that could be
so easily nettled If only husbands and
wives would be fair to each other.
Marriage Is a joint partnership. The
woman who does her duty as a wife and
mother contributes to the prosperity of
the firm as much as the husband does,
and Is as much entitled to a fair share
of the perquisites; but she Isn't enti
tled to them all. Neither Is the man.
There should be a divide of the family
money—not a monopoly by either.
There ran be no happiness In mar
riage for either men or women without
financial Independence.
The man who has sot a Yale lock on
his pocketbook and doles out grudgfng
pennies to his wife leaves a mighty rec
onciled widow when he dies and the
woman who demands that her husband
turn over to her his whole pay envel
ope Is the aid and abettor of wife deser
tion.
THINGS ABOUT WOMEN
MEN- CAN’T UNDERSTAND
No. 5—Guessing What a Wo
man Is Apt
To Do. . f;
By DOROTHY DIX.
"Tho thing that keeps me guessing,'
said the third man, "Is the uncertainty
about what a woman will do under any
given circumstances. You never can
tell whether she will go up In tho air,
or whether she will sit calmly down and
take out her knitting.
"If you know a man, you can make a
pretty accurate estimate of tbs course
of action he will pursue In any emer
gency; but no previous amount of ac
quaintance with a lady will give you a
line on the way she will act at a crisis.
On the contrary, she Is pretty sure to
give you the surprise of your life by
doing exactly the thing you would have
sworn it wasn't In her to do.
'All of us have seen the familiar phe
nomenon of a woman who will have
hysterics of freight over a mouse, yet
look a lion In tho eye without the quiver
of an eyelid. Well, things like that are
always happening with women, and It's
what makes marriage such a lottery.
A man never knows what sort of qual
ities his wife has gotten secreted, about
her person.
"For Instance, I had a friend who was
married to a regular Fluffy Ruffles sort
of a woman, the kind of woman, you
know, whose brains seem to be cut on
the bias and frilled In the middle, and
who Is simply mad about clothes and
society. By Jove, I used to look at that
woman and think that she was nothing
on earth but a French doll, with a saw
dust heart
"I pitied poor Brown from the bottom
of my soul, and thought that If the time
ever came when he couldn’t put up all
shi wanted for millinery and dressmak
ers I could tell who would hit the flrst
train out fotv Reno.
"Oh. I tell you she kept poor Brown
slaving like a dray horse to supply her
senseless extravagance, and at length
he struck a snag In business and was
just completely wiped out—not a sou
markee left.
Of course, he had never been In the
way of talking over his affairs with his
fashion plate wife, and she knew noth
ing of the load he had been carrying
and tho anxiety he had been Buffering,
but when the crash came he couldn’t
keep It from her any longer,
"He's often told me that he went thru
a perfect purgatory screwing up his
courage to break the news to her. She
was so pretty, so Indulged, so utterly
helpless, he couldn't even Imagine what
she would do without the luxuries to
which she'had always been accustomed.
"Finally, however, the dread minute
could be put off no longer. He had to
tell her that they wore utterly ruined;
that they were paupers, and that he
would have to take some small position
In order to moke bread and butter for
them.
"He knew her so well that he felt
sure that she would swoon with horror,
and overwhelm him with bitter re
proaches, but what she sold was;
“‘Oh, Is that all? Don’t you worry
any mors about that. I have always
thought I would like to do something
useful, and I nm going to set up n
dressmaking establishment and moke a
fortune.'
“And she did. and she proved to be
the shrewdest, cleverest little business
woman you ever saw, anA, strangest of
all, was perfectly happy.
"And I’ve seen the reverse of this
happen, and an apparently level-head
ed and sensible woman do unbelievably
Idiotic things. My wife has a friend,
whom I will call Mrs. Blank because
that Isn't her name, that for years and
years had been an oracle In our Het.
She was a sort of Solomon In petti
coats, to whom we all went wit); our
little perplexities, sure of having them
smoothed out In the wisest, kindest
way.
"Mrs. Blank was a rich widow, who
managed her own affairs no cleverly
that she hod doubled and trebled tho
money her husband left her. In addi
tion, she was a woman who had seen
many phases of life, who was worldly
wise, who had perfect poise of charac
ter and she was 60 years old; and yet, «
on a fine day, she married a little snip-
pit of u degenerate college boy. who
was such a palpable fortune hunter
that a blind woman should have been
able to seo it.
'And I am dally confronted with
amazing contradictions of character In
my own wife that keep me gasping
with wonder and amazement.
I have known her to have the same
hat sent up and down six different
times from a store while she was try
ing to make up her mind whether she
liked It or not; but when a crisis came
In my profession, that Involved our
whole future, and making many sac
rifices for her. It did not take her five
seconds to decide to make the bold ,
plunge Into the unknown.
"I have seen her burst Into tear* and
weep for half an hour when a dress
came home that didn't fit, and I have
! i cri her meet a great sorrow dry eyed
and with a smile on her lips.
"She Is a frail little woman, always
more than half 111, who has to be
guarded against fatigue, yet In rimes of
sickness I have known ber to be the
prop and stay of the family and able
to endure more than any husky trained
nurse.
DAYSEY MAYME’S MA’S SALAD RECIPE
By FRANCES L. CARSIDE.
There are three things In the Apple-
ton home that are much alike—Mrs.
Appleton’s salad, Mrs. Appleton's mince
meat, and Dayscy Mayme's top bureau
drawer, and this Is where the resem
blance lies: Each Includes a little of
everything to be found In the house.
When Daysey Mayme wants to find
anything In her top bureau drawer, sbe
pokes around In tho center with a stick,
which. In a way, becomes a sort of fairy
wand; for, by constant stirring, that
which she Is looking for eventually
comes to the surface.
When Mrs. Appleton makes mines
meat In the fall, she puts In It a little
of everything but carpet rags, and her
salads contain so many Ingredients
that, when telling a friend a recipe yes
terday, It sounded os Indefinite and as
Inconclusive ns if she were reading the
chapter on "begate" In the Bible.
"Of course, I use oil," she said—
Chauncey Devere, will you atop teasing
that cat—and I vary the amount ac
cording to taste. Chop In—how many
times, Chauncey Devere Appleton, must
I tell you to leave that cat alone?—
"Where wan I at? Oh, the oil. No,
well, then It was the onion. Some pre
fer the onion flavor and some—Chaun
cey Devere Appleton, quit opening and
shutting that door. Either stay In or
go out. I had an aunt once who died
and left a lot of money, but.she didn't
leave any to me. She always chopped
olives and—If you will get n book and
sit in a corner the rest of the day,
Chauncey Devere, you will please me—
any kind of nuts will do.
"Whenever 1 use Brazil nute. I always
laugh, for It' rclnlnds mo of 'Charlie’s
Aunt/ Did you ever see Charley's—
Chauncey Doverc, how many times
have I told you that rocking a chair Ilka
that gets on my nerves. You must think
I am made of Iron to enduro this day
after day—children aren’t worth the
raising—yes, I uso apples, too—I think
you can make It without any trouble—
no, you can’t have one—boys never
think of anything but their stomachs.
• • • A little meat, raisins—oh,
just chop up something of everything
you have In the house."
When the caller left, Mrs. Appleton
was trying to recall what she once put
In a salad that made It so good that
five of the seven guests who ate It wero
III the next nlghl, and It Chauncey Dc.
vere didn’t stop whatever he wne doing
—she didn't know what It was, but It
was something mean—sho would tell
his father.
Atlanta Girl With Beautiful Voice
MISS MARGHARETTA CARTER.
Charming young woman who Has a very fine voics. Sho was heard in a musl
in Montgomery this weekg when sho ecorsd a triumph. The cut is made from a
ical aho w by arratsur talant
Stephenson photograon.