t lies along
the main street of the place, facing the usual "shop-row." The entire
area has nearly always been grassed. Not what an Englishman would call
so, but turfed in a stuttering fashion, impetuous and abashed by turns,
and very easy to keep off; most rank up against the granite
underpinnings of the buildings, and managing somehow to writhe to all
the fences, of which those on the street fronts are of iron. Parallel
with the front fence and some fifty feet behind it, three of the
institution's buildings stand abreast and about a hundred feet apart.
All three are tall, rectangular three-story piles of old red brick, on
granite foundations, and full of windows all of one size, pigeon-house
style. The middle one has a fairly good Greek-pillared porch, of wood,
on the middle half of its front.

[Illustration: " ... tall, rectangular, three-story piles ... full of
windows all of one size, pigeon-house style."

Middle Hall, Williston Seminary, facing the main street of the town.]

Among these buildings we began our planting. We had drawn, of course, a
ground plan of the whole place, to scale, showing each ground-floor door
and window, so that we might respect its customary or projected use. A
great point, that, in Where to Plant What. I once heard of a school
whose small boys were accused of wantonly trampling down some newly set
shrubs on the playground. "Well," demanded one brave urchin, "what made
'em go and plant a lot of bushes right on first base?" And no one was
ready with an answer, for there is something morally wrong about any
garden that will rob a boy of his rights.

With this ground plan before us we decided indoors where to plant what
outdoors and calculated arithmetically the number of each sort of shrub
we should need for the particular interval we designed that sort to
fill. Our scheme of arrangement was a crescendo of foliage and flower
effects, beginning on the fronts of the buildings and rising toward
their rears, while at all points making more of foliage than of bloom,
because the bloom shows for only a month or less, while the leaf remains
for seven or more. Beginning thus with our quietest note, the interest
of any one looking in, or coming in, from the public front is steadily
quickened and progressively rewarded, while the crowning effects at the
rear of the buildings are reserved for the crowning moment when the
visitor may be said to be fully received. On the other hand, if the
approach i