A lady writer in the Rural New Yorker asks why the people, both in city and country, do not train vines over their windows. "What is more beautiful than green leaves falling around the casement in graceful festoons? Grape vines clambering over a trellis are very fine: but, if a grape vine is out of the question, the next best thing is a hop vine, that being free from the objectionable creepers that push out from woodbines and attach themselves to clapboards and shingles. I have a luxuriant hop vine now, which requires no care save a dish of suds poured upon it occasionally, that shades two of my kitchen windows; and the cool tendrils cling so closely to the house, with the aid of a friendly nail and string here and there, that it makes closing the windows, even in a storm or shower, wholly unnecessary, securing a capital ventilation of the room both day time and night. And there is such a silky, sociable rustle of the leaves all day, that I like to sit close up to them and listen to what they say, as I have a notion that everything has a voice and language of its own.

Then fill a few vases with roses, and place them out on the window sill; and the green background makes a delightful, reviving picture."