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WHAT NATURE HOLDS FOR THE ARTIST:
A STORY OF THE HERITAGE OF ENVIRON-
MENT: BY GILES EDGERTON
RE story of the pasture lot as a desired place of resi-
dence, which began in the December number of THE
CRAFTSMAN, is not yet finished; for the charm of that
most lovely hillside curving up from the Hackensack
valley to the woods of the Palisades is a double one-
there are two houses and two gardens resting on the
              meadow slope, and two families have built the pleasant
houses and planned the cheerful gardens. And no tale of these fair
deserted meadows would be complete without setting forth both of
the homes of the brothers, Charles and Frederick Lamb, whose
dwellings stand just off the roadway in friendly intimacy, wholly
different, but equally artistic and attractive, symbols in a way of the
life of the brothers who dwell there, who played joyously together
as boys and have worked courageously and successfully together as
men.
   THE CRAFTSMAN does not often stop to philosophize about the
sentimental side of life and its sliding scale of values; but it seems
worthy of mention just here that the lack of true joy in the middle-
aged days of most American men and women is their independence of
all ties that bind them to the soil. They grow up in one location,
work in another, perchance acquire riches, and then settle down in a
hitherto untried locality, planning to end their days in a place that
has no memories for them or traditions or stimulus for brain or heart.
   The man who goes back to the old homestead to live or, barring
this inestimable privilege, returns to establish a home for his children
on the soil he trod as a boy has claimed his birthright-the heritage
of nature's goodness, which helped him to grow and develop and which
will hold out welcoming arms to enfold his own boys and girls. With
the cares, complications and triumphs of a business or professional
life a man needs some bondage to earth, and it is better for him if
he can step back with pride into the old pathways where he can of a
twilight, in the haunts of his boyhood, tell the little people about
him of his early hopes and joys with their realization or failure.
   And so one dwells with pleasure upon the fact that two brothers,
who are also ideal friends, found no spot in life so desirable for home
building as the hillside upon which they had played as youngsters,
where the very trees were their friends, and the changing beauty
of season a tender memory. Can one picture a greater source of
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