ff The moon of Heaven is rising once again ; 

 How oft hereafter shall she look 

 Through this same Garden/' 



OMAR KHAYYAM. 



AUGUST 



garden to-day tells me more than ever how fast the 

 year is flying. Honey-heavy bees among the scabias, 

 gay butterflies hovering everywhere are the charm and life 

 of its walks to-day. It is so full of colour, the splendid 

 colour of August, although the roses' beauty has passed from 

 it, save for a solitary La France lingering here and there, and 

 a pink-hearted tea-scented rose against the sunny wall. What 

 bright patches of matchless colour, too, the zinnias make 

 among the blue mist of the lobelia. There have been so 

 many pleasurable things that made up the life of the garden, 

 that it is hard to decide what they have been, or in which to 

 centre one's admiration most. " How full of charm," says 

 the author of " A Garden of Pleasure," " is the return after 

 absence to a beloved garden ! In August one comes home 

 rejoicing, to see with a fresh eye each dear tree and each 

 familiar spot of lawn or border, and bringing home stores of 

 pleasant memories with sweet suggestions for new delights, to 

 perfect and bring to pass and make one's own another day." 



Perhaps to some, the scene beyond the garden's boundary 

 has formed a very tangible part of the garden's life, made 

 up of twinkling lights from homesteads set amid far-off 

 trees, and a thousand other sights and sounds each holding 

 some individual charm. There is more than a mere friend- 

 ship with familiar trees. Mrs. Meynell has written of them : 



" The daylight trees are signs of common beauty. . . . The 



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