226 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



Sharp bullaces, 



Rare pears and greengages, damsons and bilberries, 

 Currants and gooseberries, bright-fire-like barberries, 

 Figs to fill your mouth." 



September days in London are always fitful. Often a 

 day falls that is one borrowed from Summer, torn, as it were, 

 from her as she hurries hence ; days there often are of 

 sparkling brilliancy, with moments, now and again, but at 

 rare intervals, of dimness, when wandering platinum-coloured 

 clouds pass over the face of the sun's golden orb that swims 

 through a blue sky. Such a day of clear light shows up the 

 grime and dust on the walls of our national buildings, where 

 the only touch of youth and cleanliness is given by the blue 

 pigeons that flutter around the weather-beaten, fog-blackened 

 figures ! 



September days in the garden ! Who can describe them ? 

 Oh ! to walk by hedgerow and woodside, where Pomona's 

 poorer subjects gather to greet her, where the purple fruit of 

 clustering blackberries hang beside the dull-red sloe. Many 

 places are quite vermilion with the "coral jewellery of the 

 hedge," the fruits of the wild rose, bitter-sweet, bryony, 

 and hawthorn. So bright, so keen is the air, still scented 

 with the hay, blowing over fields dotted with newly-built 

 stacks ! Here the sunlight is at home ; the cloud-shadows 

 chase each other over sheep-strewn fields, where the timid 

 animals, looking white and soft after their Summer shearing, 

 stray at will along the verdant leas. 



