JANUARY 13 



days, Peach Corner is crowded with de- 

 licious things; there is yellow Cassia, 

 luxuriantly gay throughout the day, and 

 after sunset so forlorn with drooping leaves 

 shut close together like the sensitive plant. 

 Nicotiana, whose dejection lasts all the 

 while that Cassia has her day, but who 

 breaks forth in white shining stars at dusk, 

 cobalt Comelina and sweet verbena and 

 apple-scented salvia dotted over with a 

 tiny scarlet flower, and pale blue daisies. 

 There is an edging of Sea- Pink or Thrift. 

 (Why is it Thrift ? Is it because it thrives 

 everywhere, in the richest or the poorest 

 soil ?) In another part of the garden there 

 is a strip of a variety that glows with a 

 deeper tone of pink. These came from a 

 garden in the Highlands, where the sunny 

 middle walk, edged with Sea- Pink, led up 

 to an arbour, overgrown with convolvulus 

 and white honeysuckle, and surrounded by 

 sweet peas. No one ever sits in an arbour 

 now-a-days. I think they are never made 

 now, and dear old Mrs Sherwood's story in 

 that delicious fifty years' ago penny, series 

 of hers (tiny little books in various coloured 



