SEPTEMBER 155 



tones of colouring are subdued and solemn ; 

 the young moon alone shines coldly through 

 thin saffron clouds that pass across the far 

 azure of the southern sky, while in the 

 west a pink flush, deepening into orange 

 fires, reflects back rosy-gold upon the 

 lulled earth beneath. Across the petunias 

 and many-coloured zinnias* bend fruitful 

 branches of apple and of pear. There is a 

 sense of settled calm and peace, of home, 

 and of all that may be most pleasureful and 

 most secure, in these plenteous boughs 

 weighed down by the load of their good, 

 great apples, and gently swelling pears, 

 and the mellow round of each ripening fruit 

 glows as if illumined from within. And 

 now a great silence steals on upon the air. 

 The bells have ceased, their last vibrations 

 lost along the far-spread fields. The sharp 

 ( tzit, tzit,' of a robin, or a beetle's drone in 

 passing flight, seem but to intensify the 

 stillness. In this beautiful hour, as twilight 

 deepens down upon the flowers, they seem 

 to open their hearts to you and speak. 



* * Where are we to put the zenanas ? ' asked a 

 friend's old Scotch gardener t'other day ! 



