MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. O 



are coming out on the bushes round 

 about ; the blossoms of the fruit-trees be 

 gin to show ; the blood is running up the 

 grape-vines in streams; you can smell 

 the wild -flowers on the near bank ; and 

 the birds are flying and glancing and 

 singing everywhere. To the open kitch 

 en-door conies the busy housewife to 

 shake a white something, and stands a 

 moment to look, quite transfixed by the 

 delightful sights and sounds. Hoeing in 

 the garden on a bright, soft May day, 

 when you are not obliged to, is nearly 

 equal to the delight of going trouting. 



Blessed be agriculture ! if one does not 

 have too much of it. All literature is 

 fragrant with it, in a gentlemanly way. 

 At the foot of the charming olive-covered 

 hills of Tivoli, Horace (not he of Chap- 

 paqua) had a sunny farm : it was in 

 sight of Hadrian s villa, who did land 

 scape-gardening on an extensive scale, 



