OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



rocks below, the hum of the bees at this feast of flowers, 

 the half-heard soughing of the breeze in the pine woods 

 are the only sounds. Again comes that exquisite song 

 bubbling over as if in sheer exuberance of joy. At 

 the end of the pergola is this inscription in Latin: 

 "They heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the 

 garden." 



A stretch of sand above the Nile's wide stream, 

 A mass of broken rock to anchor it, 

 An English soldier with a yearning heart, 

 And lo! a garden in the wilderness. 



For close to Assouan lies the " Island of the Sirdar" 

 where many years ago Lord Kitchener laid out a gar 

 den. How refreshing its cool green above the muddy 

 waters! From far away its palm trees sway against 

 the sun-baked bluffs beyond. No one had told us that 

 here at Assouan, in March, when weary with long days 

 of tombs and temples, one might step into a garden and 

 forget all else. No one had breathed a word of this 

 low sand bar transformed by patience and by love into 

 a green retreat. 



In the comparative coolness of the late afternoon we 



308 



