^^^ "TKVRR was trifling chronicle begun so light- 



^^ heartedly as this chatty, idly reminiscent book of 



-*- ' ours and now it is under the great shadow of 



war, of death and suffering, that we see it pass into its 



final shape ! 



The " little paradise on the hill" with all its innocent 

 pleasures, its everyday joys and cares ; with the antics of 

 the " little furry things at play" the sayings and doings 

 of the "famiglia " ; the roses, the bulbs and seedlings ; 

 our alluring garden plans, our small despairs and unex- 

 pected blisses our earthly paradise, as we have said, 

 seems like an unreal place. We wander through it with 

 spirit ill at ease ; oppressed, as by a curse, through no 

 fault of ours. The sight of an Autumn Catalogue 

 (hitherto so tempting, so full of promised joys) evokes only 

 a sigh. The offer, from the familiar Dutchman, of bulbs 

 which "it will help Belgium if we buy" turns the 

 heart sick. We know we must not buy bulbs, this year, 

 because we shall have to buy bread bread for those who 

 will surely lack it and yet, if we do not buy, others in 

 their turn must needs go wanting. And here is but 

 the merest drop in the monstrous tide of evils wantonly 

 let loose upon humanity by the self-styled Attila / There 

 are times when, looking out upon our place of peace, 

 we feel as though, surely, we must all be lost in some 

 fantastic nightmare. It is a September full of golden 



