SUMMER ONCE MORE . . . AND AFTER 



showers when the watering begins / for one thirsts sym- 

 pathetically with the cherished borders. . . . 

 The moor is deepening to purple. The trees wear the 

 deep green that precedes the turn. Life is rushing by with 

 us so quickly that it seems but the " blink of an eye/' as 

 the Germans say, since we were peering for the first bulb 

 shoot. ... In a little while the Ramblers and Wichurianas 

 will be one blaze of glory / and in a little while again the 

 Autumn winds will be shouting up the valley and the 

 Bracken turning gold over the rolling hills / and again in a 

 little while again it will be the Winter and the snow and 

 we shall be watching for the Spring. 

 And it will be all even as before and yet all quite different. 

 And so year by year. . . . And one day our garden will 

 bloom for other eyes than ours. 



Nunc tibimox aliis, the Book-Lover's motto has it. How 

 true also of the beloved Garden ! . . . Another " eye-blink." 



