48 Spring 



on a wet spray after a shower, the robin whistling^ 

 amid leaves as brown as his wing, even the frog's 

 croaking rouse his enthusiasm as does the music of 

 the cicada, 



Charmer of longing, councillor of sleep ! 

 The corn-field's chorister, 

 Whose wings to music whir. 



These, however, are but incidental and circumjacent 

 delights of gardening. The true Adamite glories in 

 colour as a painter does, but his flowers are not massed 

 nor his blooms mingled to tattoo earth's bosom with 

 a picture ; he has delicate nostrils, but the object of 

 his life is not to produce fragrance ; he is a philosopher, 

 a poet, and a student of science, but only in his spare 

 hours, that he may have matter to reflect upon as he 

 rests from toil or smokes the last and most delicious 

 evening pipe in his shrubbery. Beyond and above 

 all these, there is a strong and inexplicable charm in 

 the art itself. Paint, and music, and old songs have 

 their wizardry ; when clouds scud before the western 

 wind the gun and the rod have a spite in them ; but 

 the sure and quiet magic of the garden, the necro- 

 mancy of life and death as it is accomplished there, 

 is to those who are called the most potent of all. 



