THE JOY OF A GARDEN. 



To appreciate the supreme happiness of a garden you 

 must first be ill. Any malady will do influenza, 

 ancient or modern, measles, rheumatism, whooping 

 cough, or gout, which keeps you ten days in bed, and 

 causes you to moan and groan. You must be familiar 

 with those dolorous expressions of restlessness and 

 discomfort, quas Natura sud sponte sugyerit (as we read 

 in our Oxford logic) which nature suggests for your 

 relief, when settling yourself on your left side for a 

 long, refreshing sleep, you find, after two minutes, 

 that the position is untenable, and change it only to 

 encounter a similar disappointment. You must have 

 known what it is to recede with abhorrence from the 

 "lovely sweet-bread," the "delicious whiting," the 

 " charming cutlet," so carefully prepared, so fondly 

 proffered, and you must still be haunted with dim 

 memories of a procession which seemed to be always 



