8o A GARDEN DIARY 



same time perfectly definite feelings of associa- 

 tion, of which we are all at times more or less 

 aware ? Why should certain perfectly common- 

 place things awaken dreams, reminiscences, 

 suggestions ; whereas others, every bit equally 

 qualified to do so, find us blank, and indifferent ? 

 Of all such aids to impersonal memory, commend 

 me to an out-of-door fire ! The wild, keen smell 

 of it. The red eye of flame, blinking at one out 

 of the heap. The sleepy rolls of smoke, tumbling 

 about, and making one's eyes water. The 

 sudden " crick, crick, crackle " of a snapping 

 twig, travelling sharply through the frosty air. 

 All these separately, or the whole combined, 

 bring with them trains of association that have 

 been accumulating very much longer, or I am 

 much mistaken, than the course of any one single 

 lifetime. Reminiscences, who can tell, of that 

 remote day when the human hearth was for the 

 most part not an indoor, but an out-of-door one ? 

 A friend and neighbour of ours has recently 

 improved upon such casual burnings by having 

 what may be called a permanent bonfire in 

 her grounds, and I wonder more people who 

 love their gardens, and spend whole winters 

 in the country, do not adopt the plan. In one 

 respect it is certainly an inferior bonfire, for 

 its main constituents are, not leaves and sticks, 

 but anthracite coal. To make amends, it burns 

 merrily away night and day, only needing to 



