1 70 A GARDEN DIARY 



like many larger ones we are never likely to clear 

 up entirely to our satisfaction. There are 

 moments in my experience when such a spot 

 as this that I am thinking of, is in a sense more 

 vivid to me away from it than if I were standing 

 there in person ; when every tuft of bog myrtle 

 becomes clearly visible ; every yard of "drift" or 

 of " boulder clay " shows in its entirety ; the very 

 stones fallen from them, and lying like small 

 cannon-balls upon the beach, being all able to 

 be counted. The waves toss ; the clouds roll 

 wearily ; the seaweed rises and falls, as it 

 naturally would. No scene in a cinematograph 

 could by any possibility be clearer. 



This is the vivid condition. An hour later 

 one tries to conjure up the same familiar scene, 

 and not a detail will rise to one's bidding. Not 

 a leaf, not a stone, not a wave will become 

 manifest. Clearness is gone. A dull, blurred 

 impression is all that remains. The landscape 

 as a whole may be there, but its details are 

 lost. That living, multitudinous - tinted fore- 

 ground has vanished as though it had never 

 existed. 



It must have been the scent of the bog plants 

 which conferred that momentary impression upon 

 me this morning. That scents " open the 

 wards of memory with a key " we all know. 

 They do more, for they sweep away for the 

 moment those films which ordinarily cover the 



