The Happy Garden 



zest to the pleasure of the orchard, just as the 

 eager nip in the air quickens the senses and sets 

 the blood racing and the mind scheming of new 

 activities and fresh triumphs in the coming year. 



Full summer is high holiday. Then nothing can 

 be taken seriously : not even love : not even Jane. 

 The earth throws back the heat of the sun. The 

 air above the ground quivers. Heavy clouds come 

 lumbering. In the curious light colour is deadened, 

 and form rules. The shapes of all things take 

 sharp lines. The dogs lie panting with their 

 tongues out. We call for cool drinks. . . . Pre- 

 sently great drops fall. The parched earth seems 

 to heave and swell, to open up her veins for the 

 cool draught that will never be enough to slake 

 her thirst. . . . It is too hot to walk, too hot to 

 talk, to laugh, to think, almost too hot to breathe. 

 . . . The rain comes. The toads come out, and 

 we go in : for a few minutes only. 



Then there is a blessed coolness and relief, and 

 already the brown patches in the lawn are green 

 again. It is good to live in England, where we can 

 have flowers all the year round, and there are four 

 seasons merging imperceptibly into each other, and 

 through the year the country is green and rich and 

 restful. It would be unbearable to have a garden 

 killed by the sun'in June, to have only winter^and 



76 



