The Orchard 



summer, to have, as it were, the rise of the Roman 

 Empire, and then its Decline and Fall. My Empire 

 grows at the bidding of a gentler Nature, and, 

 when all is done, there are winter joys, winter un- 

 dented by mud : an empty garden, leafless trees, 

 a field for a new campaign, a scene for new triumphs 

 and defeats. 



Through the winter the garden gives us food. 

 Apples are stored, and in the autumn there is a 

 tremendous brew of jams and jellies : crab-apple, 

 blackberry, rowanberry, and even the hips and 

 haws of the Japanese rose hedge are pressed into 

 the service. 



The path from the fruit garden enters the 

 orchard between the privet and the rose hedges. 

 On either side of it are sweet peas eight feet high. 

 From early June — for the seed is sown in the 

 autumn— right into September, they give me 

 flowers of every colour and shade. Mauves shading 

 to white on the one side and scarlet to the palest 

 pink on the other. Sweet peas are the most gener- 

 ous of plants, and the more one takes the more 

 they give. They have such an enthusiasm for pro- 

 pagation that they will put forth flower after flower 

 in the hope that something will be allowed to come 

 of it. 



Before they arrive on the scene, the long path 



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