The Happy Garden 



nearest to hand. I am sure it is not right to sym- 

 bolise Buddhism in an English countryside, and, 

 in my own case, the proximity of the pines would 

 make it absurd to have a miniature Fuji-Yama, 

 or even a small Snowdon in the carefully contrived 

 distance. Those who demand mountains for their 

 Paradise must see them in the sky, which often 

 obliges with whole ranges, dotted here and there 

 with castles, and great cliffs and many man- 

 sions. 



Short of mountains, I can produce almost every- 

 thing to order. There is no extended view from 

 any corner of the garden, for it is all enclosed by 

 a wall of pines, a mile or two thick, but three 

 minutes' walk up the hill behind the house shows 

 a view of lakes and hills, including the highest 

 point between the Thames and the south coast. 

 Five minutes on shows a wider view of heath and 

 moor. Then, if you cavil at my own particular 

 river, in half an hour's walk I can show you three 

 rivers of divers dimensions, a tract of rich meadow- 

 land, more hills, a lake, between twenty and thirty 

 herons, a ruined abbey, and, if you are weary of 

 the pines, a wood of beech and oak, under which 

 in turn grow snowdrops, primroses, daffodils, blue- 

 bells, and foxgloves, and a willow copse which is 

 said to be a perfect place for nightingales, though 



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