19TH MARCH. 



ANOTHER WEEK of heat and drought ; we are almost at 

 the end of our resources. We had two cool days, and I always 

 an optimist rushed forth and sowed seeds in the open. Now 

 we have two more plots to keep watered. But what can a 

 poor nurseryman do ? As soon as the rains begin, people 

 want plants ; so the plants must be hurried along somehow 

 and by the skilful use of shades, water and compost the seeds 

 must be persuaded to germinate before their natural season ; 

 but, as an old hand once said to me : " Anyone can grow plants 

 in season ". 



Through these hot days I long for my white flowers. For 

 weeks and weeks in December and January I had a hundred 

 or more big clumps of white Agapanthus blooming below the 

 terrace on which stands my cottage. Behind them was a tree 

 of white-flowered Bauhinia, and for some weeks with them 

 bloomed my much-loved Catalpa trees. Their white blooms 

 are almost like orchids when looked at closely, and in the dis- 

 tance like glorified horse-chestnuts. We saw them as street 

 trees in America ; what welcome shade they give, and how 

 delicious the scent of the blooms ! In winter I love them just 

 as much when their bare twigs trace the perfect outline of the 

 tree and the delicate curve of every branch. 



Now all these white flowers are gone ; yet in a month or 

 two we shall have white flowers in plenty. My garden is a 

 saucer in the hills, for on every side but one steep banks slope 

 up to my neighbour's vineyards. As soon as the winter rains 

 are well under way, these banks will be gleaming with tall 

 white arums. They come up in every neglected corner of my 

 garden (and there are many), so that on moonlight nights 

 one may walk straight into fairyland. 



A still night at full moon in this clear air is unbelievably 

 beautiful. I once had a fine row of pink hollyhocks which I 

 admired, but when I saw them by moonlight they were no 

 longer " blowsy maids of hollyhocks " but etherealized. Their 

 pink, all silvered over, seemed not to belong to this world at all. 



So many people say : "I don't like white flowers ". Well, 

 I don't agree ; but I know they have not seen what I have seen. 



38 



