IN AN OLD GARDEN 



A SUNNY morning in June a golden day among 

 days that have mostly a neutral tint ; a large garden, 

 with no visible houses beyond, but green fields and 

 unkept hedges and great silent trees, oak and ash and 

 elm could I wish, just now, for a more congenial 

 resting-place, or even imagine one that comes nearer 

 to my conception of an earthly paradise i It is true 

 that once I could not drink deeply enough from the 

 sweet and bitter cup of wild nature, and loved nature 

 best, and sought it gladly where it was most savage 

 and solitary. But that was long ago. Now, after 

 years of London life, during which I have laboured 

 like many another " to get a wan pale face/' with 

 perhaps a wan pale mind to match, that past wildness 

 would prove too potent and sharp a tonic ; unadul- 

 terated nature would startle and oppress me with 

 its rude desolate aspect, no longer familiar. This 



softness of a well-cultivated earth, and unbroken 



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