SEPTEMBER 21 



all seemed over ; the little place looked dried up and 

 miserable, small, ugly, disappointing — in fact, hardly 

 worth possessing at all. 



I felt dreadfully depressed, but, of course, all this was 

 in great measure due to the time of year, the end of 

 August being the very worst month for this garden, and 

 one that I have never attempted to struggle with, yield- 

 ing rather to the difiiculties and generally going away. 

 Shall I also confess my own character had something to 

 do with it ? Many people say, 'Absence makes the heart 

 grow fonder.' This is not my case under any circum- 

 stances, and especially not with my little home and 

 garden. The more I live here, the more I tend and 

 cherish it ; the more pains I bestow upon it, the more 

 I love it. 



When I am urged to travel and change, I only feel 

 that I agree with Mr. Watson in these lines: 



Nay, bid me not my cares to leave, 

 Who cannot from their shadow flee. 



I do but win a short reprieve, 

 'Scaping to pleasure and to thee. 



I may at best a moment's grace, 



And grant of liberty, obtain; 

 Respited for a little space, 



To go back into bonds again. 



After being away for only a short time I come back 

 with the keenest excitement. But when I have been 

 away for some long time, and got interested in other 

 things, I come back in an ungardening mood, have for- 

 gotten all the horticultural names, and — if the time of 

 year is unfavourable — I see, too clearly, nothing but the 

 faults, and have a much too direct answer to Burns' 

 prayer in the last verse of his queer little poem, ' To a 

 Louse, on seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at Church ' : 



