HOURS IN MY GARDEN, 



MY GARDEN SUMMER-SEAT. 



HAVE erected in my garden a 

 little summer-seat, in a spot of 

 my own choice — the remotest 

 gg_ corner of all. There, in the 

 J sunny afternoons, sheltered 

 by the foliage (for it is placed 

 against a thick beech hedge, 

 which just at that point has been allowed to grow 

 high, so as to afford a canopy of greenery overhead), 

 I sit and read or muse and observe by turns as my 

 fancy inclines. Even on the calmest days there is a 

 faint stir and movement, I know not whether caused 

 by winds, so gentle as to be imperceptible to the 

 senses, or by the movements of the life around me, 

 which never pauses. In this corner I allow no garden 

 flowers proper, but only wildings of field and wood and 

 hedgerow. It is also a kind of asylum and sanctuary 

 for some of the outlaws of the garden, who here, I con- 

 fess, do their best to atone for the sins of their kindred 

 in forbidden ground. 



I have thus around me the delightful record of many 

 pleasant wanderings — a kind of index or memory-map 



9 



