176 A GARDEN DIARY 
other matters, so that it appears to be gone, but 
a little search, or some happy accident, brings it 
flying swiftly back, and the pleasure of that 
repossession is so gteat that it seems almost 
worth while that the thing should have been 
temporarily mislaid. 
Of all such inalienable possessions the love of 
out-of-door life is surely the most inalienable ? 
And is it not profoundly natural that it should 
be so? For this race, to which one belongs, 
was after all born under an open sky, even 
though every individual of which it is composed 
may have been born to-day under roofs. We 
do not any longer require the comfort of shelter- 
ing boughs, nor yet to nestle at night in moss- 
lined hollows, but the thought of such places still 
lurks in our blood, and the life of out-of-doors 
remains as much a part of the natural inheritance 
of a man, as it is a part of the inheritance of a 
fox, or of a wood-pigeon, or of a tiger moth. 
Back, back—like the touch of half-forgotten 
greetings—comes a flood of remembrances to 
the heart. Back flows the old stream along its 
old channels. No longer tearing along with a 
wild tumultuous rush, but still sweeping by, 
full and clear, with a pleasant afternoon patter, 
and showing many an unlooked-for nook, 
many a forgotten corner along its banks, once 
we surrender ourselves frankly to its guidance. 
Back the scenes return; ever back and back; 
