Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
Sahara or on the African veldt one would appreciate rain 
properly. I can never give an enthusiastic welcome to 
rain when I see my beloved roses hanging heavy heads 
and scattering sweet petals on the sodden earth, and the 
river coming “ down ” in swollen sulky brown spate, and a 
steady downpour of rain prevents one going out. 
Yet, I suppose, 
Were all the year one constant sunshine wee 
Should have no flowres ; 
All would be drought and leanness, not a tree 
Would make us bowres. 
Henry Vaughan. 
George Herbert’s Proverb is rather nice : 
Although it rain, cast not away thy watering-pot. 
In India, I suppose, one would welcome Mme. la Pluie 
with open arms, at least in some parts of it. Mark Thorn- 
hill, in his interesting book of Indian Mutiny experiences, 
describes beautifully the coming of the rain in India. . . . 
“ The sky was thick with dust and the air motionless, hot, 
and stifling as that of the Black Hole. Looking towards 
the horizon, it seemed to us as if the bank of dust were 
becoming thicker and that real clouds were mingled with 
it. As we gazed there came a movement in the atmos- 
phere, and presently a gentle wind began to blow cool and 
fresh, as if it had come through water. As the wind blew, 
the bank of dust advanced towards us, it rose and spread, 
in a few minutes the heavens were concealed in a canopy 
of rolling clouds. Presently there came a flash of lightning, 
a crash of thunder, and then the floodgates of the heavens 
were opened and the rain descended — at first in heavy 
single drops, then in streams. For two hours it continued 
to pour. When it ceased the face of Nature was changed. 
The dust had gone, the clouds had vanished, we gazed on 
a sky of azure brightness ... as the rains fell a delicious 
coolness pervaded the air ; it woke ... all Nature to life 
and enjoyment.” 
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