THE ROAD TO SPRING 
*3 
room for trouble or unrest. How well Charles Lamb 
interpreted the true sentiment of the dial! 
<c What a dead thing,” says he, c< is a clock, with its pon¬ 
derous embowelments of lead and brass, its pert or solemn 
dulness of communication, compared with the simple altar-like 
structure and silent heart-language of the old dial! It stood 
as the garden god of Christian gardens. ... It spoke of 
moderate labours, of pleasures not protracted after sunset, of 
temperance, and good hours. It was the primitive clock, the 
horologe of the first world.” 
At all times and seasons and in all weathers it pleases 
me to walk here; disquietude could find no finer anti¬ 
dote, believe me, than the green confines of this narrow 
pleasaunce with its garden god dumbly eloquent of 
happy patience and the spirit of ancient peace. “ So 
flys Time away ” . . . the words to me seem the 
very epitome of composure and pleasant cheer, perhaps 
because I have known them for so long, scanned them 
so very often. Swift’s friend and patron. Sir William 
Temple, so willed it that when he came to die his heart 
should be buried, enclosed in a silver box, beneath the 
sundial in his beautiful Surrey garden by his house of 
Moor Park, and in the end his wish was piously fulfilled. 
The desire may possibly smack of fantastic sentiment¬ 
ality to some, but I think I understand the impulse that 
inspired it. The romantic expression of yesterday took 
other forms than those we know now. “ So flys Time 
away,” and yet . . . and yet, where your treasure is 
there will your heart be also ; and who shall say whether 
the garden-lover’s treasure may not be about the turfy 
precincts of his dial in the green depths of his garden ? 
