"_Auf Wiedersehen_"
It seems but yesterday that the punctual year brought back her
Daffodils--that Hyacinth and Tulip pushed up green shoots for the spring
sunshine--and now the Syringa bushes are white with bloom.
In one short week midsummer will have come, that beautiful holiday of
the summer solstice, whose festal observance is, in England, of great
antiquity.
The old practice of lighting bonfires in London and in other towns (and
even in villages) is probably a remnant of the pagan rites once observed
on that day.
Later, the Christian monks dedicated this festival to one of their
saints, and, accordingly, the people on that day made their houses gay
with St. John's-wort and other flowers and at evening kept the "vigil of
St. John the Baptist," lighting bonfires in honor of this saint. Every
man's door was then hung with birch boughs and lamps of glass, whose oil
burnt on through the night. An old parish entry--dating so far back as
the reign of Edward IVth--thus stands: "For birch at Midsummer VIII d";
and again, "Various payments for birch bowes at Midsummer."
Old English poets commemorate in verse the hanging at this season of
birch branches over the sign boards of shop doors.
Perhaps in our increasing demand for holidays we may yet adopt this
charming festival of our English forbears, as we have that of their
Yule-tide. It would fall at the same season as did that pretty Persian
festival, "The Feast of Roses."
Today, in after-dinner "idlesse," with the unread morning paper in my
hand, I sit beneath the blossomed Tulip trees, taking in so much of the
beauty and perfection of the hour as my limited being will hold. Shadow
and sunshine interchange upon the lush green lawn, where today the
Syringa sprinkles its first light snow. The breath of blown Peonies
scents the summer air along with the languorous odor of the mock-orange
flowers. Yonder, in the old pear tree hard by the Lover's bowery walk, a
happy thrush sings out his little heart while his silent mate broods
patiently the family nest. A distant robin pipes cheerily among the
apple boughs, and somewhere among the treetops a gurgling oriole
sings--sings as if in this whole wide world of ours there were neither
pain nor death, but only life, and joy, and never-ending summer.
Last night a Damask Rose opened in the garden--
"God's in his Heaven; all's right with the world!"
For myself--attuned to the blessed influences of the hour--I am at peace
with all mankind. My enemies, one and all, are forgiven on the spot, and
I meekly consider the advisability of "turning the other cheek" for a
second "smite." For what saith the old herbalist--combining in his
ancient book floriculture and ethical instruction? "Flowers, through
their beautie, variety of color, and exquisite forme, doe bring to a
liberal and gentlemanly minde the remembrance of honestie, comeliness,
and all kinds of virtues. For it woulde be an unseemly thing for him
that dothe looke upon and handle faire and beautiful things to have his
minde not faire, but filthy and depraved."
The Japanese, in their days of heathendom, celebrated with great care
their ancient "Festival of Departed Spirits." A fire was then built in
front of every house in the empire as a signal or invitation for all the
departed members of the house to revisit their old homes.
So tonight, with pulses slowed down to peace, musing in the quiet of
this sleepy garden, I keep the "Festival of Departed Spirits," and,
signaling to the unseen, hear in the tender silence faint footfalls of
the departed along the familiar garden ways.
Said the dear Lady (who at one time in her life was much fascinated by
Spiritualism, and wont to map out with great accuracy the "Undiscovered
Country" with its pursuits and privileges), referring to that time when
this house and garden should no longer know her in the flesh: "I shall
not forget my home on earth, I shall still be around."
And thou, "my summer child"[2] (best loved and last to go), born with
the roses and gifted with the sunny sweetness of a thousand Junes, but
yesterday we trod together these garden paths, whose improvement was thy
latest care. The echo of thy parting footfall yet lingers in this
garden, making it "holy ground." "They sin who tell us Love can die."
"Auf wiedersehen," my "summer child."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A nickname suggested by this item in a bill of our German
cobbler--which ran thus--"To souling shues for _Tird sun_ 50 sense."
[2] Miss Bremer in "The Home."
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
The following variant spellings are used in this text:
1) midsummer (3 times) and mid-summer (twice)
2) springtime (once) and spring-time (twice)
3) sweetmeat and sweet-meat (once each).
The two occasions on which the [oe] ligature is used have been rendered
as "oe": "Coboea" and "Ipomoea", both on p. 95.
The following amendments to the text have been made:
1) "remaider" changed to "remainder" on p. 18.
2) "Eastern" changed to "Easter" on p. 43.
3) A double quotation mark (") has been added after "shrine of Thomas à
Becket" on p. 55.
4) "Stratford-on Avon" changed to "Stratford-on-Avon" on p. 61.
5) A double quotation mark (") has been deleted before "O E holihoc" on
p. 70.