Not to devote an indefinite number of hours to the reading of war news;
to eschew the luxury of idle hands, less on account of Dr. Watts’
reasons against it, as on account of more personal ones, which have
taught me to reprobate the practice. Here are a couple of respectable
resolutions for a bitterly cold February morning. “Books, and work, and
healthful play”! Could a more commendable little programme be invented?
or one that might be followed with greater advantage by many of us who
only exhibit our superiority by laughing at it?
Into which of the two latter categories gardening is to be ranged I am
not quite clear; it depends, I should say, upon the number of
rose-campions, “Snaking Tommys” and the like, that are to be found in
the garden in question. Winter is supposed to be a time of year which
gives comparatively little scope to the energies of the amateur
gardener. If so, then in this respect, if in no other, I am in luck’s
way this winter, for there is abundance to be done here; work moreover
which must either be attended to now, or else not done at all. With such
weather as we have of late had there is no margin either for dawdling.
To-day seems to be an off day with the frost fiend’s gang, and we must
try, therefore, to push our own work forward before they are back upon
us in renewed strength. By the look of the sky, and the general feeling
of things, it is evident that they are only just round the corner, and
collecting themselves for a fresh assault. As I crossed the open end of
the “glade” just now the wind met me with an edge, cruel and cutting as
spite, or hatred. A few aconites and snowdrops are pushing out their
flower-tips, but it is a mere bit of gallant bravado upon their part. By
night the stars, seen through any uncurtained window, seem to wink at
one derisively, and winter is still at the very top of its strength.