Puslapio vaizdai

again. That night I sat in a café win- saw the gentle mealy-colored face of dow, listening to the music, talk, and that poor fellow, his eyes, and his laughter, watching the people pass in dusty, trembling hands, and I saw the the street-shop-folk, soldiers, mer- picture that he had painted there in chants, officials, priests, beggars, aris- hell. I've seen it ever since, whenever tocrats, women of pleasure, and the I see, or hear of any sort of solitary light streaming out from the windows, caged creature.” and the leaves just moving against the Our friend ceased speaking, and most wonderful dark blue sky—but I very soon after he rose, excused himsaw and heard nothing of it all-I only self, and went away

John Galsworthy.

The Nation.


ney, M.P.

Mr. Charles Hapgood to Mr. Travis Miss Ferney to various friends and neighPullman.

bors. Dear Old Man,—You have always

Dear -It will give my father been such a brick, I wish you'd do me and myself great pleasure if you will another favor. I wish you'd lend me come to Tor Castle to lunch on Saturyour aeroplane for the next week-end. day to witness an aviation display unI am going to Dartmoor, where prac- der the control of my friend, Mr. tice should be easy, and I feel sure that Charles Hapgood. I understand the whole business.

Yours sincerely, Then later I might have a shot at the

Evelyn Ferney. Cross-Channel prize. Yours as ever,

C. H. Mr. Travis Pullman to Mr. Charles Hap

good. Mr. Charles Hapgood to Sir Henry Fer- My Dear Charles,—You seem to have

gone clean off your head-unless, of Dear Sir Henry,-I am taking an course, your letter is an elaborate joke. aeroplane down to Dartmoor on Fri- How on earth do you think I'm going day, and shall be delighted to show it to lend you my aeroplane? I've only to you and to Miss Ferney, to whom just got it, and haven't mastered it please give my kind regards.

myself yet. How could you manage it Yours sincerely,

when you've never been in one in your Charles Hapgood. life? Besides, there are certain things

a man doesn't lend. Aeroplanes come Sir Henry Ferney, M.P., to Mr. Charles nearly first. Yours always Hapgood.

Travis. Dear Hapgood, -We are delighted to think that we shall so soon

Mr. Charles Hapgood to Mr. Travis aeroplane at close quarters. You will,

Pullman. of course, secure an accomplished avia- My Dear Travis,-Your letter was a tor. Evelyn declares her intention of great surprise to me, and a great shock going up; but I doubt if I should al- too. I always looked on you as a genlow that. You will, of course, stay erous man. This Channel prize would with us. We shall take no denial. just have put me right, and now I Yours sincerely,

don't know where to look for the money. Henry Ferney. As for not having any experience, I've



read all about Wilbur Wright, and I've With kind regards to Miss Ferney, beseen him on the bioscope, and I'm a

lieve me,

Yours sincerely, first-class driver of a car, as you know.

Charles Hapgood. Half-an-hour's examination of the engines on the ground would be all I Sir Henry Ferney, M.P., to Mr. Charles should want. Why, you've often said

Hapgood. what a genius for mechanics I have.

(Telegram.) In any case one must begin some time, Sorry this week-end impossible. and that's where an old friend should

Ferney. come in. If anything goes wrong with the thing I'll buy you another, if you Miss Hapgood to Mr. Travis Pullman. don't mind waiting for the money. А My dear Mr. Pullman,-I don't know pal couldn't say more than that.

what it is that Charlie wants from you, Yours, C. H. but if you could possibly see your way

to lend it I should be so happy. The Dear Hapgood,—It's quite out of the poor boy is a wreck of disappointment, question. I refuse to lend it. Why, it and it affects all of us. He says you would be only one remove from mur- are the only man who can do him this der. Yours,

little favor, whatever it is. Please do T. P. it.

Yours sincerely, Dear Pullman,-Your astonishing let

Irene Hapgood. ter puts the lid on it. That's the end. I did think I had one pal I could trust; A Fellow-Clubman to Mr. Travis Pullbut now I know better. You may trust

man. me never to ask you for anything else, Dear Pullman,-I thought you might or any one else either.

like to know that at the Club to-day Yours faithfully,

C. H. Hapgood was abusing you like a pick

pocket. He says that you, one of his Mr. Charles Hapgood to Sir Henry Fer- oldest friends, refused to do some sim

ple thing for him-lend him a fiver or Dear Sir Henry,-I am sorry to have something. As the friend of both this to say that I shall be unable to come is rather painful to me, and I should after all. There is a hitch with the like a word from you to enable me to aeroplane, and it will be impossible to meet him squarely next time he talks bring it. I shall however come alone. like this. Yours,

X. Punch.

ney, M.P.


If a wet June really "sets all in 167, and last June there were only tune," the summer of this year ought 90.8 hours. The nearest approach to to be one of the most successful on this belongs to July, 1888, when there record. The full total of the hours of were registered 92 hours' sunshine. In bright sunshine is the most remark- last June, again, the instruments reable since the recording instruments of corded, for London, actually seven sunshine were established in 1883. sunless days. The curious thing, or The average number of hours of bright perhaps the natural thing, is that this sunshine in June is a little more than record follows on two months of the

brightest sunshine. April and May to- papers. Reading some of the more gether held a larger number of sunny highly colored accounts of the mischief days than stand to the credit of any done by the June weather, you might other April and May in the English suppose that hardly a bud had opened chronicle of weather. Then came since the spring. “Gardeners are in June with a waterpot to suit Aquarius, pair of ever seeing a summer show and June rained as she rained in 1903, of blossom in their beds and borders but in colder winds. In most places the this year," you read, “Wherever one rain was very sadly needed. April and turns there is nothing to

see but May had not only been dry, but there leaves." That may be the case in had been a long succession of East some gardens, though it is a little difwinds, and after weeks of hot sun and ficult to imagine the spectacle, but in an East wind blowing the desire for others the June rains have set a more the sound and the smell of rain can generous growth and a greater profubecome for the countryman the deepest sion of blossom than ever come with a of all. Under a dry East wind fields month of continuous sunshine. On the and gardens parch as if they could not arid surfaces of the Downs, where the draw breath.Wind and rain beat up shallow garden soil only spreads a few from the South-West, and the sap runs, inches above the solid chalk of the the scent spreads from the flower. hillside; in gardens where light sandy Not all of the rain of last June soil is sharply drained by gravel, and the tree longer than in a month of most joyous calls were heard on a cool fierce heats and glowing skies. Hot evening after rain, on June 27th, and sunshine may burn the blossom from in rain about nine o'clock in the mornthe tree more swiftly and thoroughly ing on June 29th, when there were than the steady drip of rain. It four calling together. Last year, again, something to be able to keep a few of the writer finds that there were some the best rhododendrons full in flower ten days at the beginning of July when into July.

came on

a West wind. But a good a few days of hot sunshine wilt the deal of it did, and in some parts of the surface-rooting plants as if they had country, though doubtless not in all, been cut and denied water; in gardens there has been by no means too much. where the clay bakes till it cracks in Here and there it has brought disas- drought,-in all these the rain, so far ter; the grass has been laid almost over from ruining the show of flowers, bas the whole of a field, or the mown grass doubled it. Some of the roses, of has been left where it was cut, with course, have suffered. Roses which no possibility of carrying it, and with bind themselves tightly in buds, like the downpour soaking half its good- the old Gloire de Dijon and Frau Karl ness out of it even if it is to be made Druschki and many of the teas, canand carried later, In other places a not put up with incessant rain. The large part of the strawberry crop has rain wraps them in a sticky coat of rotbeen lost; but the price of strawber- ten petals which will neither let the ries varies according to the quantity water drain out nor allow the inner put on the market, and one grower's petals to expand, and the rose falls loss may be another's gain. Other before it has opened. Some of the crops have never looked better; corn cluster roses, too, which bunch their is not yet long enough in the straw to double flowers closely like Electra, sufbe hurt by a long soaking, and root fer in rain because it lodges in the crops after the drought of May could clusters and cannot run out, or be hardly have too much June rain. But shaken out by the wind. But, on the some of the most marked differences in other hand, all the hybrid sweetbriar the effect of continuous rain in June roses have bloomed in the utmost proshow themselves more plainly in the fusion, and care as little for the rain garden than the farm. Certainly the as the old cabbage rose, which is brave rain has not brought universal and un- enough for any kind of weather. One mixed disaster, as might be imagined of the consolations in a cool and rainy from some of the reports in the news- June is that the blossom remains on

the blackbirds seemed to have stopped But the curious power which belongs singing altogether, though you can gento cold and rain at midsummer is to erally hear stray blackbirds sing a take the birds back into the weeks of short song up to the third week in singing. In a hot, sunny June such July; then comes a note on July 12th as last year the birds drop to the si- of four blackbirds singing together in lence of autumn. July may often be cold rain. as "sulky” as August, but when June Most of us speak vaguely of "bad" is "sulky” she shows it most by the weather, and it would be a little diffisilence of birds. Many of the reasons cult to define what should be meant by which govern the singing and the si- “bad." The accepted meaning seems lence of birds are as obscure now as to be wet weather, though it would when Gilbert White first took his notes hardly have been true to describe the at Selborne, but one rule seems to be hot weather which ended May as exfairly constant. Many birds will not actly good, when what was wanted sing in great heat, even when it is the more than anything in the country was full season for singing, and often, even rain to bring on the grass, and every when the ordinary season of singing is day in the drought there were heath over, a bird seems to be recalled into fires blackening some of the most beauweeks that have gone before by a sud- tiful country in England. After the den spell of cool and rain. You can- May sunshine June came in with a not, of course, lay down fixed dates on downpour, and if the Fourth of June which, to the very day, each bird will at Eton was one of the dismalest ocbegin or cease singing or calling, but casions in the whole history of King you can come pretty near to general George's birthday, would not Farmer rules for most birds, and those rules, George, if he were alive, have been when you find them broken, seem to be asked by other farmers to join with broken most often when there is a sud- them in thanksgiving for the wet? den change from heat to cool, or when The weather

unkind to Eton a spell of cool weather lasts beyond again later in the month, when it inits expected season. Last year, for in- terrupted the cricket of the Eton and stance, in the hot weather that ended Winchester match; but who is to say June and began July, the writer made that there was not a bright side to notes of the last calls of the cuckoo that bad weather, when with a wet ball and the song of the blackbirds. By and a damaged pitch it produced one the third week in June the cuckoo was of the best unfinished matches in the only calling fitfully late in the even- whole series between the two schools? ing, at eight o'clock or so, and soon Rain, indeed, so far from spoiling after dawn. The last entry notes the cricket, frequently makes an unintercuckoo on June 24th, 3.10 to 3.30 a.m. esting match interesting, by setting But this year, in the same locality, the one of the sides fighting hard to save a cuckoo has been calling every morning defeat or to win a game against time. throughout the month, and two of the It was the weather which changed the



prospect of the Australian cricketers' covers from rain to rejoice in what the tour from what looked like a failure, rain has brought;

repossesses itself as so far as cricket and not gate-money if it had never suffered a loss. A day

concerned, into a likelihood of of July sunshine after a fortnight of success. But the best of the contrasts stress and storm sets over its lawns of weather belongs, not to the cricket- and borders a forgetfulness of everyfield, but to the garden. The spirit of thing except the sense of present a garden is the most buoyant, the most warmth and the profusion of opening resilient thing. An English garden re- flowers.

The Spectator.


Every reader has probably his favor- ship. There must be some motive beite writer, but it has not yet been ad- hind, some determination to make sure, mitted that every writer has his fa- at any rate, of one perfect reader. The vorite reader. This seems unfair. It writer runs no risks with "A. M.” All would be better, surely, if writers were the wit and knowledge which other un. frank about it, and gave the reader authorized readers might pass over are some chance to come up to their ideal. safe with him. Sometimes, it is true, a hint is given Surely then it would be well if we in the preface or dedication, but even could have, instead of the preface, a then there is not much to go upon. short account of "A. M." or "E. L. S.” Too often the preface is an explana- or "Lucy," or whoever it may be. tion of something that is to follow, or There would not then be any danger an apology for something that is miss- of the book falling into the wrong ing; and the dedication is always hands. The inexperienced reader vague. What, for instance, can the would turn to the dedication, and find reader judge from two bare initials? out whether the book was meant for Is "A. M.” the perfect reader? Prob. him or not. There would be no necesably he is. Almost certainly the sity for hurriedly turning over the writer knew he would appreciate the pages. Everyone, of course, has done book. If so, surely we ought to know this, and everyone has taken the something more about him. There is wrong book home, and found, too late, nothing for our guidance in so curt a that it has nothing for him. It is a dismissal of him, and all we can do cheerless business, this misguided caris to wonder what sort of man he is. rying home of a book, and it has hapIn the days when books were dedi- pened on Saturday night, in the rain, cated to patrons the reader had not often. And yet the book looked interthis feeling. He cared nothing about esting. The passages you happened Lord So-and-so, but he cannot help be. to read seemed to promise good things. ing inquisitive about "A. M." For he It was clear, too, that others had read is on the first page of the book, under the book, and that at least one reader the special protection of the writer; had been interested. For there, neatly and it is obvious that he is there be- written in the margin, were the words, cause it was certain he could be say, "How true!" Obviously sometrusted to read the book as the writer one had been roused, and it seemed would have it read. No one would certain that there must be something dedicate a book simply from friend- in a book which could compel a lady

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