COUNTRY LIFE
IT is impossible to turn to country matters without showing oneself to be obsessed by the drought, especially if one lives, as I do, in the south-east of England. The dry spell began early in June, after a dry winter. On St. Swithin's Day we had a vigorous shower in the morning, and then not a drop of moisture again until one or two showers fell at the end of July. What is odd is that the trees appear not to have suffered, for the woodlands this year are singularly free from pests, and their foliage is full, rich and firm. This gives the landscape a classical quality, like the small Giorgione canvases or the paintings of Claude, where the green! are laid, depth upon depth, with a magnificent sombreness.
This is not the only enrichment of colour in the countryside. I have never before seen such opulence in the cornfields, especially where wheat was growing. The fields toward harvest-time (which began" in the middle of July) were not gold, but bronze. The effect was Roman. I looked for lizards upon walls, and expected to overhear the conversation of centurions, and the clinking of their metal cups as they sat in the heat, with the wine beside them.
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