In the Garden
I have dared to leave the Cornice pears on the wall until this week, but I would not offer this as a practice for gardeners whose trees are not well above the frost-line, and snug in the protection of a south wall. The crop this year is both lavish and full in flavour. Surely the Cornice pear is the queen of fruits. Each specimen comes out of its tissue paper with its skin turned to a flush of rosy gold. And to eat it sue needs a bib and a pair of sleeves-tied at the wrists.
The chrysanthemums that I dis-budded so badly that they began to flower in August happily are still making a fine show, and now one square of the garden, behind the greenhouse, is a mass of colour where the extra plants, not brought under glass pr into the house, are blazing away, headed by two rows of opulent dahlias. - Some of The York paving-stones round the fish-pond, relics of blitzed London streets, are shifting toward the water, and nothing can be done except to take them up and re-lay them on a new foundation of fine ash and lime—one of those tedious and slow jobs that always need to be done at a time when everything else is crying out for priority. But this, and the laying down of new walls to the compost pit, is well in hand.
RICHARD CHURCH.
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