A Garden Without Cats, It Will Be

The Oldfields Of The Future Are Beyond Hearing; They Are Shut Up In The Factories And The Workshops, Leading A Rackety And Mechanical Existence, To The Damage Of Their Bodies And The Peril Of Their Souls, For The Sake Of An Extra Pound Or So A Week, Which They Promptly Spend On Mental Or Physical Narcotics.

To Dig One's Own Spade Into One's Own Earth! Has Life Anything Better To Offer Than This?

A Gardener Is Never Shut Out From His Garden, Wherever He May Be. Its Comfort Never Fails. Though The City May Close About Him, And The Grime And Soot Descend Upon Him, He Can Still Wander In His Garden, Does He But Close His Eyes.

Life In The Country Teaches One That The Really Stimulating Things Are The Quiet, Natural Things, And The Really Wearisome Things Are The Noisy, Unnatural Things. It Is More Exciting To Stand Still Than To Dance. Silence Is More Eloquent Than Speech. Water Is More Stimulating Than Wine. Fresh Air Is More Intoxicating Than Cigarette Smoke. Sunlight Is More Subtle Than Electric Light. The Scent Of Grass Is More Luxurious Than The Most Expensive Perfume. The Slow, Simple Observations Of The Peasant Are More Wise Than The Most Sparkling Epigrams Of The Latest Wit.

A Garden Without Cats, It Will Be Generally Agreed, Can Scarcely Deserve To Be Called A Garden At All.