COSY CORNER CLUB.

Otago Witness, Issue 3888, 18 September 1928, Page 64

COSY CORNER CLUB.

FIFTH MEETING. THE SEASONS AND WHAT IS LOVELY ABOUT THEM. Dear Comrades of the Cosy Corner, —This, to me, has been one of the most delightful meetings we have had this year. Not so serious as some of the others, not so personal, it has nevertheless made a definite appeal in its spontaneous appreciation. I think you will agree with me that at no other meeting have we had so many well-written letters and so much apt description of Nature. Some of the words and phrases used approached pure literature in their sincerity. I speak so for this reason: Pure literature is absolutely sincere. A great man once asked a country child on her first,visit to the seaside to tell him what the waves were like, and .she replied that they were like cauliflowers. Thus.” said the great Sian, when later telling of the incident,' ‘i did the child express herself in pure literature. She knew nothing about description, arid merely used a word which, while being familiar to her, expressed exactly whit she meant.” Some of the descriptions in this month's letters are as vivid as that. I *m hoping that our

next meeting, the last for the year, will be as successful as this, and that as many wil! write for it. Saada and W. Jewl, two old C,ub members, have put in a welcome appearance, and we have to greet a newcomer, The Day's Eye. Our total is fourteen letters in all. Thank you for the pleasure you 1 ave given me in this meeting, and for the kind personal words with which so many of you supplemented your letters.—Your friend, ELAINE. I.—BEAUTIFUL AUCKLAND. Dear Elaine, —As far as the vagaries of the seasons go, two cyclones in quick succession, with their accompanying floods, have made me feel quite sure that I prefer summer, even during a drought, to winter. Perhaps we Aucklanders, spoiled children of the sun, are scarcely fair judges of tho seasons. Summer here is fully eight months long, and except during January and February, is never uncomfortably hot. The rest of the season is a paradise of long, lovely, sun-filled days. Rain comes sometimes, but usually from the warm north-east, and cold wet spells are infrequent. Yet winter has its charm, too, once tho rain is gone. As I write, the brilliant sunshine and fresh westerly breeze are drying up the roads and fields; daffodils and snowdrops are holding up their cheerful little faces again, and altogether it is a different world from that of -48 hours ago, when a screaming southeasterly gale flung sheets of rain against the windows and threatened to tear off the root in its fury. The westerly winds bring/ fine weather here, and it is a joy to walk out after a long rainy spell and see the singing gales drive white clouds across a deep blue sky. The easterly winds moan among the hills, under leaden clouds that presage a three-days downpour, but there is music in the west wind which rolls in from the Hauraki Gulf and brings us back our sunshine. “ But rain,” you of the south .will say, “is not winter What would you think of our iron frosts and the icy gales that bring snow?” Thank you, no! I have had a little experience of Otago winters, and without making invidious comparisons, prefer to remain in the Auckland province. Already, in the first August day, spring is in the air. The days are noticeably longer, the garden wears an air expectant of tho spade and hoe, and this month will begin the gorgeous procession of fruit tree blooms —peach, plum, apple, and pear—leading up to the perfect purity of quince blossom. Already the waste lands are ablaze with gorse, and the gullies white with arum lilies. From now on every fine day we should be busy in vegetable and flower garden. In three months' time the beds will be “ all agrowing and ablowing,” and by Christmas the garden is a dense mass of greenery. Midsummer brings us the delights of camping by the sea, but that deserves, and has had. a chapter to itself. There are times when autumn seems the pleasantest season of all. Blackberrying Is in full swing, and those long days In sun and cool green shade are not soon forgotten. When the tins are full we sit down to rest before walking home. Then the drowsy hum of some wandering bee, the light summer airs fanning our hot faces, and the golden sunshine over all are memories that we treasure through the year, while in winter we dream of the summer that will soon be here again. COROMA (Auckland). What a beautiful province yours seems to be, Coroma, and how glad I am that you prefer living there to anywhere else. I confess that I have never been to Auckland, though after your descriptions I shall not be happy until I have seen it for myself. The sun and the wind—l love them, too, — and what you say about going- for a walk after the rain and seeing “ the singing gales drive white clouds across a deep blue sky ” grips the imagination with its vividness. Your letter is beautiful.—Elaine.

II. —THE SPIRITS OF THE SEASONS. Dear Elaine, —I think the most beautiful and pleasing season of the year is spring. It is the herald of sleeping flowers, of opening buds, and emerald carpets; it is the bringe.r of warm sunbeams, fresh showers, and gradually-lengthening days. It Is the time of promise, for it comes after the long winter months, holding forth green arms, and gently awakens the brown sleeping earth with its array of tiny buds and grasses. “ I come, I come, ye have called me long,I come o’er the mountains with light and song; Ye may trace my steps o’er the wakening earth, - - __ By the winds which tell of the violets' birth. By primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.” Tn three months’ time the work of spring is done. Tho green meadows turn slowly to a light brown, and blossoms and birds make the land gay and bright for the arrival of summer with .her hot sunshine and cooling rains—the season of growing, long days with dewy nights, and near at hand the goodwill of Christmas-tide and the hope of the new year that follows. “ Summer’s sunny days hare come ; Soft and sweet the wind is blowing: Bees across the meadow hum, Where the golden flowers are growing. Oh, the happy summer hours— AU th« world’s a world of flowers 1 ”

Next conies autumn with her dress of gold and red, waving her magic wand as she steps gently o’er the land, turning the blossoms to fruit and preparing for the next year’s buds. Gently blowing breezes stirred by her magic scatter the young seeds hither and thither to find a quiet resting spot where they may grow. In her hands she carries the golden corn, the emblem of prosperity, the rich gift of the soil always hastening the tillers of the soil lest winter should come quickly and destroy the richest gift of all her giving, for the corn is the bread of life. “ Heap high the farmer's winter hoard I Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn.” ' So autumn departs, and winter appears, slowly travelling over all the land from north to south. As she goes, all the growing things stop -and rest, for winter is the month of sleep, and all living things by the laws of Nature rest for the return of spring. In her hands she carries snow, ice, frost, and rain, and these she scatters about the earth. The days grow short and cold, and the nights long. The feathered world goes to the big fir trees to roost, for the snow has come and Nature must now rest to the cradle song of winter, for the world is desolate and the time of awakening is not yet at hand. Through the ice and snow comes the good purpose of cold weather, for it leaves the earth bright and clean. So winter departs. About her hair is twined the tendrils of an evergreen, and at her feet gently resting is spring, full of promise, the season of awakening life and beautiful green. “ Spring for sowing, summer for growing. Autumn for reaping, and winter for sleeping.” SAADA (Central Otago). You have given a description of the spirits of the seasons, Saada, showing how each is beautiful, and how friendly is each to her sisters. But I see that you love spring best. I think, when spring comes, that we all do. She is so sweet and pretty after the loneliness of winter. And yet, her sisters are appealing, too. Perhaps it is because she is the “ baby season ” that, seeming to be younger than the others, she catches our affections so. —Elaine. lII.—SEASONAL GLIMPSES. Dear Elaine, —Spring is the first seasoq of the year, and is the signal for Nature to- begin a new stage of her journey into the unknown. It is at this time that the sap of life begins to ascend in plant and tree, and to work miracles in form and coloyr. Associated with spring are green fields, gorse hedges in full flower, and the appearance of those sweet-natured little creatures, the lambs. It is in the spring, too, that we are cheered by the song of the skylark, and when the sweet scent of violets and narcissi is in the air. Deciduous trees, which have looked so grey and cheerless during the winter months, now begin to put forth tender green shoots. But why chronicle the obvious? I am afraid I have already wearied you. In passing on to the subject of summer, then, I shall endeavour to give you something more than pointless descriptive matter. It was at the close of a warm summer day that I chanced to be standing on a bridge which spans the Waihuo River. The sun was about to disappear behind the distant hills, and the air was filled with golden haze which cast a peculiar glamour over the whole landscape. The river, with twinkling rapids here and there, took its serpentine way through gorse to the sea. On one side of it were level fields of ripening wheat, whilst on the other were green, shadowy downs. Some groups of willows grew near the bridge, and there was also a quaint old cottage nearbv. The scene was certainly pleasing, as far as I was concerned, and I gazed long upon it. Presently the sun went down, and a cool breeze could be felt. As the wind continually rose and fell, the murmur of the river did likewise in ever-changing cadences. Sometimes I could catch the sound of rustling wheat and whispering willows, and striking through it all was the low-pitched note of a lonely blackbird. Suddenly there came over me an inexpressible feeling of melancholy, and somehow I knew then why the sad old songs of man live so long, whilst the bright, cheery ones perish in infancy. They mirror the eternal in Nature. And now for another litttle picture. One morning in late autumn I found myself delightedly gazing at an old-fashioned dwelling on the outskirts of a certain country town. Gaunt old trees and numerous shrubs almost hid the house from sight, and along many a winding path borders of flowers could be seen. There was a little man of great age walking with the aid of a stick about the grounds, and admiring the flowers with manifest pleasure. It was plain that he delighted in things beautiful. Coming close to where I was standing, he paused to glance at the bare branches of a tall deciduous tree. Presently he fixed his gaze on some leaves on the path, raised his stick, and to my utter astonishment, dealt them several sharp blows. Muttering to himself, he turned and hobbled off towards the house. Probably he was going in search of his gardener, and would request him to remove the offending leaves. Was his action in striking the poor leaves a demonstration against the ravages of time? This Is something the psychologist might investigate and while he does so, I shall conclude this paper with some lines, from Henry Kendall, in reference to winter :— " Far down,« by fields forlorn and forelands bleak. Are wings that fly not, birds that never speak ; But in the deep hearts of the glens, unseen, Stand grave, mute forests of eternal green.” ORLANDO (South Canterbury). Thank you for your two anecdotes, Orlando. They read beautifully, and are full of the’ atmosphere of the times they describe. With regard to the first. I suggest that you read “ Tears, Idle Tears,” one of the lyrics in “The Princess.” Evidently, like yourself, Tennyson experienced melancholy in the midst of beauty. I do not know what to say about the second. But perhaps the leaves made the old man aware of his own age, and. lying in contrast to the flowers he had been admiring, called forth his anger.—Elaine.

IV.—THROUGH THE YEAR. Dear Elaine, —What a delightful subject. “ The Seasons and What is Lovely About Them.” Why, everything! Dainty, elusive spring, how tantalising she is, here to-day and away to-morrow. Just giving us a glimpse of how lovely she is, and the magic wrought where her feet have touched ; and before we can be sufficiently grateful, we are back In winter’s grasp. As I write, the sun is slowly rising, tinting the snowy mountains a delicate pink, and throwing the bush-clad hills and river into deep shade; there is a faint whiff of violets from a bed nestling under the open window, and a little further away a few stray daffodils nod gently in the morning breeze; pale yellow primroses, too, are peeping along a tiny path. Who would not be in Maoriland now that spring is here, and feel young again and ready to start off with renewed “ wigour.” Then comes languorous summer, with brilliant sunshine, and bright blue skies dotted sometimes with fleets of tiny cloud boats. We sit in a shady nook, pretending to sew or read. We are only dreaming, and enjoying the scent of the roses, lavender, and mignonette—all the”~mingled scents of an old-fashioned garden. Every rose has a thorn. It is jam-making tiine, and work is to be done. It is hot! I know, but cheer , up, only one half of me is stifling hot and working: the other half is ever over the hills and far away. Autumn is upon u

long before we have finished with summer. What a riot of colour she brings, red, gold, and yellow, rich and warm looking. Sunsets, too, are gorgeous, and the moon rises, a glowing ball. Skies are bluey grey : winter is coming What does it matter? So is spring. What a joy there is in planting out seedlings, gathering the harvest, and the peace of the long glowing twilights. Now for long nights before a crackling pine log, a cosy chair and a favourite book. Winter’s torrents and gales disturb ns not a jot. " The morning?” you say. “Hard, biting frost?” Never mind, hop out quickly, bustle. Steaming porridge, sizzling bacon, hot coffee, never so good than on such a morning. One is fortified, too, against nippy Jack Frost. Brisk walks on a quiet road, when the sky is a dark sapphire dome, studded with myriad diamonds, lonely clumps of trees throw weird shadows across one’s path, footsteps ring and echo on the hard frosty road. Mysterious night, but how beautiful. “ Too cold tor dreaming out of doors,” says the practical one. So home to the crackling pine. What if winter is here, may we not have beauty, too? W. JEWL (Southland). You like winter, W. Jewl. I rejoice! You do not mind its cold because your eyes can see its beauty. That is as it should be, for winter is one of the most colourful seasons of them all. It was splendid hearing from you, and I hope you will be able to write for our last meeting. Yes, please, I should be so interested to hear about the logs and your settlement, and when you have time, shall be glad to receive a letter. Thank you very much for your kind personal message. ■—Elaine. * * * V.—ACTIVITY THROUGH THE MONTHS. Dear Elaine, —I intended writing for last meeting, but did not notice the closing date until too late, as I do not receive the Otago Witness till about ten days after publication. I hope I may become a member of your club even though I am so late in joining. Spring is the brightest and best season of the year. In the country one notices the change from winter more quickly than in the town. The first signs of spring are the young lambs frisking about in the paddocks. They are such dear little wobbly things at first, with their long legs and wagging tails. The paddocks become green and the gorse blooms in the hedges, making a beautiful picture on a sunshiny day. The garden begins to brighten up, first with crocuses and sweetscented violets, and later with narcissi and daffodils. I do love flowers, and I love t spring flowers best —I suppose because there are so few flowers in winter. It is like a feast after a famine. Summer brings more flowers and the first fruits of the year. Then the harvesting begins, and who does not love to picnic all day in the paddock among the stooks, and ride home on the last load of sheaves? Summertime is truly picnic-time. Camping by the sea or in the bush is delightful in the long summer days, the one draw-back being mosquito bites; but the pleasure of a free life in the open more than compensates for that. Next comes autumn with the loads of. ripe fruits and more flowers. Everywhere one seen orchards of apple trees laden almost to the ground with rosy and golden brown apples. The leaves begin to turn brown and the masses of chrysanthemums to fill the gardens. Soon the brown and golden leaves fall in showers from the trees, showing that winter Is near. When the snow comes, making a white blanket over everything, the world seems asleep, put soon the air is filled with the shouts and laughter of happy children. What fun it is to slide on the frozen snow all astride a long plank or on home-made snow shoes. Both methods usually end in a tumble, but nobody minds. There are many more good points in each season, but It Would take pages to tell about them, so I have written what appeals to me most in each season. THE DAY’S EYE (Marlborough). Welcome to our club, The Day’s Eye. Of course it is not too late for you to join Aou are a lover of spring, too, and rejoice in the flowei-s with which she covers the earth so lavishly. I was interested in what you said about sliding over the snow. It was n ,^X er , m 3 r luck to do that, but we used to slide down a frozen paddock on frosty mornings and have a splendid time, even if the tumble which followed ended in a very swampy and chilly bog. I hope you will write again.—Elaine.

VI.—SPRING AND AUTUMN? Dear Elaine, —A season of grand opera is not the best background from which to try to write an intelligible article, even on so interesting a topic as the four seasons of the year. Those marvellous and fascinating tonal pictures, with their intricate and beautiful harmonies so wonderfully portrayed, simply..cast. a spell over one which no amount of shaking or pinching of oneself seems to dispel. So, if my thoughts herein expressed are even more jumbled than usual, I beg you please to excuse. The seasons are all lovely, each with a peculiar beauty all its own; but, in the world of Nature, I think I like the spring and autumn best. In spring there is just .that freshness in the air, even when the sun is shining brightly, and with plant life all awaking we seem to feel a delicious sense of anticipation creeping over us, which reacts on our own pulse, and inspires us with fresh Enthusiasm and ambition. Then, too, in the springtime we set our plans to obtain the best advantage out of the seasons ahead and we dig and sow accordingly. Mother Nature awaking to life once more imparts her magic touch, and slowly but surely we see our plan beginning to take shape. For the housewife this is also the* season for that bugbear known as spring-cleaning. But as there is little to be gained by anticipating that item more than a.day or so ahead, and thereby reducing the upheaval to a minimum, we shall not disturb it yet awhile. Much of the glory of autumn lies in her rich colourings—a perfect riot of silver yellow, brown, red, and green—each in a variety of shades which make a most entrancing picture. Unlike spring, autumn, even with all her gay deckings, gives us something of a feeling of sadness. The active life of the year is drawing to a close, and the beauty of autumn depends much on the progress and work accomplished during the preceding spring and summer. As a. gardener, I am not a success, therefore it would be futile for me to attempt to outline the interesting work of the practical gardener, which it is always such a pleasure to behold. Instead, I shall just briefly designate the seasons as they in their nature appeal to me and also apply to life. Spring is the season of anticipation; summer, the season of opportunity; autumn, the season of realisation: winter, the season of relaxation. In the springtime—youth—we set our plans and adjust our compass to direct our energies. In summer—maturity—we must work hard if we would develop our plans to the highest possibilities, so that when autumn comes we shall be able to reap a plentiful harvest—the fruits of our toil throughout the spring and summer. Winter, the season of relaxation, comes when we have topped the hill, and after years of toiling we feel we have earned the right to rest a little and enjoy the labours of our hands. Idleness is not rest, and they are happiest who continue to follow, although more leisurely, some 'occupation for mind and hand. Two friends, an elderly couple whom I often visit, are indeed a splendid example. Although both have passed the four score years, they are still fresh in mind and thought, and their garden and home are their joy. In their garden, a full quarteracre, not a wefid is to be found, and both front and back lawns with their, borders and plots of flowers are just perfect, and in the toolhouse and in their home everything J ,ls t so-’’ Together they still work, ;and although the infirmities .of the flesh manifest

themselves, cheerfulness predominates, and they are ever expressing their thankfuln- is at being able to manage to “ do " for the. - selves. NANCE (Hawke’s Bay). We can learn much from the seasons, Nance, and the way in which they appeal to you—anticipation, opportunity, realisation, and relaxation —seems very sensible to me. ¥am glad that you say that idleness is not rest. We are a race of beings whose pleasure is creative work, and to throw down one set of tools without picking up another in its place will not satisfy us. Change of occupation seems to be the best rest we can have—but we must not be idle. Thank you for your kind private letter. I think what you say in it is right, but what I meant was that the way to keep a room free of unpleasant things is not to leave it empty, but to fill it with so many pleasant things that there is no place for anything else.—Elaine. * * * VII.—HERE AND THERE. The seasons in this country are changeable and very varied. Otago is divided into many districts by mountain ranges. In some of them the climate is severe in wintertime, and yaks that are used to severe winters would be of much advantage there. There are evidently cycles of seasons. • I lived in Wanaka from the beginning till 1908. Many summers -were very dry, but I remember one summer when there -was a heavy downpour of rain two or three times a week, and the crops ripened with difficulty. There were invariably dry parching winds. In the early days there was a lot of short scrubby ti-treo in Pembroke in front of the Wanaka Hotel. This was only two or three feet high for the first 40 years of settlement. Then it began to look a bit healthier, and when I revisited the.Wanaka after 15 years’ absence, I noticed that it was upwards of nine or ten feet high. The fine patch of native scrub at Mount Iron had flourished at the same rate, and was decidedly a very attractive site. Many waste places were covered with young manuka trees, which would in the future yield a fine supply of fuel. It is to be regretted that much of the vegetation, including thousands of young manuka trees, were burned off Mount Iron, which would have made it a thing of beauty, instead of a dry and barren waste. We used -to have occasional arctic days in summertime. I remember one November, while working the disc harrows, it was necessary to wear a big topcoat and an extra pair of trousers. At a later date, early in March, while driving a binder, it raged a howling storm all day, and the same extra clothing was required. When I came home to dinner there were five big pullets nearly unconscious with the cold, one quite off; but they soon recovered when put in shelter. Then the snowstorm and heavy frost of June 3, 1903, were "very severe. The poultry’s combs and toes were frozen off on the roosts. The gum trees were killed. Cattle were frozen to death in Wakatipu. The springtimes were always cold and bleak. It is a subpect for much congratulation that there has been this great improvement in the climate during recent years, which has made the small grazing runs so profitable and produced so much wealth in the country. After leaving Wanaka I was at Table Hill near Milton for seven yehrs, and it was quite a different climate there. There was considerably more rain. The crops were slightly brown before they were ripe. The frost never stopped the ploughing. There would be ice the thickness of a penny on vessels of water for three nights, and then there ■would be a thaw and rain. In Central Otago there would be very heavy frosts for six weeks at a time, entirely preventing ploughing. The heavy rains would spoil rabbit poison perhaps the day after it was laid, a fact which many of our legislators are unaware of when they condemn trapping as tending to farm rabbits.- We always had fine sports and a picnic on Boxing Day, and we invariably had to wear topcoats. Then 1 was in Oamaru over ten years, and the frosts were very mild there, but the climate was too cold to grow tomatoes, even under the best conditions. I was in Nelson and neighbourhood during a recent month of March, and it was evident that it was not as sunny as Spain, as sometimes stated, with its 3000 hours of sunshine per annum, for there were often very cloudy days after showers of rain. There was no question that it was a fine climate all the same, when we saw the fine hop gardens and good apple orchards growing on yellow clay, and I saw a fine olive tree ten feet high, but it had no fruit There used to be very fine cherry trees, but the saw fly larvae spoilt them all. There are very hard frosts in I.awrence, dishes of water being sometimes frozen nearly solid, and ice on the milk. The summers, however, are warm, and I am told that tomatoes will ripen here. I intend to give them a trial. The spring here is a bit late.' No gardening can be done yet, while in Oamaru they have potatoes and peas out of the ground. During the hot weather anywhere, if you sit in the shade of trees you are soon shivering. If you are cycling in the country' you are sure to encounter head winds. In recent years I cycled to Georgetown, then through Dansy’s Pass to Wedderburn, and had a head wind the whole day, and tffe last four miles it was a gale. Once I had .to walk nearly the whole way from Alexandra to Wanaka, 58 miles, and sometimes it was difficult to pedal down hill. Shelter belts of trees are urgently required in hosts of places in this country. RICHARD NORMAN (Lawrence). You have evidently travelled a good deal over Otago and Southland, Richard Norman, and possess a wide experience of changing climate. ,The severe winters you speak of must have' been terribly cruel for live stock. —Elaine. * * * VIII.—A PAGEANT OF DAYS. Dear Elaine.—Hail seasons! We greet you as four different persons, but really you are Nature decked in different guise so that we may never weary of you. You are ever new, and from you we read the meaning of life and find joy to live this life to the full. In our span .you all play your part.\ In childhood, spring, you are with us in the pride of our womanhood and manhood; summer you are glowing within us and autumn, when at last we are growing wise, you are at our side. Then, as the sap runs slowly, so do our pulses slacken. Winter, you hold us.fast. Now to greet you in your turn, as through the year you move in a pageant of colour which goes to make a beautiful symphony. Spring? To breathe your very name is an inspiration! Yet what is that time of sadness in your ethereal beauty? We cannot define it—it is not of this earth. You jog our memories, fill us with ecstasy, shower on us such beauty that we are arousecT as it were from a deep slumber to pulsing, joyous life. You bring us very near to God; His infinite love and care you reveal in all the young new-born things. We catch a glimpse of heaven itself in the miracle of earth reclad. We knew you were coming ; we were waiting for you, breathless, and when you came it was as though a thousand bells were set a-ringing giving us back our youth. We are young again ; the world is ours. Let us have our fill of beauty, love, and laughter. You are but a messenger with a prophecy of fuller days to come. Good-bye, spring, we shan’t forget you. Hail, summer, you are wise and kind, being neither too sweet nor too sad. We are lulled by your opulence, drowsed by the murmuring of your bees. Yet before you depart,'let ns delight in your full days. Like your numerous bees, let us drain your sweetness to the core. You are beautiful in the attainment of your full stature. Let us feel while you are with us that life Is good, for , " Our years are like the shadows on sunny hills that lie. • ■ ...... Or grasses in the meadows that blossom but to die.” .

Summer, you are gone. Gone are your roses, green leaves, murmuring bees, and twittering -.rds. But stay! Who is this we greet? Oh, mellow, golden autumn, we need you. We drank deeply of summer’s Joys, but not till you came did we understand what joy was. Like spring, you carry a note of pain. You make us remember a thousand inarticulate things. With your rich harvests you remind us of drear days ahead. Let us load our granaries while we may, that winter’s coming may find us with a' rich store. Spring brought us a revelation of God’s beauty; you reveal to us His loving care in giving man this rich reward for his labours. Through you we kneel to God in thanksgiving. You riot in colour, the whole countryside is bathed in it, even to the very puddles on the road. You are rampant. We are growing old and frail, leave us to sleep; toss from us the last shreds of our youth ; let us live with memory now. Welcome, winter! Hold us in your firm grip. We remember spring; her memory still is sweet. Summer, her memory is glowing still. Autumn's treasure house is full, and we reap its rich store. In you we see new beauty beyond all our dreams. But our eyes are open to all beauty now, and its revelation in you brings a calm beyond compare. You set a myriad stars aglow in a frosty sky. A slim, pale moon and a single star shine out in the frosty twilight. We are breathless. Every day you strike a new note of beauty. What is that eternal radiance that shines afar off? ”„ c ? mlle in our sleep. Spring, you have fulfilled your prophecy! CARMENCITA (Canterbury). A ou present a pageant of the seasons, Garmencita, and show them real before us. Ji . 1 , ■■ you ® ust have revelled in writing tins letter. lour descriptions are the expression of a deep appreciation of the beauties of the year, and you bring all the colour of the seasons into your lines — Elaine. * * _* Ix - —THE JOYS OF MIDDLE SPRING. Dear Elaine,—Of tRe four seasons of the year .1 like middle spring best. After winter s cold, short days the warm sunnv days of spring are most welcome, especially when we know that each to-morrow will be a few minutes longer than to-day. When the lovely spring flowers begin to appear they make me feel young again. The smell of violets after dull winter brightens everything up so; and, truly, Canterbury is the home of the violets. I have never seen or heard of such lovely ones anywhere else in kew Zealand. There are masses and masses of beautiful, long-stemmed, big violets and one can pick and pick them for months and still there are always more. Violet Day in Christchurch is an eye-opener to many visitors Then, of course, with the warmer t?’ 3 bare trees begin to lool < green, the children point out a green willow here and there until they see that the whole countryside is a mass of foliage. Of course ,J OV o t 0 se< L. old summer returning, but not the Summer Time Bill, I hope. Summer to children is just glorious. It makes us all wish that we were children again. When I was a child how I used to look forward to the long summer holidays. Lovely long happy, days, with never a care, and a big forest aglow with most beautiful flowers! But now summer days are very busy ones on a farm, and somehow they don’t seem so long as they used to. Of course, all the busy team work Is over by then ; it is really not so busy a time for the men as springtime. But it lacks the happy spring life young lambs bleating, calves roaring, and all the noise of spring. Town dwellers often think that the country is quiet, but they should go on to a dairy farm in spring, and they would be surprised at the noise of animal life. Autumn comes in with a great bustle. Reapers and binders can be heard everywhere from daylight until dark, for harvest is then in full swing. Then so much depends on the weather. Farmers have many thrills during autumn. Crops do. not always come up to expectations, or perhaps they turn out better than was expected, but everyone feels relieved when he can say that the harvest is all safely in before the weather breaks. It is nice, too, to receive the returns from a year of hard labour, and to see the fruit ripening on the trees, which are fast losing their leaves again. We like to watch each day for our neighbours’ homesteads, which have been hidden from view by the willows and tall poplars all summer. And then dull winter comes along again. There is not much joy in winter, with the short days, for mothers of little children, for they are inside all evening, but we can put them to bed early and then enjoy the long evenings by a big log fire, or go to bed earlier and so have some needed rest. Here we do not have much wet weather before the shortest day. After that we say the rain is not so bad now, as the days are growing longer, and spring will soon be here. JOAN ROWAN (North Canterbury). I am afraid I had forgotten the mother's point of view when I rejoiced with W. Jewl about her liking winter, Joan Rowan. It was the visible beauty of the season I was remembering, not the discomforts which it beings to farm-dwellers. I have seen your Canterbury violets. They are wonderful flowers, so sweet and yet so sturdy. No wonder you love them. I liked what you said about the delightful noisiness of middle spring.—Elaine. * * * X.—FOUR SONGS. Dear Elaine, —The seasons—spring, summer, autumn, winter—are, to my mind, four songs. Apart from human poetical endeavours set to music, they possess their own chants and songs, which are vigorously ren-v dered by their own particular choirs; and, indeed, these choirs of Nature’s are much greater than volumes of human voices. In the first place, let us consider spring, wuich is the most wonderful season of all. Spring’s approach is heralded by the thrush, who joyfully adds; “ We knew it, we knew it ” to his lay when evidences of spring are seen and felt by the warmer sunshine and the tinge of green on the brown earth. The lark resumes his morning welcome to the sun, and the sparrows chatter on the eaves ; and what is more delightful than a babel of bird voices to greet our awakening and charm our retiring?. The very earth seems to be sin~ing with gladness, and as the wind practise 4 Is new spring song it trembles the golaen daffodils, gentle primroses, and the intelligent-faced pansies, and even enters the secrecy of the violets’ shy solitude. I do not love the wind when it is in a boisterous mood, shrieking a rough and vulgar tune, and by the way the flowers shake their heads they also resent its gushing manners. With longer and warmer days summer reigns in all her glory What a galaxy of colour she chooses for her decorative scheme! But, see how the hues are chosen in the most perfect taste! The hedgerows are a mass of white and gold, with the pure bloom of the hawthorn mingled with the golden blossoms of broom and gorse. Summer has a larger choir than has spring. The linnet, blackbird, starling, grey warbler, and goldfinch find their voices then, and, while the cricket chirps from the tussocks in the brilliant sunshine the bee tunes in with his bassoon. Towards the end of summer the hedgerows lose their glory for seed time has come, and, as we pass, the broom sentinels fire their small popguns as a salutation. Autumn makes itself known in the wind, which sings to the gold and russettinted leaves, and bears them away with one great cadenza. Winter is ushered in with the patter of raindrops and the murmur of snowflakes. Have you listened to a stream after a snowfall and heard how loudly It sings its way over its stony bed, and how the sound carries on the clear air? The haunting beauty of a winter’s night can rival the. romanticism of'' a summer’s evening. When the moon climbs over the mountains the world becomes magical in pale blue and silver, and the

white diamond-spangled gown of the earth. And in tho moming—- ” From outer scenes my gaze is hid’; Here is no canvas vain ; Jack Frost employs economy, And 'brolders on the pane.” Of the piercing blasts of winter, some of us may agree to sing with Shakespeare—- “ Blow, blow, thou winter wind; Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude.” Or— • " Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot." MONTROSE LASSIE (Otago). Yours is an original piece of thinking, Montrose Lassie. You must love music when your ear is so attuned to the different songs of the seasons, and how much joy you must derive from life with your sensitive gift. I like the way you describe things, especially " the intelligent-faced pansies,” and the wind’s " gushing manner.” As for the bee “ tuning in with his bassoon ” — that is a charming conceit.—Elaine. *-i * * XI.—THE GIRLHOOD OF THE YEAR. Dear Elaine,—l wonder if this meeting will show which is the favourite season? I don’t think it will be winter, though even it has much in its favour. I liked it better as a child when one skated over the frozen ponds, and slid down snowy slopes on a small sledge. Spring, Tennyson tells us, is the girlhood of the year. I believe I love it best, but it needs to be lived in the country to see all its phases—-the young green of fields and woods, and all its yellow blossoming flowers, not the least noticeable of which is the gorse. How the garden calls at this time of the year. Cooking and mending should drop out of the front ranks when gardening time comes round. Instead, we acquire an appetite from turning up the soil that meals become a necessity. A spring evening is the loveliest of all spring's delights. The air is scented with violets. Cupid goes a-wooi.ig, and a benediction seems to rest over everything. The lambs run their dear little races, and make those funny little jumps as if they bounced off the ground witty no effort of their own. It is left to the birds to herald in a spring morning. Summer brings us the roses, hot tiring days, jam making, and holidays. It’s a sort of medley march, and a busy one. Autumn is another wonderful season, but again one must go to the country to see it at its best. Harvest crowns the year. Autumn gives the awards to spring and summer workers, and sets- in a glory of colour into the resting time called winter. FAY (Otago). .Another lover of spring. Fay. And I do not blame you when I know that you have seen spring in the country. There the transition from winter is so marked that one’s senses are continually delighted, and everything seems perfect. And the dear lambs ! Thank you for your personal letter/ It both surprised and excited me.—Elaine. * * * XII.—ALL PLEASANT. Dear Elaine, —I think I shall start with spring, as a great many things come to life or have their beginning then. It is, in my opinion, the beginning of the year. Young lambs, calves, chicks, ducklings, and goslings are all part and parcel of spring, so that they derive benefit from the growing year to develop. Seedlings, bulbs, etc., also hear or feel the call of spring ’way down in their dark winter home, and shoot up into life and beauty, and, before one realises, the gardens are glowing with colours, yellow prominent—the pure gold of Nature. The thrushes sing riotously In the evenings, fair harbingers of spring. Under the strengthening sun the mud gradually dries up (happy event), fires appear on the distant hills, burning at times for days and nights on end. I love- the springtime, though it Is such a busy season for country folk. We do no’t really have time adequately to admire and appreciate its beauty. I found a poem beginning with this verse in an old book. J had written it early in my 'teens. Thoughts of the scurry of life in spring must even then have had me in their grip, but the beautiful, too, had a place:— “ Spring has returned, with its birds and its flowers, Its breezy, cool winds and its beautiful show’ers ; Biit to me it is bringing no moments for Play, For at cleaning my house I’ve to work all the day.” That hateful spring upheaval ! But—the charming clean house! It is a lovely thought that after the long dark winter of life a spring is promised us. Winter reigns for a time, but all nature will rise glorious from its tomb in the gladsome springtime. Spring brings renewed hope to many a desponding heart. After spring comes the gay summer, a continuation, only maturer, of its younger sister. Summer develops what spring begins. With more sunshine and warmth she wraps the world about, tenderly caring for it as a mother her children. How the young, both animal and plant life, expand under the genial care of Mother Summer ! And we humans also have a share in the gladsome seasons. Oh, yes, we look with approval on the lengthening days, the warm sun, and the health-giving showers. Apart from their beauty, we are dependent on them for our living, for the grass, the crops of all kinds, and we are duly thankful. We have outings in between times to the beach and for picnics (though the cows are still waiting for us if we’re late) —times which we recall with pleasure during the long winter evenings. Autumn • following summer is quite imperceptible for a time when we gather the harvest which the summer has helped to ripen. The golden grain waves in the mellow-scented breezes, and we see and approve. Employment is not lacking, for then is the time our store cupboard must be replenished. We must seize the opportunity or it passes us by, and we do not have another chance for a year. Like the bee, we lay, up store for winter. The leaves—yellow, bronze, brown—are falling, making the countryside so colourful. Autumn is as rich in colour as in fruitasre—note the glorious chrysanthemums. Where else in all the flowers do we find such richness of colour?’ Geraniums still bloom on till the .frosts colour their leaves and nip their bright flowers. The year is dying. Goodbye, autumn, you've been ■ lovely, heavy laden, burdened with fruits, but we cannot keep you. Winter is upon us. Winter is to us in the country a space when we rest awhile from our labours and gather strength for the coming spring. I have always liked the winter for that reason. One has time to sew, mend, and, in short, to catch up. It’s good at times to review the past a bit, see where we’ve erred, and make fresh beginnings. In the long winter evenings we have more time for social intercourse, which is ofttimes denied in the busy seasons. It is winter, frost, rain, snow (gladsome snow for kiddies), snowballing, snow men, with no thought of the after slu£h, and we have glorious log fires, music, books, papers, games, and yes, lots of mud. But of course we have the hope of spring coming, and even mud disappears before her gracious presence. Greetings to all and Elaine. TUS.SOCK (Otago). How much more important the seasons seem to be to you who dwell in the country than to us who are in town, Tussock. Your work is done according to the month of the year, while we are doing pretty well the same thing whether it be spring, summer, autumn, or winter." Your girlhood poem amused me immensely. How well I remember that hopeless feeling connected with 'spring-cleaning. Thank you very much for your private letter. You were not a bit too late.—Elaine.

XIII.—THE MONTH OF SUNSHINE. Dear Elaine, —The seasons are all beauti. ful, although they have drawbacks as well as compensations. There is summer, th< time of great heat (its drawback), but then we have our compensations—bathing, which is a delightful method of cooling oneself. We also have-a change of diet, fruit and vegetable salads, ice creams, etc. There is the enjoyment of going about lightly clad in cool garments. Our gardens are bright with flowers, and our large trees are generous in the amount of shade they offer us. The days are long, and altogether summertime is the time of sunshine in our hearts, our homes, and everywhere. Yes, I like -summer very much, and I also like autumn. In autumn how the green leaves turning to gold appeal to us! Sometimes the lawns and gardens are carpeted with leaves of great beauty. Gone is the shade from our trees, but we do not mind, because the heat has gone also. The weather is much cooler, almost cold at times, and the days grow shorter. If you are out at night you will notice the smoke from chimneys rising higher and higher, letting us know that the fires are required again on account of the cold snaps. The beauties of autumn are beyond the description of my pen. I like autumn, and I also like winter. Most people dread winter, but winter has its compensations. If we have a severe frost, the thaw will surely follow. How beautifully Jack Frost paints our windows, our lawns, and our shrubs. Then the sun takes a hand in making his work a thing of still greater beauty. It sends forth its rays, and behold everything is glittering like living emeralds. Mostly when we have a severe frost we have a clear blue sky and bright sunshine. Even when Mother Goose sends the feathers down ~’. e have a Kood fall of snow, we .like it The young folk Indulge in a game of

Bnowballing or make a snow man; their eiders stay indoors and sit closer and closer to the fire. How beautiful, too, is the snow! Of course ft is cold, and if we venture out Wo don our warmest clothing, while if we stay at home ■we indulge in good fires. Especially at night do' we enjoy the fires, and like the old furnace man who sheltered little Nell and her grandfather from the storm, we see pictures in the embers. Sometimes we watch the little church burning in the soot and the congregation running in every direction. By the fireside the tired folk can enjoy a book, wireless, and many other things. The more energetic can knit or do needle or other work. Winter is beautiful, and so is spring. I really think I like spring best of all the seasons—spring, when we can go out into our gardens and dig, weed, and prepare our ground for our different seeds. The bulbs are mostly up, and here and there we find a bloom, to be followed soon by more' and more blooms. Snowflakes and violets, what a thrill we receive at the first sight of their sweet little faces! Oh, the joy of watching the seeds we plant begin to shoot and then grow and grow till we have our lovely lot of flowers. Not only the flowers, but the vegetables give us great delight as we watch them flourish. My garden of New Zealand plants is beautiful at any time, but by far the most beautiful in the springtime. A large white clematis has entwined itself about the branches of a stately beech. On the rockeries the mountain lilies and other beautiful plants bloom. The butterflies, the Red Admiral and the Painted Lady, fly from plant to plant. They are well worth watching. There are the birds also to watch, the little sweethearts building their homes, the joyous twitterings to be heard as they make their snug little nests. The days are longer, and we stay out of doors as long as possible, busy and happy the whole day. Our hearts are singing like the birds, “ The spring has come, the spring has come.” Oh, I dearly Jove the spring, and the summer soon will follow. BRYN AFON (Canterbury). Radiant, light-hearted spring! How she makes us love her, even thougli we are fond of her sisters, too, Bryn Afon ! You worship sunshine, for you look to summer as the ideal season, and that is the time of most sunshine. I am so interested to hear about your New Zealand garden. Have you really mountain lilies growing, those beautiful flowers with the great chalice-like leaves? And clematis twining round a beech tree I What a lovely garden it must be.—Elaine. * * < XIV.—NATURE’S BEAUTIES. Dear Elaine, —From my window I look down upon a garden gay with the bluest of hyacinths and violets, yellow daffodils nodding to yellower cowslips, bold anemones queening it over more modest primroses, while a blossom laden daphne tree gives | to the soft breeze a perfumed message to I broadcast whither it will the news that 1 Mother Earth has wakened from her long winter sleep and is bestirring herself. Every- | where are signs of the new life springing into being. The orchards with their beautiful, blossom-laden fruit trees, the soft green of the willows, the tiny lambs frisking about the fields, all proclaim that spring is here. There is a joyous bustle about spring that is very appealing. It puts new life into one, and instead of feeling about a 100, as one often does on the raw, cold days of winter, the years seem to fall away, leaving one feeling about 15 or thereabouts. There is much that is very lovely about spring, not the least the new spring frocks and hats now showing in the drapers’ windows. Winter is the season I find least lovely. To me it always seems a period of marking time until the warm weather comes again. I dislike intensely the cold, frosty mornings, when one’s chilbains itch, and the cold winds are responsible for chapped lips and hands. When the rain pours down day after day in dreary monotony, and the floods come and drown the poor animals on the farm lands; when there is much unemployment and poverty; when the bitter weather seeks out and takes toll of the sickly and the aged among us : then I think the winter is a .cruel time, with very little that is lovely to recommend it. Of course, it is nice to be seated at a cheery fire, or tucked in a warm bed listening to the howling of the gale or the rain pouring down on a stormy winter's night. Also, it one is so lucky as to be the possessor of some good furs, there is some consolation in having the opportunity of wearing them in the winter, but for my part I wouldn't much mind being a dormouse for that season. Summer I think the loveliest of all the seasons. I glory In the long, hot days, the longer and hotter the lovelier to me. The shimmering heat, the hazy blue hills, the heavy, smoky smell of the bush fires, the wind rippling over the brown, burnt grass, the hot breathless nights, and the wonderful sunsets and dawns are all intoxlcatingly beautiful to me. The orchards now full of ripening fruit, the golden grain and the harvesting bringing rich reward to the farmer for his labour—summqr, a time of peace and plenty, of industry and reward. Again, the swimming, the picnics, and the outdoor life of summer are so healthy and enjoyable that I "think most people must find the summer altogether- lovely. Last comes autumn, but not by any means the least lovely. Autumn, with all its glory of ■ red, brown, yellow and gold, is indeed a lovely season. Here in Hawke’s Bay it is a very beautiful time, for then the poplar . trees, which grow profusely all over the countryside, take on their yellow and gold tints, giving on every hand an almost indescribable loveliness to the landscape. To those who find the heat of summer too intense, the more tempered atmosphere of autumn must come as a welcome relief, but to me autumn, with all its beauty, brings’ regret with the thought of the passing *of the summertime I love. After all, there is beauty and joy to some one of us in every season. ’ MYRA KAYE (Hawke’s Bay). Have you ever tried to understand winter a little better, Myra Kaye? I know that it is cold, cruel, and comfortless, but it has virtues, too. Next time you are oppressed by a bitter wind, wrap yourself up warmly and go out to challenge it. Unless I am greatly mistaken, you will come back thrilled and glowing, and, conscious of the new vitality leaping in your veins, will conceive an entirely different opinion of the season. Truly, as you say, there is beauty and joy to some of us in every season.—Elaine.

Sixth Meeting.—October: ” What Was (or is) the Most Ideal Time to Live in, and Why.'’ The imaginations of the members can have full play here. This is a subject of wide dimensions. Last date for sending -ju contributions, October 8. RULES OF COSY CORNER CLUB. I. Each new member on joining must choose a pen-name, and furnish his or her own name and address, which will ba regarded as confidential. 11. Contributions must be legibly written in dark ink or clearly typed, only one side of the paper to be used. 111. Length limit of all contributions, GOO words.

A slight mishap when at the Cook Islands befell the Union Company's steamer Waipahi, which arrived at Auckland the other afternoon (states the Herald). While the vessel was loading fruit at Atiu Island the stem touched a projecting portion of the coral reef, but the engines were put astern and the vessel very quickly backed clear. The forepart of the hull was examined by a harbour board diver after the vessel berthed at Prince’s wharf yesterday. It was found that except for some paint scratched off near the fore foot, no damage had been done.