Page 19 - English Reader - 7

July; in a year of drought the
leaves may change before

their time; it is only with the
first celery that summer is

over.

I knew all along that it would

not last. Even in April I was
saying that winter would

soon be here. Yet somehow it
had begun to seem possible

lately that a miracle might
happen, that summer might

drift on and on through the
months—a final upheaval to

crown a wonderful year. The
celery settled that. Last night with the celery autumn came into its own.

There is a crispness about celery that is of the essence of October. It is as
fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of heat. It crackles pleasantly

in the mouth. Moreover it is excellent, I am told, for the complexion.
One is always hearing of things which are good for the complexion, but

there is no doubt that celery stands high on the list. After the burns and
freckles of summer one is in need of something. How good that celery

should be there at one’s elbow.

A week ago—(“A little more cheese, waiter”)—a week ago I grieved for

the dying summer. I wondered how I could possibly bear the waiting—
the eight long months till May. In vain to comfort myself with the thought

that I could get through more work in the winter undistracted by thoughts
of cricket grounds and country houses. In vain, equally, to tell myself that

Dolphin English Reader Book 7 19