Some great poet or philosopher once said that " he who goes to nature for comfort must go to her empty handed " , and I think he was right.

It was ordained that our earthly pilgrammage should be a struggle, and life would be a tame affair if everything went smoothly.

A liar did ought to have a good memory.

The luxuries of the few were becoming necessities of the many.

Pale purple as the bloom om a ripe plum, veined with the gold of late flowering gorse, set with small slender birches,just turning yellow,with red-berried rowans and thicket of bracken, the heath lay steeped in sunshine.

It is the fashion to talk of our changing climate and bewail the hot summers and hard winters of tradition, but how seldom we pause to marvel at the remarkable constancy of the weather from year to year.

Now, with the glamour of the past upon them we are inclined to look back on old world festivities with regret and consider present day dances as a poor substitute for the old. From an artistic point of view, they maybe, but in individual freedom and independence of spirit they mark a stage upward.