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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2058a29 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51477 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51477) diff --git a/old/51477-0.txt b/old/51477-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 23f9a0f..0000000 --- a/old/51477-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5275 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Garden Diary, by Emily Lawless - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Garden Diary - September 1899--September 1900 - -Author: Emily Lawless - -Release Date: March 16, 2016 [EBook #51477] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GARDEN DIARY *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - - A GARDEN DIARY - - - - - A GARDEN DIARY - SEPTEMBER 1899--SEPTEMBER 1900 - - BY - EMILY LAWLESS - - METHUEN & CO. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - 1901 - - TO THE GARDEN’S CHIEF OWNER, - AND THE GARDENER’S FRIEND - - A few leaves from this Diary (or something very similar), - have already appeared in _The Garden_ and _The Pilot_. - - - - -A GARDEN DIARY - - - - -SEPTEMBER 1, 1899 - - -“A wanderer is man from his birth,” and some of us who have done -comparatively little wandering in our own persons, have done our full -share of those less palpable divagations which may be performed within a -very small compass of the earth’s surface, nay even within the radius of -a single garden chair. - -The gipsy dies hard in many people, and the dreams which have fluttered -round our youthful fancy flutter round it still, though youth may have -become a memory, and the chances of any serious explorations be reduced -to a scarce perceptible minimum. To be a traveller in the real and -heroic sense is a very great and a very stirring ambition. To have the -hope of wandering far and fruitfully; of bringing home the results of -those wanderings; such a hope and such an aspiration is one of the -biggest things that can be set before a youthful ambition. With a -disregard of probabilities, which, looking back, I can only characterise -as magnificent, such an ambition had I, in early days, set before -myself. To be a traveller on the great scale; a visitor of remote -solitudes, and practically untrodden shores; a discoverer of undescribed -forms; a rifler of Nature’s still unrifled treasure-houses--such was the -hope, and such the happy dream. The words “Unknown to science” floated -in those days before my youthful fancy, and were to it a shibboleth, as -other and more obviously stimulating words have been to other youthful -brains. Fate has not willed that any such resounding lot should be mine, -nor was it, to tell the truth, particularly likely that it should so -will it. To few of our race has it been given to add, by even a little, -to the knowledge of that race, and I am not aware that any portion of my -own equipment had particularly marked me out for this rôle that I had so -confidently assigned to myself. - -Luckily we learn to grow down gracefully, as the sedums and the -pennyworts do. A lot that at ten years old seems unendurably pitiful in -its narrowness, at five times that mature age comes to be regarded as -quite a becoming lot, leaving room for plenty of easy self-respect, and -even for a spurt or two of the purest and most invigorating vanity. As -that down-growing process advances we assure ourselves, more and more -confidently, that all the really important, the vital part of such -explorations belongs to us, at least as much as to the explorers -themselves. If we have not thridded Amazonian forests in our own persons -with Mr. Bates, or Nicaraguan jungles with Mr. Belt, we know all that -those indefatigable travellers have seen, done, discovered, experienced, -and only need to take down their books from the shelf to be in the thick -of those experiences once more. - -So too, with the rest--the botanists, zoologists, -paleontologists--greater, as well as less great. With the prince of them -all one starts once more upon that immortal _Voyage of the Beagle_, -which, besides circumnavigating the world, enables one to accumulate -those prodigious stores of observation, destined by-and-by to make one’s -own name famous to the world’s end, and to endow that world itself with -one or two practically new departments. With Professor Wallace, one -spends years in the Malay Archipelago, till the geography of even the -obscurer members of that bewildering group becomes rather more familiar -than that of the next parish. With Collingwood one pores over the -rock-pools of Chinese seas, which never before reflected human face, or -at most that of some shore-haunting Mongolian, uninterested in zoology. -With the savants of the _Challenger_ one sets forth, with all the pomp -of subsidised science, upon a three years’ cruise, in search of -Globigerinæ, of blind Decapoda, of Coccospheres, of Rhabdospheres, and -other long-titled occupants of abyssmal depths. And if one has been -tempted to now and then share the dismay felt by the youthful -lieutenant, upon being shown that single teaspoonful of grey slop, as -the result of nights of toil, which kept the whole crew of Her Majesty’s -ship from their bunks, well, one reflected that the wise men probably -knew what they were about, and that the teaspoonful in question could -hardly be an ordinary teaspoonful. Later, hand in hand one has journeyed -with other travellers, some biological, others merely exploratory, or -geographical. With Stanley groped for weeks in African forests, and been -shot at by unpleasant little beasts with hands. With Miss North -travelled far, yet unweariedly, in search of unknown flowering trees, -and other forms of vegetation. With Nansen, until one grew to feel -brittle as any icicle, and occasionally almost as callous as one. With -Mrs. Bishop, across many seas, and scenes; and last of all with Miss -Kingsley, the only one of these illustrious travellers in whose company -I have always felt entirely secure, sure that no dangerous animal--lion, -rattlesnake, cobra, shiny tattooed warrior, German trader, or the -like--would dare molest me while under her ægis.[A] - - [A] Written in September, 1899. Alas! - -Yes, I have been a great explorer. The earth, and its multifarious -contents has lain below my feet, as the Pacific was believed by Keats to -have lain below those of Cortez, and if now and then I have been -troubled by a passing doubt, a “wild surmise” as to whether all these -places really have been seen by my own eyes, I have made haste to put -that misgiving aside, as His Majesty King George the Fourth was no doubt -in the habit of doing, whenever similar misgivings as to the heroic part -played by himself at the Battle of Waterloo crossed the royal mind. - -To have been so far, and to have seen so much is good, but to have -retained a lowly spirit with it all is even better. To be able, with -Alphonse Karr, to set forth on the five hundred and first tour round -one’s garden, brimming with expectation, and all the certainty of new -discovery. To be as thrilled over the alternations between the nut-tree -walk in winter, and the alpine heights in summer, as ever the family of -the Vicar were over those between the blue parlour and the brown. These -are the things that really carry a traveller comfortably forward in an -easy jog-trot towards his predestined bourne. And if there happen to be -a pair of such travellers, a pair of such explorers, and if each of them -carries his or her own wallet, or knapsack, and if those two travellers -part often, yet often come together again, then what an opening up of -budgets takes place! What a retailing of adventures; what a comparison -of discoveries; what a vastly extended sense of the round world, and of -all the fulness thereof! That there are really great journeys to be -performed, great events in life, and great adventures to be met with, I -am quite willing to concede; also that there are very small journeyings, -very small events, and very small adventures. But the odd thing is that -no one seems ever able to decide for one finally and authoritatively -which is which! - - - - -SEPTEMBER 4, 1899 - - -It has been wet, and is now fine again, consequently our view of the -downs exhibits those tones of vinous purple, shading into indigo, that -in moments of patriotic expansion I am apt to call Irish. I do not think -it is quite friendly of our neighbours, especially those who live upon -the ridge above our heads, to smile so significantly whenever that word -“view” happens to slip out, as it did just now, in alluding to our new -possession, and its prospects. For what, after all, is a view? The -question seems to suggest a reference to the dictionary, and here is -Webster, ponderous in brown calf. “View. 1st. Act of seeing, or -beholding; sight; survey; examination by the eye. 2nd. That which is -looked towards, or kept in sight; an appearance; a show.” Well, have we -not something to look towards, to keep in sight, some appearance, some -show? For that matter, so, it may be urged, has the habitant of the “two -pair back,” or the rustic whose prospect is limited to a survey of his -or her neighbours’ under garments,--those “short and simple flannels of -the poor” hung to dry in silhouette against a back fence. The truth is -it is not at all desirable to be so haughty. I will not go so far as to -say that it is unchristian, but it is certainly unbecoming, for are we -not all fellow-creatures? What if you _can_ command seven counties from -your windows? What if on one particular morning--to me incredible--you -did see three ships cross Shoreham gap? What if from your garden chair -you can be regaled by a fantasia of changing lights and shadows? be -lapped into peace upon summer afternoons, or stirred by the drama of -battle clouds, flung into blackness by a storm? Well, if you can, be -glad of it, but for pity’s sake abstain from bragging! “Gi’ God thanks, -and say no more o’ it.” Believe me it is not even commonly lucky to be -so proud, and I speak with some little authority upon that subject. - -For as regards this matter of views, I too have been haughty to the -point of insupportableness. I too have believed that the possession of -wide prospects argued some peculiar, some ineffable superiority in -myself. There was a time when nothing short of an entire ocean, none of -your petty babbling channels, but the whole thundering Atlantic, -sufficed for my ambition. In those days only upon the largest -combination of sea, sky, mountain; sea-scape, land-scape, cloud-scape, -did it seem possible adequately to exist. As for a mere rustic -landscape, as for a confined one, as for a humdrum English one, above -all as for a landscape within fifty miles of London, why the mention of -such things merely moved my commiseration! Those were the days when to -be called upon to leave what is sometimes uncivilly called the ruder -island, and to repair, even temporarily, to the more prosperous one, -seemed a fall and a degradation hardly to be measured by words. When the -contraction of the horizon seemed like a contraction of all life, and of -all that made life worth having. When the remembrance that one would -have to wake in the morning with no dim blue line to greet one, -appeared, to a patriotic, a self-respecting being, to be a wrong and an -indignity hardly to be endured without revolt. - -Such an attitude is, I now hold, unbecoming in mere mortals, and, like -other vaulting ambitions, is apt to precede a fall. The man who starts -in life determined to be either Cæsar, or nothing, frequently fails to -become Cæsar, whereas with regard to the other alternative, the gods are -quite capable of taking him at his word. Happily, life is for most of us -a liberal education, and the narrowing of the horizon comes to be -endured with a philosophy born of other, and more serious deprivations. -It may even be open to question whether any man or woman ever yet was -made the better by the possession of a noble view? - -That he or she ought to have been made so is quite true, but as a matter -of fact, have they? We are moulded out of exceedingly stubborn stuff, -and are not often ennobled, I suspect, by the landscapes that surround -us, any more than we are by the pursuits we follow, or the names that we -carry about with us. Furthermore the essentials of all landscape show a -considerable similarity. Much the same sort of clouds and sunshine, much -the same sort of nights and days, much the same sort of summers and -winters, visit alike the tamest and the wildest of them. Even the more -dramatic and exciting fluctuations--snow, and hail, storm, and -lightning--exhibit a greater impartiality than might have been expected. -The gale that has just unroofed your lordly tower, has equally swept the -tiles off our humble porch; in the same way that moralists are fond of -assuring us that sickness and sorrow, loss and pain, old age and death, -fall equally upon the homes of beggars and of kings. - -Never having belonged to the last of these classes, I cannot take it -upon me to answer for the discomforts that pertain to it. With regard to -the other, though I have often seen myself figuring, or upon the point -of figuring, amongst its sad and tattered ranks, the impression has -never been a particularly agreeable one, and I prefer, therefore, not to -dwell upon it. It was moreover the subject of landscapes, I think, not -of either kings or beggars, that was under discussion? But that is the -sort of thing that is always happening! Of all the unsatisfactory stock -to keep, ideas are in my experience the most unsatisfactory; equally -whether they are winged, or entirely wingless ones. As for a -diary--which, to be of the slightest use, ought to act as a kind of -crow-boy, or goose-girl, to them, and keep them in order--on the -contrary it seems merely to follow their waddlings and gyrations with -the most foolish, and unnecessary submissiveness. The result is that one -starts intending to fill a page with one subject, and before one has got -very far one discovers that in reality one is filling it up with quite -another! - - - - -SEPTEMBER 6, 1899. - - -We often say to one another that it is impossible that we can have been -only two years and a half in possession here, so greatly has the scene -changed in that time. Those two and a half years have done the work of -many, or so it appears to us in our innocent vanity. Where I am now -sitting three years ago stacks of raw planking rose out of the trampled -briers and bluebells. The house stood roofed, but the inside was -horrible. The reign of the Hammerer had spread to every creature with -ears. Even in my own little nursery-garden--chosen in the first instance -as the most remote spot--the sound of it went far to extinguish the -nightingales. Now quietude and a sense of comparative settlement has -stolen over the scene. Indoors, when the windows are open, the birds -have it all their own way. Outdoors there is still much to be done, much -to be harmonised and regulated, but the first sense of newness and -desecration has, I think, wholly passed away. This then seems to be an -appropriate moment for inaugurating a sort of running commentary upon -the garden and its surroundings; setting forth what the spade has -already done, and what the spade has still to do; what we possess in the -way of plants, and what we still visibly lack; laying bare above all our -failures and blunderings in the clearest of colours, with an eye, it is -to be hoped, to their rectification. Such a record, honestly kept, must -be a highly improving one to look back upon. A man’s proper -shortcomings, writ out fair in black and white, should contain very -edifying reading for that man himself, whatever it might be for anyone -else. The worst is that, like other amended sinners, we may come to burn -in time with the zeal of the missionary. Not content with our own -private flagellations and exhortations, we may sigh to exhort and to -flagellate others. Hence doubtless, that vast and increasing host of -garden books, which so greatly decorate our bookshelves. - -Yet after all a garden is a world in miniature, and, like the world, has -a claim to be represented by many minds, surveying it from many sides. -If it takes all sorts to make a world, it must take a good many -varieties of gardeners to exhaust the subject of gardening. Assuming the -said gardener to be of the right sort, naturally we accept his -exhortations thankfully. Assuming him even not to be quite of the right -sort--a mere harmless fumbler and bungler--still ’twere rash to assume -that he can teach us nothing. Just as every garden--every real garden, -owned by its owner--provides lessons for other garden owners, so even -the written equivalent of such gardens, as long as they are genuine -ones, not bits of confectionery tossed up to look pretty on tables, may -claim the same praise. So frequently has this of late been brought home -to me by experience that, give me only a writer who has faithfully -toiled with his own spade, her own trowel, and I am ready to accept a -new book at his or her hands every week in the year! - - - - -SEPTEMBER 8, 1899 - - -Our indefatigable old Cuttle has just come to tell me that the new -water-lily pond leaks, and that I must send for the bricklayer, in order -to upbraid him. I am sometimes asked whether Cuttle is our gardener, and -am always rather at a loss what to answer. Hardly, I suppose, seeing -that he declines to take much notice of any of our flowers, with the -exception of the roses, for which he has a passion. When he came to us -three years ago it was merely “on job” from the builders. Our grounds, -as grounds, had not then begun to exist. Cuttle stuck the first spade -into them then and there, and from that minute their existence began. -Since then he has grown to be more and more intimately identified with -them, and that to such an extent that I find it difficult now to -disentangle the one from the other. Followed by his obedient satellite -and shadow, he ranges at large over all that lies between their -holly-guarded boundaries. His spade, pick, axe, billhook are masters of -all that come within their reach. Walks, and shrubberies, lawn, and -flower-beds began within a short time of his appearance to emerge as if -by magic out of their primal chaos. Order grew out of disorder; symmetry -to be evolved, and light to break in upon the very duskiest of our -entanglements. We have a habit of telling our friends that we ourselves -“made” these grounds, but our part in the process has in reality been -chiefly to sit still, and point our wands. It is Cuttle, Cuttle alone, -who has been their real creator. - -For sheer, beaver-like, apparently instinctive industry I have never in -my life known his equal. For rooted self-opinionatedness not, I must -add, very often. How he contrives to get through the amount of work he -achieves in the course of every day, still more how he induces his -subordinates to do the same, remains a perennial marvel to me. -Possibly--seeing that my gardening experiences have hitherto lain a long -way to the west of Surrey--my standard as regards manual labour is not -of the highest. That our Cuttle is a typical Surrey labourer I decline -however to believe, though theoretically that, and nothing loftier, is -his status. Early in our acquaintance he discovered my ingenuous -surprise over his prowess. Far from this suggesting to him that less -activity would serve the turn, it seems to have only spurred him on to -fresh and ever fresh assaults upon my astonishment. That there have now -and then been inconveniences in this excess of energy I am free to -confess, but that is hardly Cuttle’s fault. If, for instance, I remark -that such or such new work had better be begun next week, my remark is -usually received by him in apparently unheeding silence. Next day -however, when I return to the charge, I am told with a smile of pity -that the work in question is already done. As I have just hinted this -sometimes places me in a position of some little embarrassment. -Naturally the work produced at such high pressure rather represents -Cuttle’s ideal of what it ought to be than mine. To show anything but -delighted surprise would be to prove oneself utterly unworthy of such -devoted service, and it is only therefore by degrees, and in the most -circuitous and disingenuous fashion, that I am able little by little to -reinstate my own ideas upon the more or less mutilated ruins of his. - -In these early days of September, we stand once more at a new parting of -the ways. Within the next six weeks all the essential part of what we -hope to see accomplished by next summer must be at all events prepared, -or it will be too late. Three chief undertakings at present engage our -energies. First there is the new little water-lily pond, and its outer -environment of bog. Secondly there is the “glade,” which, beginning at -the upper portion of the copse near the house, runs somewhat steeply -downhill to its lower end. Thirdly there is the “long” grass walk, which -passing first along the last named, is eventually to traverse the whole -of the lower portion of the copse, a distance of some six hundred yards, -crossing as it does so the region of the tallest bracken, emerging for a -while upon a gravel walk, which skirts the fence of our nursery-garden, -thence, through another stretch of copse, and between two tall heather -banks, into a fresh tract of birches and sweet chestnuts, till it -finally attains the gate opening out upon the little common at the top. - -One somewhat serious problem underlies these, as indeed all similar -little enterprises. How far, one asks oneself, may the natural -conformation of any given piece of ground be legitimately modified?--the -most difficult, in my opinion, of the many small problems which confront -the gardener. The lamentable declivities, the yet more terrible -acclivities, which abound in a certain type of garden we all know; -objects calculated to bring the blush of embarrassment to all but a -hardened visitor’s cheek. Like other adornments it is less their -artificiality than their deplorable lack of Art that so distresses us. -These indeed are sad warnings, and, remembering them, it is well to -misdoubt our own judgment, and to ask ourselves whether it were not -better to abstain altogether from any attempts at modification, which -might lead to results so humiliating and so disastrous? - -There are however more encouraging omens. Anyone who has observed how -casual, how purely accidental are many of the natural variations of -surface which nevertheless give us pleasure, has a right to ask himself -whether the spade may not be allowed to produce in a few days what sun, -wind, rain, and similar agents can achieve in a few years. I am inclined -to think that it may, only it must be a spade with eyes, and if possible -with a brain behind it, and both are unusual with spades. In any case -wisdom exhorts us to proceed very cautiously and modestly with all such -changes. To be sure that in the first place they are called for, and in -the second that they will suit with the features of our ground, and the -scene in which it is set. Else, if we neglect these precautions, we too -may come to swell the ranks of those who have made the very words -“landscape gardening” and “landscape gardener” sounds of terror to all -discriminating and nature-loving ears. - -One of the least unsatisfactory ways of modifying one’s ground, and -relieving its monotony, is, it seems to me, the “glade.” Glades may of -course be of many forms, and may suggest many ideas. They may pierce -through the dusky heart of a wood, or they may lie nakedly and stonily -open to the sky. They may be furnished with trees, with bushes, with -heather, with grass, or with alpine plants. On the whole the easiest -glade to create, and certainly one of the pleasantest when made, is the -grassy one. Even a perfectly level bit of ground can be induced with -care to pass by gradations into a grassy glade, though where there is -some natural slope the matter is of course very much easier. In that -case all that is necessary is to add a sufficiency of earth on either -side of the upper part of our incline, leaving the lower to merge by -insensible degrees to the natural level. The essential point is not to -miss the right moment for the sowing of the grass seed. This month of -September is in this soil unquestionably the best month in the year for -that purpose. August is apt to be too hot, October may be frosty, while -spring sowings are in my experience exceedingly delusive. If the summer -that follows them is wet, all goes well. Seeing however that each summer -since we came here has been more thirsty than its predecessor, it were -hardly the part of prudence to rely upon that. - -It has been a satisfaction to us to find that a moderate upturning of -the soil does not apparently disturb those inmates of it that we wish to -retain. Bluebells and bracken both have their roots at a depth to which -the spade in these operations need not penetrate, while to superimposed -earth they appear to be quite indifferent. The spring that followed our -first operations of this kind bluebells flowered better than usual, as -if glad to be freed from some of their troublesome neighbours, -especially probably that pest of copses, dog mercury. The introduced -bulbs, which now share the ground with them, are mostly of the taller -kinds, daffodils predominating, and for these the fact of the soil being -all newly upturned is an advantage. Our present plan is that the sides -of the glade shall remain permanently uncut, or cut at most once or -twice a year, the central, or walking space, being kept regularly mown. -The bulbs, being at the sides, will thus not suffer. Moreover the -considerable difference of height between mown and unmown grass is bound -to give height and emphasis to our little glade. As in the similar case -of planting rock gardens, such considerations may seem to some poor -devices. Yet upon the successful carrying out of them depends the whole -of that “general effect” which is all that such critics probably heed. -We are not, after all, Nature’s mandatories, and our little slopes are -not Alps, or even alpine meadows. If we can attain to so much as a -suggestion of the sort of thing we dream of we may rest content. - - - - -SEPTEMBER 11, 1899 - - -Here on the bench beside me is a basketful of plants, not garden ones by -any means, but weeds, mere ugly weeds, detested, and detestable, which, -having pulled up, I was about to throw away. And, sitting down for a -moment before doing so, I chanced to turn over two or three of them in -idle mood, and in so doing have been captured unawares, as I have often -been before, by the wonder, the mystery, of those ordinary processes of -nature, which we all of us know so remarkably well, and which we -certainly as a rule take such uncommonly little heed of. - -Matthew Arnold has somewhere counselled us to let our minds dwell upon -that great and inexhaustible word “Life,” till we learn to enter into -its meaning. It was a critic’s and a poet’s counsel, but it might still -more appropriately have been a naturalist’s or a botanist’s. Life is -indeed one of the unescapable mysteries, a mystery that expands and -grows as we consider it, even as the hosts of heaven seem to grow and -multiply as they recede before our straining gaze. For, if we even put -aside the more active animal world, and look merely at the comparatively -placid vegetable one, is it possible to think of it for a moment without -being overwhelmed, as it were stunned, by the vastness of its effects; -by the complexity of its untiring energy? To take only one of the -results of that energy. It is the plants of the world, especially those -which we are in the habit of calling its weeds, which constitute its -great restraining forces. The operations of inorganic nature tend for -the most part towards obliteration; towards the rubbing down of -landmarks, towards the effacing of all individuality in the landscape. -Water, tumbling as snow, hardens into ice, and rasps away continually at -the surfaces of the mountains. Rivers scrape off, and carry away with -them, every particle of earth that they meet with on their journey to -the sea. As for the sea, we know that its one object ever since it came -into existence has been, day by day, and at each returning tide, to -encroach upon, and devour more and more of the heritage of its brother -the earth. Seeing that the land we live on occupies only about a third -part of the superficies of the globe, it follows that the whole of what -is now dry land could easily be disposed of below the water; indeed it -has been ascertained that were it thus neatly tucked and tidied away, -the level of the ocean would be only altered by less than a hundred -feet. It is due mainly to the untiring vigour, to the extraordinary -binding power of plants, that this consummation has been averted. Their -office has been to hinder a tendency which, even if it had not ended in -the submergence of the whole earth, would at least have washed and pared -away its irregularities to one deadly monotonous level. Trees and bushes -do much in this direction, but it is the little clinging weeds, which as -gardeners we detest, and would so gladly annihilate: these -crowfoots--why not, by the way, crow_feet_?--with their crowding roots; -these knotgrasses, these clinging bind-weeds,--it is such as they, -backed by sea-spurreys, and bents, and by reeds and rushes innumerable, -that do more to keep the waters of the globe in order, and to maintain -dry land, than man, with all his dykes, dams, embankments, and such like -accumulations, since first he began to strut or to caper over its -surface. - -But the journey which lies before one’s thoughts when once they embark -upon this river we call “Life,” is indeed too big for them even -imaginatively to attempt. Our boats are so small, and the river so wide, -that one soon loses sight of shore. Even if, abandoning these perplexing -living things, one falls back upon the mere inorganic forces of the -world, what a prodigious amount of energy here too comes into play! -Nature everywhere eternally building up, and with apparently no blind -hand, but with a most clear, definite, and shaping policy. It is good -for us to escape now and then out of our own hot and fussy little rooms, -into these larger, cooler spaces; yet, if a wholesome, it cannot be said -to be entirely a gratifying experience. For how soon, even in the -simplest of such matters, does one arrive, like the people in the -_Pilgrim’s Progress_ at a place called “Stop”? How soon does thought -practically cease, and one remains dumb and gasping, like some poor dull -beast, in a mere, vacant-eyed daze of wonder? “The mind of man"--it was -one who knew what he was talking about that said it--“is an indifferent -sort of musical instrument, with a certain range of notes, beyond which, -upon both sides, there is an infinitude of silence.” - - - - -SEPTEMBER 12, 1899 - - -The Epic of Weeding has still to be written! It should be undertaken in -no light or frolic vein, but with all the gravity that the subject -demands. What I should wish to see would be either a careful scientific -treatise by a competent authority, or, what would perhaps be still -better, a great poem, which, like all the highest poetry, would go -straight to the very soul of the subject, and leave the votary of it -satisfied for ever. To the earnest-minded Weeder, most other occupations -seem comparatively subordinate. Blank is that day some portion of which -has not been devoted to faithful weeding. Blank is that night in which, -as he lays his head upon the pillow, he cannot say to himself that such, -or such a piece of ground has been thoroughly cleared, and will not -require to be done again--for quite a fortnight! - -One disadvantage it certainly has, but then it is one that it shares -with all the other higher, and more absorbing pursuits. If inordinately -pursued, it tends to grow upon its votary, until everything else becomes -subsidiary. What was originally a virtue, may thus in time come near to -growing into a vice. Of this danger I am myself a proof. There have been -moments--not many, nevertheless some--when I have found myself sighing -for more weeds to conquer. Worse, I have had the greatest difficulty on -more than one occasion to keep myself from pouncing upon my neighbour’s -perfectly private chickweeds and groundsels, which I have happened to -catch sight of across a fence! - -I notice in myself, and have observed in others, a lamentable lack of -accuracy as regards the proper names of weeds. Even some that I know the -best, and hate the hardest, I really cannot put any name to. Now this is -not as it should be. Everything, however detestable, has a name of its -own, and that name ought to be used. You may not like a man, but that is -hardly a reason for calling him “What’s-his-name,” or “Thingamy.” It is -true that in the West of Ireland it is regarded as a very unsafe thing -to mention any of the more malignant powers by their right names. The -_Sidh_, for instance, if spoken of by their proper title, invariably fly -at you, and do you a mischief. The only way of avoiding this peril is to -use some obscure and roundabout designation, which is not their real -name at all. I do not know whether the same mode of reasoning has ever -been held to apply to weeds. If so, I cannot say that the plan appears -to me to answer. At least I can safely swear that I have never called -one of them by its proper botanical name in my life, yet they rush in on -us from all sides, and persecute us none the less impishly. - -There is one particularly diabolical individual, which has clearly -marked this garden as its prey, and marches continually to and fro of it -like a roaring lion. What its correct name is I shall in all probability -never know, though I have carefully cross-examined several botanical -works on the subject. It has narrow fleshy leaves; a mass of roots, -constructed of equal parts of pin wire and gutta-percha; the meanest of -pinky white flowers, and a smell like sour hay. It is not the leaves, -the flowers, the roots, or even the smell, that I so much object to. It -is the capacity it possesses of flinging out offshoots of itself to -incredible distances, which offshoots no sooner touch ground than they -begin to weave a kind of ugly green net over everything within reach, -enmeshing it all into as dense a mass of leaves and roots as is the -parent plant. - -Although I am no nearer extirpating it than I was before, since -yesterday I have at least been able to name it, a satisfaction which -many a poor Speaker must have been thankful for, especially in an age -grown too picked and tender to allow of even the most obdurate -obstructor being despatched to either the Tower, or the Block. - -It was Cuttle who provided me with that satisfaction, and it is not one -of the least of the many debts that I owe him. - -“What can be the name of this thing, I wonder, Cuttle?” I said, rising -exhausted from an effort to hinder a fresh colony from enmeshing and -strangling a line of “Laurette Messimy” which had been recently planted -upon the top of a slope. - -“I’m not sure as I can tell you its proper name, ma’am, but about here -_we_ calls it ‘Snaking Tommy.’” - -Admirable Cuttle! “Snaking Tommy” of course! The instant I heard it I -felt convinced that in that preliminary naming of all plants and animals -performed by Adam in the garden of Eden, that, and no other, must have -been the name bestowed upon this. It is true some theologian might -assure me that there were no weeds in the garden of Eden, but that I -think is not particularly likely, because, whether there were weeds in -that garden or not, there are certainly no theologians in this one. -Moreover we all know that the snake was there, to everyone’s -immeasurable discomfort. And if the snake, why not, let me ask, “Snaking -Tommy”? - - - - -SEPTEMBER 14, 1899 - - -However it may be in other gardens, seed-sowing, I find, to be the very -centre and kernel of this one. The sowing of seeds is apt to be -accounted merely a matter of the raising of a due supply of annuals, -salpiglossis, nicotiana, lobelia, nemophila, clarkia, bartonia, godetia, -“and a long etcetera.” With us it is the permanent, the perennial -occupants of our flower-beds which must either be grown from seed, or -else not grown at all. This fact was early impressed upon our minds, and -in a very summary and effectual fashion, such as Nature’s fashion of -instilling indispensable truths for the most part is. - -It was three years ago, and we were a pair of destitute garden-owners. -We had however good friends, with large gardens. The connection was -perfectly self-evident. Without a moment’s hesitation the basket went -round. The response was noble. Plants came to us from North, South, -East, and West, especially West. Alas for those plants! - -They were just what we wanted; they were moved at the right time; they -were packed with care; they were not unreasonably long on the road; they -arrived to all appearance in excellent health; they were received with -all the respect they deserved, and their wants provided for as far as -our poor knowledge of those wants enabled us to cater for them. Never -were elaborate arrangements less handsomely rewarded. Seasons returned, -but never have to us returned those plants so generously bestowed, so -hopefully planted. In my private garden-book a list of them still -exists, and a very black list it is to refer to. There they stand, as -they were written down in all the pride of proprietorship. Unhappily a -later entry shows a large round _O_ standing out prominently against -nearly every one of them. Now a round _O_ in that book signifies Death. - -From this disaster we arose chastened gardeners. It was determined that -no more guileless plants should be brought to such a fate; no more -kindly owners exploited for so inadequate a result. Remembering the -good, dark, comfortable earth from which most of those plants came; -sadly surveying the very different earth to which they had been -consigned, the cause of their doom could hardly be called mysterious. - -Friendly gardens, unless labouring under our own disabilities, being -thus excluded, the question remained how were the flower-beds to get -themselves filled? Only one answer to that question has ever presented -itself to the professional gardening mind, and that is “Send to the -nurseryman.” - -Now that nurseryman may or may not be an excellent one. Ours, as it -happens, may fairly I think be called so. Good or bad he is never a -functionary to be approached without deference, at least by those in -whose eyes Thrift stands for something in the battle of life. “But -common plants are _so_ cheap” one is often told. Very likely, they may -be; indeed, judging by their catalogues, nurserymen stand habitually -astonished before the spectacle of their own moderation. An average -herbaceous plant--a lupin, or a larkspur, let us say--costs as a rule -about ninepence. It may sink as low as sixpence, or it may rise as high -as a shilling. Anybody, it will be argued, can afford sixpence; some -people have been known to spend a whole shilling without wincing. A very -short walk along any ordinary garden border, calculating as one goes the -number of sixpennyworths it would take to fill it, will be found an -excellent corrective for such lightheartedness. I made such a -calculation myself only the other day, and the result was an eminently -sobering one. - -Seeds on the other hand are honestly cheap. There are expensive -seedsmen, but generally speaking, threepence is the price of a -fair-sized packet of the commoner perennials, and sixpence for one of -the scarcer kinds. This initial difference is, however, an infinitesimal -part of the real one. It is the magnificent possibilities, the vast -fecundity of those sixpences, as compared with the others, which is the -real point. Not one plant, but dozens of plants, often hundreds of -plants, may be the result of a single successful sowing, nor is the time -lost by such sowings nearly as great as people seem to imagine. - -But the number of plants to be had in the course of a year by this means -is only part of the advantage to be gained by it. The great advantage is -that by so doing one’s plants become acquainted betimes with the -qualities of the soil in which they find themselves, and, so getting -acquainted, they reconcile themselves to it, as we most of us do -reconcile ourselves to any environment, however little naturally to our -taste, which has compassed us round from babyhood. To come to details. -Alpine plants, though small to look at, are for the most part tolerably -dear to buy. If a man, “whatever his sex!” loves his alpines, is -determined to have them, has a fairly big alpine garden or border to -fill, but will not be at the trouble of rearing them from seed, then I -shall be rather sorry for that man’s pocket. A few of them--notably the -Androsaces--are not amiable in the matter of germination, and these -therefore require a mother-plant or two to begin upon. Others, of which -the gentians may be taken as a type, are unendurably slow in appearing, -though, if a safe place can be found for their seed-box, and it is then -forgotten, the time passes! The great majority of alpines, fortunately, -will grow perfectly well from seed, even ultra-fastidious ones, such as -Silene acaulis, or Ramondia pyrenaica, which for that reason rank high -in nurserymen’s catalogues, doing perfectly well with care, and, of -course, at a fiftieth part of the cost. - -Details like these have a sordid ring, and I have to remind myself that -it is upon the successful wrestling with them that one’s ultimate -failure or triumph wholly hinges. Thrift, moreover, is the badge of -every proper-minded husbandman, and it is according to the thriftiness -of his husbandry that Nature rewards his labours. “But Nature,” I hear -some caviller exclaim, “Nature is herself the most reckless of -spend-thrifts. She is the very mother, grandmother, and -great-grandmother of extravagance. She squanders her treasures as the -rain-clouds squander their raindrops, and tosses her wealth abroad like -dust upon the desert air”! True, she does do all this, but I am not -aware that she ever specially desired that her children should follow -her example. “What are your poor little savings? your petty -extravagancies?” we might imagine her saying, “that they should be -likened to mine?” Further, by an odd paradox, it is upon her -wastefulness that our thrift rests most securely. We possess say one -solitary plant of some given kind, and we find that with that single -plant her lavishness has freely provided us with the material of a -hundred, possibly many hundred others. There is scarcely a plant we can -name that by some means or another--by division, by layers, by seeds, by -cuttings, or by some other equally simple variation of the garden -craft--may not be multiplied almost without limit. Truly there is -something staggering about such fecundity, and the brain of even the -strongest gardener might be expected to whirl as he contemplates it. -Following in imagination the history of almost any flowering -plant--yonder pimpernel astray on the gravel will do--giving it only -time enough, a fair field, and not too many rivals, and we shall find -that it has gone far towards peopling every waste place within reach; -nay, if the process could be continued long enough, by the mere law of -its organic existence its descendants are capable of reddening their -entire native countryside for a dozen miles around. - - - - -SEPTEMBER 16, 1899 - - -Few forms of frailty are more lamentable than vanity, and few variations -of vanity have for some time back seemed to me more stamped with -puerility than garden vanity. Can anything be imagined more childish, or -less worthy of a reasonable human being, than for A or Z to pride -themselves on the fact that whereas _Horificus globuratus fl. pl._ -flourishes like a weed in their gardens, it entirely refuses to grow in -those of B or X, despite the fact that B and X have remade the greater -part of their borders, in a spirit of slavish emulation? The same -argument applies, even more forcibly, to other details, such as the -making of cuttings, or layers, the carrying of tender plants through the -winter, the satisfactory growing of vegetables, and so forth; operations -which ought to be approached in the largest and most enlightened spirit, -and never for a moment made the subject of mere petty self-satisfaction, -or of a narrow and arrogant self-laudation. - -This point being thoroughly settled, I now proceed to draw out a list of -plants grown successfully from seed by ourselves during the last three -years; premising that this is only our _first_ list, chiefly of -rock-plant seedlings, and that I shall have another, much longer, and -_much_ more important one to draw up when the right time comes! - - Alyssum alpestre. - ” montanum. - ” saxatile. - Anemone Blanda. - ” Japonica. - ” fulgens. - Aquilegia alpina. - ” cœrulea. - ” canadensis. - ” Jaeschkaui. - ” vulgaris. - ” vulgaris var. grandiflora - alba. - Arenaria montana. - Antirrhinum (various). - Armeria Laucheana. - ” vulgaris. - ” vulgaris var. rosea. - ” vulgaris var. alba. - Aster alpinus. - Aubrietia deltoides. - ” Frœbelli. - ” Leichtlini. - Campanula Carpatica. - ” garganica. - Campanula pumila. - ” turbinata. - ” rotundifolia. - ” rotundifolia var. alba. - Cerastium tomentosum. - Cheiranthus alpinus. - Dianthus alpinus. - ” cæsius. - ” cruentus. - ” deltoides. - ” deltoides var. albus. - Draba aizoides. - Dryas octopetala. - Erinus alpinus. - Erysimum pumilum. - Erodium Manescavi. - ” macradenium. - Geranium cinereum. - ” sanguineum. - ” striatum. - Gentiana acaulis. - ” verna. - Geum montanum. - Gypsophilla prostrata. - Helianthemum (various). - Heuchera sanguinea. - Ionopsidium acaule (annual). - Linaria alpina. - ” anticaria. - ” cymbalaria. - Linum alpinum. - Lychnis alpina. - Myosotis alpestris. - ” azorica. - Meconopsis cambrica. - Ononis rotundifolia. - Oxalis floribunda. - Phlox amœna } - ” setacea } cuttings - ” subulata } easier. - Potentilla nepalenses. - Papaver alpinum. - ” nudicaule. - ” ” var. miniatum. - ” pilosum. - Primula Cashmeriana. - Primula cortusoides. - ” denticulata. - ” japonica. - ” rosea (self-sown). - Ramondia pyrenaica. - Ranunculus montanus. - Saponaria ocymoides. - ” ocymoides var. - splendens. - Saxifraga (various; division - easier). - Silene acaulis. - ” alpestris. - ” Schafta. - Statice maritima. - ” ” var. carnea. - ” ” var. alba. - Thymus (various; division - again easier). - Tunica saxifraga. - Veronica prostrata. - Vesicaria utriculata. - -From this list I have carefully omitted all our defeats. Victors I -observe, invariably do so! - - - - -SEPTEMBER 25, 1899 - - -The gardener seems to pass amongst his kinsfolk and acquaintance for a -rather feeble, but more or less meditative sort of man. His trade is -held, I perceive, to be productive of some of the milder forms of -philosophy. Like the angler he enjoys a rather supercilious -consideration on that account from his more violently active brethren. - -“You are such a patient fellow,” they say. “You don’t care how long you -stay pottering over one small spot. Such quiet ways of going on would -never do for _us_!” - -This may be the case, but I cannot say that I have personally observed, -either in myself, or other gardeners, any tendency to exhibit more -placidity over the cares and crosses of a garden, than over any of the -other cares and crosses of existence. As for philosophy, a certain sort -of cheap moralising a garden is certainly rather productive of. It -sprouts unheeded along the walks, and may be extracted with greater -facility than most of the weeds. That “life is short”; that “flesh is -grass”; that man groweth up in the spring time, and is cut down in the -autumn--such innocent and obvious sprouts of morality as these may -certainly be gathered in a good many of its neglected corners. With -regard to all the larger and more vital growths of philosophy, I am -afraid that they require to be successfully sought for upon wider and -more strenuous battlefields. - -Lessons of course may be gathered in a garden, as in most other places. -For the owner, the most wholesome of these is perhaps that he never -really is its owner at all. His garden possesses him--many of us know -only too well what it is to be possessed by a garden--but he never, in -any true sense of the word, possesses it. He remains one of its -appanages, like its rakes or its watering-pots; a trifle more permanent, -perhaps, than an annual, but with no claim assuredly to call himself a -perennial. - -In no garden is this fact more startlingly the case than in those that -we have, as we fatuously call it, “made” ourselves. For the owners of -such a garden, the precariousness of their tenure is the first thing, I -think, that is forced upon their attention. And the reason is simple. In -older ones, the reign of the primitive has, to a greater or less extent, -ceased, and the reign of the artificial has become the rule. The Wild -still flourishes in them, but it has become a mere pariah, a vegetable -outcast. Chickweed on the walks, nettles in the shrubbery, daisies in -the lawn. “What does this mean? Who gave you leave to be here? Away with -you at once, intruders that you are!” that is the habitual standpoint. -Now in a new garden, especially a garden that has been won out of the -adjacent woodlands, the sense of intrusion is felt--ought to be felt--to -be all the other way. It is the so-called owners who are here the -trespassers; the unwarrantable intruders; the squatters of a few -months’, at most of a few years’, standing. The bracken, the -honeysuckles, the briers, the birds--these are the established -proprietors; it is they that can show all the documents of original -possession. We may have to eject them, but at least it should be done -respectfully; with such compensation for disturbance as would be -adjudged in any properly constituted agrarian court in the Universe. - -Only yesterday these reflections were forced upon my mind as I found -myself, for the third time engaged in a life and death struggle with the -bracken, which has once more invaded our newly made flower borders, and -threatens to gather their whole contents bodily into its capacious -grasp. This is, and always must be, a peculiarly humiliating sort of -struggle to be engaged in, and not the less so if one remains -temporarily the victor. In the first place, one is deeply conscious of -the vandalism of trying to get rid of an object immeasurably more -beautiful than any of the plants one thrusts it aside for. In the second -place, there is a sense of absurdity and futility, which is strongly -upon one all the time. Mrs. Partington, in her efforts at sweeping back -the Atlantic Ocean with her broom, was hardly a more conspicuous -instance of misplaced energy than such attempts to suppress and control -the exuberant green waves, the abounding vitality, of our own -magnificent, indomitable bracken. - -Even where humiliating struggles like these have ceased to be necessary, -how slight an excrescence this whole business that we call ownership -really is; how strong, how deeply rooted the state of things which it -has momentarily superseded. Let the so-called owner relax his -self-assertiveness for ever so short a period; let him and his myrmidons -depart for a while upon their travels, and how swiftly the whole fabric -rushes remorselessly back to its original condition. And why not? What -can be more absolutely to be expected? Nor need we even stop at the -garden, the farm, the house, or any similar chattel. Even ourselves, -sophisticated little creatures though we be, in how many ways we remain -the accessories, rather than the masters, of our environment? For a -time, especially in towns, we manage to conceal this truth from -ourselves. We pretend that we have remodelled matters to our liking; -that Nature has become our follower; that our law, not hers, runs -through the planet; that we set the tune, and that she merely plays it. - -Oh rash, and hurrying ignorance! Put the holder of so untenable a -doctrine alone, for ever so short a time, especially in the winter, in -the solitary depths of the country, and how soon a perception of his or -her own utter transitoriness will begin to break through the thinly -formed crust of the new, and the superimposed. Let him lift his garden -latch, and step out beyond it into the open country. Let him saunter -alone in the woods after dusk. Let him walk across the solitary, -blackened heather. Let him look down upon the floods, lace-making over -the lowlands. Let him--without taking so much trouble as this--merely -lean out of his window after dusk, amid the thickening shadows, and he -must be of a remarkably unimpressionable turn of mind if the sense of -his own shadowiness, his own inherent transitoriness, is not the -clearest, strongest, and most convincing of all his sensations. - -Thus vanity provides its own solution, and the little inflated soul is -driven into puncturing its own proudly swelling balloon. We -discover--sometimes with no little dismay--that it is not alone in our -flower-beds that the wild and the tame, the temporary and the permanent, -the real and the artificial, meet, jostle, and rub shoulders together. -Sir Primitive is a remarkably difficult person to escape from. His blood -still courses unheeded through our own veins, and he is as much a part -of ourselves as he is a part of the most sophisticated of our plants or -our animals. We may imagine that we have left him behind us, and -outgrown his teachings, and the very next day something will occur to -show us that he is at our elbows all the time, as strong, as fresh, and -as absolutely unaffected by any little modern innovations as he ever -was. - - - - -SEPTEMBER 26, 1899 - - -Yet, although undoubtedly our ancestor, Sir Primitive stands a good way -back on the family tree, and other influences have grown up since his -time to disturb his teachings. The fear of becoming too tidy, for -instance, does not at first sight seem to be a very reasonable fear. It -has not been imputed to many people as a failing, especially to those -who happen to have been born to the westward of St. George’s Channel! -Nevertheless there are moments when a wild passion for tidiness, a -perfect thirst and craving for order, seems to sweep across the soul -like a wave; when everything else that one habitually cares for is flung -back, and overwhelmed before it, even as the hosts of Pharaoh were flung -back, and overwhelmed before the cold, subduing waters of the Red Sea. - -We are all the children of our age; there is no getting over that fact; -heirs of a hardly won civilisation, let us call ourselves Wild -Wilfulness, or any other law-defying name, as much as we please. -Yearning to show that our spirits are above all trammels, that we are as -free as the birds in the air, we nevertheless all sit in identical -armchairs, eat the food the cooks provide us, and in most other respects -exhibit about as much originality as so many stair-rods. - -It is only necessary to consider what happens every day of the week in -the garden to perceive that this is the case. We have adopted the most -independent line possible; we have vowed that _our_ gardens shall be -natural ones, or nothing. We adore flowery wildernesses, we declare. We -want our plants to grow as Nature intended them to do, and not as the -hireling gardener does. We intend to put a limit to the eternal -bolstering up of our soil with all sorts of extraneous elements; above -all we will have nothing to say to the clipping of our shrubs into -unreal shapes, nor yet to the planting of our bulbs, and other flowering -plants into lines, squares, and parallelograms, but all shall be a -melting and a blending of one harmonious form into another; every -detail, as far as the eye can reach, being subordinated to the larger -and more important spirit of the landscape as a whole. - -So we say! And yet, after the flag of freedom has been thus -ostentatiously raised, what happens? As often as not we find ourselves, -by the logic of facts, and by the realities of the situation, forced -slowly to retreat, as other and equally eminent strategists have been -forced before us. A flowery wilderness is delightful, but unless its -owner is content with the flowers that grow in it by nature, or a few, -very cautious additions, his flowery wilderness is apt after a time to -become a wilderness, minus the flowers. Then perhaps a reaction sets in. -A sense of failure gradually overtakes the too ardent amateur. The reins -of authority drop more and more listlessly from his hands; until at last -he lets them fall altogether, and, with a smile of kindly pity, the -momentarily dispossessed professional once more resumes full, and -henceforth undivided sway. - -From so humiliating a finale may all the kindly divinities that watch -over gardens deliver ourselves! Nevertheless there have been moments -when such a fate has seemed to draw near, and even to look one in the -eyes. Only three days ago I was engaged in that breathless struggle with -the bracken. For the last two, aided by Cuttle and his assistant, I have -been fighting ankle-deep against a perfect forest of couch-grass, which -had practically overwhelmed the whole of our nursery-garden, helped -rather than hindered by the fence, with which we had innocently hoped to -keep back, not alone rabbits, but every other trespasser. - -Worse than the conduct of the couch-grass, because of a certain personal -element in it, has been the conduct of the rose-campion. Now I have been -exceedingly kind to that rose-campion. Again and again I have intervened -to rescue it, when it was on the point of being rooted out, and -consigned to the dust-heap. Only last spring I carried its roots by -hundreds with my own hands, and re-established them in a special -reservation ground, where they might spread unmolested over a good -half-acre or so of copse. What has been the result? They have indeed -clothed their allotted space, but, not content with this, they have -burst like a horde of Ojibeway Indians, or some such aborigines, out of -their reservation, across the frontiers of civilisation, sending out -myriads of seedlings ahead of them, like a flight of skirmishers, and -are now nearly as numerous collectively, and far more luxuriant -individually, in the nursery, than they are in the copse itself! - -Incidents like these wound one, and are more trying for that reason to -the amateur gardener than to the professional one, who probably regards -them as only to be expected. I am far from saying that they constitute a -sufficient reason for surrender, but they certainly seem to need the aid -of a higher quality than mere secular doggedness, to enable one to -grapple with them as one ought. It is moreover such occurrences as -these that produce that extraordinary thirst for order, that very -unlooked-for passion for tidiness, which I just now noted. After a day -or two passed in such struggles as these one begins to understand the -pride of the colonist in pure, speckless Ugliness; in beautifully clean, -naked earth, varied by straight lines of split-wood fences, or the like. -I have not as yet reached that point myself, and am glad to feel that I -can still tolerate Nature. All the same a sort of nurseryman’s attitude -towards everything tainted with wildness is fast gaining upon me, and -unless I can check both it, and this overweening love of tidiness while -there is time, I plainly foresee that there will shortly be nothing else -left! - - - - -SEPTEMBER 29, 1899 - - -“Fountains; they are a great beauty and refreshment, but pools mar all, -and make the garden unwholesome, full of flies and frogs.” - -For two persons who have just been at some pains to establish a pool in -their grounds, this is a hard saying! That the judgment has much to -support it, apart from the weight of its utterer, I cannot deny. At the -same time a better case can, I think, be made out for the culprits than -may appear at first sight. Fountains in a copse, be they never so -limpid, never so sparkling, would be stamped with an unendurable stamp -of artificiality. Pools on the other hand, though there are certainly -not many in these copses of ours, are at all events not inconceivable. -In the present case we flatter ourselves that the particular spot we -have selected for our pool was intended by Nature to contain one, and -nothing but the incurable aridity of these dry hillsides hindered her -from carrying out that intention. Where every drop of water has to be -watched over like hid treasure, it may be doubted whether the amount -that we can afford to have trickling through it in summer will suffice -to hinder the water in it from becoming yellow, brown, or green. That is -a point however which remains for future discovery. Our main -preoccupation at present rests with the planting of the edges of our -pool, especially with the clothing of the bank which, rising to the -north of it, will absorb most of the midday sun, and will require -therefore the most attention. - -In its present condition a good deal of that bank looks bare to -desperation, yet I strongly suspect that summer will prove it to have -the reverse fault of being crowded with a dense, and inextricably -entangled mass of vegetation. Fortunately half its present inhabitants, -being biennials, will depart after the first season, when, the prospect -clearing, the permanent inhabitants will stand forth confest and -visible. - -Omitting this temporary part of its furniture, I will jot the others -down as they stand, which will enable us to see what we have, and also -to form a better idea of what we still lack. - -First and foremost a kindly gift; two large clumps of Arundo donax, -easily supreme anywhere as pond-side decoration, the more so, as they -quickly attain to their full size. No other plant of the reedy order, -not even excepting a bamboo, gives quite the same impression of -vigorous, of almost insolent energy as does this one. It adapts itself -moreover perfectly to our sandy soil, and so long as one sees that it -receives a reasonable amount of moisture, seems to ask for little else. -Next follow two or three plants of Arundinaria japonica, and below these -again Arundinaria, or Bambusa palmata, skirting the edge of the pond, -and passing on into the so-called bog. This last came from Kildare, -where it has established itself, and run practically wild along the edge -of a lake. Here it seems to do its growing more slowly, but the plants -are spreading, and I think promise fairly. Below the other bamboos, but -above palmata come two large plants of Astilbe rivularis, placed so that -their arching leaves will overhang their lower neighbours, and all but -touch the water. Next, turning the corner of the pond, come various -low-growing bushes. Berberis Darwini below, with the faithful -Aquifolium, and the taller stenophylla above, ending in a fringe of -bog-myrtle, and of Rodgersia podophylla, among which some Solomon’s seal -are now barely discernible. After these come a few plants of -Hemerocallis, both fulva and flava, which need continual dividing in the -borders, but seem to flower well, and give no further trouble so long as -they are within reach of an occasional splash. Acanthuses appear to be -in the same position, the difference between their growth in wet and dry -soil being extraordinary; indeed when one remembers how they abound in -Spain and Italy, one fails to understand the limp and desolated aspect -they see fit to assume here, under a very much more moderate -dispensation of drought. - -Next follows Funkia Sieboldi. Funkias are all meritorious plants, but -Sieboldi, to my mind, towers head and shoulders above the rest. Apart -from the beauty of the flower, its grey-green, almost iridescent foliage -is like no other leaf that grows, and when the two are combined the -result is High art, art at its best point. Such praise is, however, -merely impertinent. It is more pertinent to say that the whole genus, -but especially Sieboldi, belong to that very limited category of plants -that are at once fit for the most orthodox of beds or borders, while at -the same time they are free enough, and independent-looking enough, not -to seem ridiculous in a bit of pure “wildness” such as this little -pond-side purports to be. This is far from being a common virtue. One -only needs to run over such words as “Hollyhock,” “Begonia,” -“Pelargonium,” to perceive in a moment what would be intolerable outside -of a more or less stiff parterre. It is not so much a question of -beauty, as of fitness and adaptability, perhaps also of freedom from -certain set associations, which, having once rooted themselves in our -minds, make it impossible for us ever to rearrange our impressions, and -recast them in a new form. This however is a digression. To go on with -my list. - -Upon the actual edge of the pond we are at this moment planting some two -dozen varieties of Iris Kæmpferi. These have recently come from Haarlem, -and being still new-comers, have their destiny ahead of them. The common -yellow iris, best and handsomest of all native, water-edge plants, had -only to be transplanted, as it was already flourishing close at hand. As -a successor to it comes Ranunculus Lingua, another indispensable native, -but one that requires sharp watching; its capabilities as a coloniser -being unlimited, the long, pink-tipped suckers pushing forward into the -water at a rate that would soon turn any limited space of it into a mere -jungle of triumphant buttercups. - -In the part of the bank which, sloping rather quickly away, inclines -towards the “glade,” come various low-growing shrubs, which carry the -line down to the region of heather, which in its turn brings it to the -level of the grass. The tallest of these,--rather too tall for the -place,--is Viburnum opulus, common beside many a Surrey pond, but not -nearly enough grown in gardens, as the best of amateur gardeners has -recently reminded us. Its cultivated relation, Viburnum plicatum, is -just beyond it, placed there, not because there is the slightest -occasion for its being upon the water’s edge, simply because it happens -to be one of those plants that never seem quite happy unless they have -abundance of space to move about in, the long shoots, laden with -blossom, having a wonderful power of reaching out to distances that at -first sight seem to be quite beyond their grasp. Another plant of which -the same may be said is Hydrangea paniculata. So far ours have spent -their existence dully in tubs, the idea being that they required winter -protection. Judging by some that were experimented upon last winter this -seems to be a mistake, and I propose to try a few here, by way of -successors to the foregoing, with which their equally industrious sprays -seem to possess a sort of kinship. - -Our grassy “glade” being now all but reached the remaining corner of the -bank has been filled with various grass-leaved flowering plants, which -seemed to come in appropriately. Of these the largest is Libertia -formosa, green all the year round, and in summer bristling with white, -iris-like flowers, and, by way of plant-fellow to it, Sisyrinchium -Bermudianum (Plague upon these polysyllabic dog-latinists!), one of the -friendliest of little plants that ever pined for a decent English name. -Put it where one will--on a bank, in a bog, in a flower-bed--it seems -equally happy and appropriate; always compact, yet increasing as -rapidly as any weed; above all continually in flower, even, so I noticed -last winter, in the middle of frost and snow, and when its leaves were -so brittle that they snapped when they were touched, like any icicle. - -My list seems to be already stretching to a tolerable length, yet there -are plenty of things that have not yet found their way into it. Here is -Bocconia cordata, for instance, impossible to do without in such a spot. -Here are the spider-worts, both blue and white. Here are various -spiræas, chiefly low-growing ones, such as “Anthony Waterer” and -palmata, the latter only happy in a more or less damp place. In the -peat-filled hollow beyond quite a little crowd of claimants rise up for -notice. A good many of these are now only satisfactory in the -retrospect. Of such are Primula japonica, and Primula rosea, -sorry-looking tufts of brown shreds, with no new leaves as yet showing. -Cypripedium spectabile is in the same plight, but Hellonias bullata is -still green, Gentiana asclepiadea has a flower or two showing, Lobelia -cardinalis, both the older and newer varieties, look red and happy, and -Schizostylis coccinea promises fairly, though it never behaves with us -quite as it ought to do, and as I have known it behave in kindlier -soils. - -Turning to the region of mere dryness, three or four rough stone steps, -and a ridiculous little ridge, lead towards the azalea corner. - -Here cistuses of various kinds have their home, and, being fairly -sheltered, do well, though several require remembering in the winter. I -find the same to be the case here with regard to the rosemaries, -especially the younger plants, as they grow older they seem to harden. -Lavenders fortunately are safe everywhere, in all weathers, and the same -may be said of Skimmia japonica and Fortunei, two of the most -satisfactory of small winter-flowering shrubs. These with a few tufts of -Andromeda floribunda, and a small jungle of alpine rhododendron, bring -us up to the azalea corner. - -All these plants, especially the more recently planted ones, will need -pretty constant looking after during the next year or so, but once that -crucial period of their existence is over, it is my hope--possibly only -my delusion--that they will learn so to arrange their affairs as merely -to require the sort of attention that is necessary to see that they do -not overcrowd one another, or--what is more serious--become invaded by -wild neighbours, rose-campions, and the like, swarming in upon them to -the point of suffocation. The safest way of avoiding this is undoubtedly -to cover the ground with low, carpeting growths, which will remain green -nearly all the year round, and at the same time not make too severe a -demand upon the soil. The number of such kindly little evergreens, or -semi-evergreens is a constant surprise when one comes to collect them, -and the fact that there should be so many speaks volumes for a climate -that we are none of us ever weary of abusing. Apart from absolute -rock-plants, nearly all of which are evergreen, there are a number of -others, which rarely or never lose their leaves, and whose presence -saves banks and hollows like these from the reproach of bareness, and -further takes away--certainly ought to take away--all excuses for -visitations from that Tool of the Destroyer, the pitchfork. Of such -plants none are better than certain campanulas, including our own -hairbells, both the blue and the white. Wood-sorrels again are excellent -in a shady place, or, for a sunnier one, there is their energetic cousin -Oxalis floribunda, in this soil the most undaunted of colonisers, -growing all the winter. “Creeping Jenny” again, and “Blue-eyed Mary,” -delightful things with delightful names, will cover as much space as -they are allowed to do. Of the more easily grown forget-me-nots there -are at least four kinds--palustris, for planting close to the water, or -in it; dissitiflora, happy all the summer, so long as it gets a little -shade; sylvatica and alpestris, growing anywhere, and everywhere. -Epimediums, again, are excellent, though apt to get a little rusty in -the winter. So is Tellina grandiflora, an unwisely named plant, since -its strength lies, not in its flowers, but its leaves. Thymes, too, are -always available; likewise potentillas, erysimums, and veronicas, though -these last may seem to be trenching upon the rock-plant region. Then, if -we want larger growths, are there not all the megaseas, which may be -torn in pieces two or three times a year, if we like? Of low-growing -shrubs, such as Euonymus radicans, the various creeping cotoneasters, -the savin, Gaultheria shallon, and others, there is no lack. Yet -another, and one of the best of them all, Cornus canadensis, a true -shrub, and an evergreen one, although no larger than a wild -wood-strawberry. - -But I find myself growing breathless, and the list of such kindly -“carpeters” is in reality only begun. Flinging down woodruffs, wild -pansies, foam-flowers, sedums, mossy saxifrages, waldsteinias, and -periwinkles, as one might out of a basket, I will only now delay to find -room for a few rock-pinks, particularly for these four--cæsius, -cruentus, atro-rubens, and deltoides,--all of which may be sown -broadcast in the spring, and all of which, especially the last, may be -trusted to hold their own against any but the biggest and most ferocious -of natives. - -We have been honest caterers for our clients, as far as preparation -went, and my hope, I may say my ideal, is that they will henceforward be -content with receiving merely surface nourishment from time to time, and -will neither look for or need that eternal process of renewal, and as a -consequence of disorganisation, which is the bane, though I am willing -to admit the unavoidable bane, of nearly every flower-bed and border. - -Ideals are odd things, and this one of mine seems, even as I write it -down, about as ridiculous and puny an ideal as any forlorn idealist was -ever driven into making a boast of! Such as it is, however, I cling to -it tenaciously. After all what does it mean? Written out a little large -it means repose of mind, and a freedom from the strain of change; it -even means a certain sense of finality, and that at a very sensitive -spot in one’s small environment. - -To a greater or less extent we all sigh for finality. Nobody has ever -attained to it, that I have heard of, and not many people would perhaps -relish it if they could do so. None the less it remains, something -haunting; a dimly descried presence, to us vaguely desirable. To sit at -ease under their own vines; to be at rest in their own shaded places, -has from the earliest days flattered the imaginations of men, busy and -idle ones alike. Dawdlers in sunny places, and haunters of gardens like -ourselves are naturally assigned to the second of these categories. -Since we have to support the reproach of idleness, let us at least then -take heed that we secure the comfort of it. If Leisure is an -acquaintance of ours he is an acquaintance of so few people nowadays, -that we had better make the most of him. Now fuss the good man detests, -and change, merely for change’s sake, is undoubtedly one of the very -worst forms of fuss. Like every other pursuit and following, -horticulture no doubt has its battlefields, and those who go out upon -them must expect charge and countercharge, rapid assault and varying -vicissitude, like other heroes upon other battlefields. For me such -combats, I am free to confess, have not even a vicarious charm; Peace -being the only deity to whom I would willingly raise even the smallest -of garden altars. With other out-of-door conditions we all aver that it -is their stability, their adorable unchangeableness, which lends them in -our eyes their most persistent charm. Why then are we not to look for -the same charm in our gardens, which after all come nearest home? That -it is a charm easy of attainment I were loth to asseverate, but that -seems hardly a reason for not endeavouring to attain to it. It is in -this direction at all events that my own private plottings and plannings -propose to turn. If I must moil and delve; if I must plant, dig, and -contrive now, it is with the fixed and fond determination of before long -sitting resolutely down, and doing absolutely nothing! - - - - -OCTOBER 27, 1899 - - -Who dare forecast even his nearest future? - -These last four weeks have been so charged with anxiety--not only, or -even chiefly, war anxieties--that I have not made so much as a single -entry in this diary. In fact there has been nothing to record. The poor -little garden; its flowers; its weeds; the copse surrounding it; the -entire _mise-en-scène_, with all the quips and jests which in sunnier -hours it gives rise to, seems to have vanished bodily. It is as though -the whole thing, erstwhile not without its own little importance, had -dwindled to the size of one of those infinitesimal specks, which one -sometimes sees in feverish dreams; specks so dim and small, so well-nigh -invisible, that one wonders how in the first place one ever discovered -them, and why, having done so, one should take the trouble of trying to -keep them in sight. That being the case it is as well that I am leaving -home to-morrow for several weeks, and, since I shall be chiefly in -London, have a good excuse for leaving the garden diary, like the -garden itself, behind me. Possibly, by the time I return to them, the -old, now submerged, landmarks may have risen once more to the surface, -or I may have grown a little better used to this changed landscape; -seeing that we all have to get used to every variety of landscape; every -admixture of weather; every cruel, blinding storm; every rain-washed -shore, or bitter, wreck-strewn sea, which meets us in this very odd -journey that we call our lives. - - - - -CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1899 - - -There was a slight sprinkling of snow this morning, yet the garden looks -exceedingly black. Save for a scarce discernible white line here and -there, everything in it seems stiff, and hard, and black as iron; -crumpled iron leaves against an iron floor. Black is the livery, not -alone of sorrow, but of dismay, so that the garden does very well just -now to wear it. There are moments in the individual life, moments, so it -appears, even in an entire nation’s life, when the ordinary scheme of -things seems to dissolve and change; when all the familiar landmarks for -the time being melt away, and disappear under our eyes. - -Standing here, staring blankly out of the window, I feel myself for the -moment a sort of embodiment of all the other, vacant-eyed starers out of -windows, up and down over the face of the country this Christmas -morning. How many of them there must be! How many must be staring down -at the dull ground, and telling themselves they will never care to walk -in, or to look at their gardens again. It may not be an actual garden, -but at least it will be a figurative one; some special plot of -happiness; some quarter-acre of habitual enjoyment. I hope, indeed I -feel sure, that in the great majority of cases they will sooner or later -enjoy it again. Father Time is at bottom a kindly creature, kindlier -than when in trouble we are inclined to believe him to be. For the -moment however the idea seems unrealisable, and would scarcely be -welcome if it were realised. - -For hardly-pressed humanity there is, I believe, only one really -satisfactory way of dealing with misfortune, which is--to refuse to -believe in it! That is, I find, the method that our excellent Cuttle in -the garden has adopted with regard to most of the recent events in South -Africa. Anything exceptionally disagreeable, especially anything that -has to do with the surrender of Englishmen, no matter under what -circumstances, he simply declines to believe in. It is not that he is -ignorant. He reads his paper diligently; he knows everything that is in -it, but he refuses to accept more of the contents than he considers -proper. When, a few weeks ago, the first of our Natal mishaps occurred, -and the number of English prisoners captured was posted up in the -village hall, Cuttle informed me the next morning that he had seen it, -but that there wasn’t a word of truth in it! I demurred, but he stuck to -his guns steadily. It was the same last Monday, when I saw him for the -first time after our two most recent misfortunes, that of the Modder and -the Tugela. - -“This is bad news, Cuttle,” I said, as we met outside the greenhouse. - -“Well ma’am, they do try to make it out to be baddish, but I wouldn’t -believe it, if I was you.” - -“But it is in all the papers, Cuttle.” - -“Very likely it is ma’am, but what of that? I don’t hold with none of -those papers. They must be a-stuffing themselves out with something.” - -“But I’m afraid the generals admit it themselves.” - -“Excuse me ma’am, but that’s just where you’re making a great mistake. -We don’t know nothing about what the generals admit. All we know is that -the papers _say_ they admit it, which is a very different story. Mark my -words, you’ll find that it’ll turn out to be some of their muddlings. -Just you mark my words for it, that’s how it is.” - -I said meekly “I hope so, Cuttle,” and walked away, for really I had not -the heart to try and shake his incredulity. Not that I imagine I could -have done so had I tried. That good, homespun garment of British pride -in which he had wrapped himself was proof against any assaults that I -could have brought to bear upon it. I wish with all my heart that he -would lend us each a piece of it. We want it badly. Pray heaven and all -its saints that we may none of us ever need it much worse than we do -this Christmas-day, 1899! - - * * * * * - -CHRISTMAS-DAY, 4 P.M. - -Since luncheon I have been to see a neighbour, in the vague hope that -some fresh war news might have arrived this morning. There was none of -course, and I walked home again between banks of withered bracken and -trailing bramble, under the big tree-hollies, glistening all over their -surfaces with a thousand reminders of Christmas, and of its gifts. -England is so big, and old, and sensible that she does not generally -care about Christmas presents, but there is one present that, I take it, -she would dearly like to have to-day. Shiploads of holly, forests of -mistletoe are hers for the asking, but that one little leaf of victor’s -laurel that she wants so badly, that she would so gladly pin upon that -broad breast of hers, this, it seems, is denied her. It may come -to-morrow. It _must_, we all, not alone Cuttle, feel convinced, come -before long, but it will not come in time for her Christmas-box. - -What an odd convention it is, when one thinks of it, that habit of -embodying a country in an individual! Considered seriously the whole -contention is absurd. To talk of a nation as a person is to talk sheer -nonsense. If one handles the idea a little it tumbles to pieces in one’s -fingers. The fiction of unity resolves itself into a mere vortex of -atoms, all moving in different ways, and moreover with a different -general drift in each successive generation. As a matter of fact I doubt -whether Englishmen, who are nothing if not practical, ever do think of -their own country as an individual, unless one of them happens to be -called upon to design a coin or a cartoon. The whole idea is extraneous, -a survival from classical days, and the lumbering absurdities which are -now and then dragged about the streets only go to prove how far from the -genius of the people such representations really are. - -Perhaps it is because I am not English that I find myself falling so -readily into the trick. There was a time,--not a very recent one--when I -thought of England habitually in that light, and in the most truculent -fashion possible. In my eyes she stood visibly out as the Great Bully, -the Supreme Tyrant, red with the blood of Ireland and Irish heroes. It -was always _she_ and _her_ then; indeed it was only by keeping up the -fiction of an incarnate Saxondom that indignation could be retained at -the proper boiling point. To turn from the past to the present was to -spoil the whole effect. In place of War, Famine, Massacre, one only got -dull political controversies, or equally dull agrarian disturbances. For -the Raleighs, the Sydneys, the Straffords, the Cromwells,--vast -impressive figures, large and lurid--only a group of rather harassed -gentlemen, “well-meaning English officials,” painfully endeavouring to -steer their way so as to offend everyone as little as possible. Yes, I -had quite a respectable capacity for hatred in those days, and -England--that historic England of which I knew absolutely -nothing--enjoyed the greater part of it. Especially, I remember, that I -used to gloat over the notion of some day or other a great national -HUMILIATION befalling her--a Sedan, a Moscow--I hardly knew what; -retribution at all events in some very visible and dramatic form. With -what glee I used to picture her standing helplessly before the nations; -without a friend or an ally to turn to; naked and ashamed; crushed -bleeding to the earth, as she had so often crushed Ireland; a mark for -every wagging head---- - -Well, well, thus we play the fool, and the spirits of the wise sit in -the clouds and mock us! Here am I walking home along an English lane, -and almost wringing my hands in despair because such a very mild and -colourless version of those old cherished dreams has befallen mine -ancient enemy! - - * * * * * - -CHRISTMAS-DAY, 6 P.M. - -I forgot to record quite an unlooked-for little pleasure which befell me -on my way home this afternoon; one of those little incidents which are -nothing in themselves, yet which mean much to us, and never more so than -when life is going ill. - -I had got as far as the grassy entrance to our copse when a sudden -dazzling gleam of sunlight shot across it, sweeping over the fields -beyond, and away up to the top of the downs. Though the day had been -fairly fine for the time of year, the expectation of so dramatic a -finale to it had never for a moment crossed my mind, and I stood gazing -about me almost as if something had happened; feeling in fact as if -something desirable and unlooked for _had_ happened. - -The yellow oak scrub--withered but not leafless--glowed with a sudden -russet splendour. Upon the little garden wall the terra-cotta pots shone -with a momentary reminiscence of that Italy where they were born and -baked. The air seemed to tingle; the tall birches glistened, one sheen -of feathery silver up to their tiniest towering twigs. It was a kindly -thought of whichever divinity sent that most unexpected and satisfactory -beam to cheer this particular day. It did not last long of course, and -the gloom of a winter’s night has followed quickly. For all that -Christmas 1899 will never seem quite so dark, never so absolutely -despairing in the retrospect, as it would have done without that last -benevolent gleam at eventide. - - - - -JANUARY 3, 1900 - - -The satisfactions of intercourse are apt to be overrated, yet there are -times when they are certainly not without their uses. Living for the -moment alone--if anyone can be said to be alone who possesses a few good -neighbours, and one kind dog--I find myself in an oddly dualistic -condition of mind. In bodily presence I am here at H----, engaged in -sundry important avocations. I am path making; copse cutting; plant -protecting; I am even bricks-and-mortar superintending in a small way. -To my own private consciousness I am really engaged in quite another set -of preoccupations, and a very long way from these green downs, and -rustling oak copses of ours. The experience does not pretend to be -particularly original, seeing that a large number of other people’s -experience would probably just now bear it out. Solitude however -emphasises these sort of odd dualities, and endows them with an air of -greater distinction. Are mortals better and wiser, or worse and more -foolish when they are alone? - -The wisdom of the ages has hitherto declined to answer that question, a -fact which probably proves its wisdom. Better or not, one thing is at -least certain, and that is that they are extremely different. “Men -descend to meet,” says Emerson, and he may be right. I am inclined -myself however to think that that profundity, that peculiar mental -greatness of which, like others, I am perfectly conscious when I am -alone, is less a solid than a gaseous greatness; a sort of exaltation, -dependent for the most part upon the fact of there being no one to -contradict me. We are all of us at all times microcosms, but never are -we so completely microcosms as when we are quite by ourselves. Then we -seem to swell into a perfectly multitudinous host, all the members of -which exhibit a singular unanimity, and moreover a touching desire to -endorse our own views, however often these may contradict one another! - -Like many other honest-minded civilians, my thoughts have of late been -considerably taken up with schemes of amateur strategy. The plans of -campaign that I have formulated in the course of the last two months -would have puzzled Von Moltke, and might even have gone far to surprise -Napoleon! If I have not forwarded any of them to our Generals in South -Africa it has been mainly because I felt that it might be kinder to -allow them to go on in their own way without any assistance of mine. I -heard lately of someone, by the way, who actually had telegraphed out -her recommendations to Sir Redvers Buller. As the story reached me the -telegram took this form: “Please try to relieve Ladysmith.” I hope for -the credit of human nature that the tale is true, but if so there is a -simple innocence about this form of admonition of which I fear that I -should have been personally quite incapable. My own ideas, my own forms -of suggestion, are entirely different. They are large, nay grandiose, -and moreover they are extremely intricate. As I walk about over these -lanes and downs I see strategical possibilities in all directions, which -cause me to thrill over the magnitude of my own conceptions. - -Towards evening, especially, the sense of what might be,--of what, for -aught anyone can say to the contrary, still may be,--rises almost -palpably; a beckoning ghostly phantom of the Great Coming Invasion. -Dorking--that scene of crushing British disaster--is not far off; were I -to clamber up the opposite ridge I should be looking down on it. -Moreover, between one landscape and another the difference becomes much -less when all detail is reduced to one vast blur. I have a friendly -knoll upon which I sometimes take my stand towards sunset hour, and from -which I have of late conjured up Biggars-bergs, inaccessible and -kopje-covered as heart could desire. It is true that the enemy holding -them is absolutely invisible, but then so he probably would be in any -case. Evening has moreover in my experience an odd power of loosening -the tie of the actual. The mind seems to be less fixed to its shell than -in the earlier, and more garish hours of the day. As the shadows -lengthen stronger and stronger becomes the impression that the world is -after all but a small place, and that the scenes that one is thinking of -are nearly, if not quite, as close as those that one is actually looking -at. Thought flits over the wave-crests between this and South Africa -more lightly than one of Mother Carey’s chickens, and alights dry-shod -upon the veldt. One is amongst them. One is standing in the midst of -them. One can see, literally all but see, that tattered, sunburnt, -rather dilapidated-looking host--friends, cousins, kinsfolk; countrymen -and fellow-subjects at all events. How odd you all look, dear friends, -and yet how familiar! Big English frames, shrewd Scotch faces, tender, -devil-may-care Irish hearts. Surely one knows you? Surely you are very -near to us, disguise yourselves as you may? The setting may be new, the -remoteness considerable, but neither setting nor remoteness can hinder -one from feeling at home in the midst of you! - - - - -JANUARY 6, 1900 - - -“Bullets--The air was a sieve of them.--They beat upon the boulders like -a million hammers. They tore the turf like a harrow!” - -These three lines came out of a recent number of the _Daily Mail_, and -they describe Elandslaagte. Is it, I wonder, because Literature is so -much more familiar to me than War that I seem to require the aid of the -one in order to bring home to me the reality of the other? These three -lines are certainly literature, literature of the impressionist kind, -which, if not the best in the abstract, is at any rate the best for such -a purpose. Trying to put oneself into the position of such a bystander -as the writer of them, I am able to fancy that if the bullets came thick -enough they really _might_ seem to tear the turf like a harrow. In what -way exactly the air could be said to be a sieve of them, I am not clear, -yet the phrase seems to live, and therefore to carry its own -justification. As it happens I was out yesterday in a rather -exceptionally imposing hail-storm. It was so dry that there was no -occasion to hurry, and I stood still for a while to study effects. The -stones, as they pattered and rattled round me, might--danger apart--have -quite served as a suggestion of the other sort of rattling and -pattering. Looking at them dispassionately I inquired of myself, “Would -one run?” and Truth--there being no one else present--promptly replied, -“Madly!” So, save for the grace of acquired training, I take it would -nearly everybody. My hail bullets seemed to be in a prodigious hurry, -and were being prodigally, if not very scientifically, directed by -marksmen concealed somewhere above Leith hill. They hissed, they danced, -they ricochetted off the trees, they bespattered the ground in all -directions in a very businesslike and realistic fashion. There was a -good deal of snow still lying unmelted in corners, and into that snow -the new-comers as they fell cut deep little pits, and disappeared from -sight in an instant. Elsewhere they drove in white flocks over the -ground, hardly melting at all. They were not quite so large as carrots, -as someone assured me that he had once seen hailstones, but they were -certainly as large as fair-sized gooseberries. Through such a furious -hail--only appropriately black--the famous Bagarrah cavalry rode to -their deaths last September year. Through such a hail, as thick, as -fierce, as brutally indifferent, who that one knows, that one cares for, -may not be riding or walking to-day? - - - - -JANUARY 8, 1900 - - -We have been enveloped all this morning in a cloud of smoke, not exactly -battlesmoke, but nearly as thick, perhaps, in these days of smokeless -powder, rather thicker. Our indefatigable Cuttle has decreed that we -must at all costs get rid of those mountains of garden rubbish, which -seem to be for ever accumulating. Hence this smoke! Never in my life did -I see such volumes! They rolled in blackish blue columns all about our -leafless copse, till towards the afternoon, a wind getting up, they were -swept finally westward, across the downs, somewhere in the direction of -Guildford. - -Personally I like the smell, acrid though it undoubtedly is. The pile -itself is moreover the nearest approach one ever gets in these -degenerate days to a bonfire, for which I still retain the most -infantile affection, and which never seems to be so familiar, or so -endearing, as upon the afternoon of a winter’s day. Who can explain -those incredibly remote, yet at the same time perfectly definite -feelings of association, of which we are all at times more or less -aware? Why should certain perfectly commonplace things awaken dreams, -reminiscences, suggestions; whereas others, every bit equally qualified -to do so, find us blank, and indifferent? Of all such aids to impersonal -memory, commend me to an out-of-door fire! The wild, keen smell of it. -The red eye of flame, blinking at one out of the heap. The sleepy rolls -of smoke, tumbling about, and making one’s eyes water. The sudden -“crick, crick, crackle” of a snapping twig, travelling sharply through -the frosty air. All these separately, or the whole combined, bring with -them trains of association that have been accumulating very much longer, -or I am much mistaken, than the course of any one single lifetime. -Reminiscences, who can tell, of that remote day when the human hearth -was for the most part not an indoor, but an out-of-door one? - -A friend and neighbour of ours has recently improved upon such casual -burnings by having what may be called a permanent bonfire in her -grounds, and I wonder more people who love their gardens, and spend -whole winters in the country, do not adopt the plan. In one respect it -is certainly an inferior bonfire, for its main constituents are, not -leaves and sticks, but anthracite coal. To make amends, it burns merrily -away night and day, only needing to be replenished, I am assured, once -in twenty-four hours. Her garden lies in the heart of a big pinewood, -and the fire has its home in an open lodge or gazebo, supported by larch -poles, without door or window, but made possible to sit in in cold -weather, by being match-boarded upon two sides, the south and south-east -sides alone being widely open. Until one has actually tried, it is -difficult to believe how comfortable one can be in such a spot even on a -very frosty evening, both feet extended to the blaze, and a rug tucked -round one to keep off stray draughts. As daylight wanes the red glow -increases, lighting up the big pine trunks, and awakening in one’s mind -vagrant suggestions of camp fires, and forest settlements, while at -other times it has the practical advantage of making many garden -operations possible which, without such a speedy refuge to fly to, would -in this chill-evoking climate of ours scarce be practicable. - -It is odd what minute deviations from the everyday stir the mind, and -help it to shake off that crust of routine, which it ought to be the aim -of all of us to get rid of. In these days too, one is thankful to -anything that gives a stir to existence, apart from the weary -newspapers. It is, I think, one of the few merits of winter that spots, -at other times tame to flatness, seem in fierce, or exceptionally cold -weather to revert to an older, and a wilder condition. Snow admittedly -recreates everything; our most familiar paths and shrubberies, nay our -very stable runnels, growing quite arctic and hyperborean-looking under -its disguise. Apart from snow, the same impression is produced by any -really strong atmospheric variation. Crackling grass, and glittering -ice-bound trees, awaken one set of suggestions. Roaring winds, a -drenched earth, and inky clouds tumbling wildly over the sky, arouse -quite others. Even objects inside the garden, plants that have been -perhaps put there by one’s own hands; clumps say, of bamboos and reedy -grasses--Arundo donax or the like--assume suddenly new, and slightly -savage aspects when one sees them sweeping to and fro, or buckling like -so many fishing rods under the lash of a sudden tempest. The commonplace -is not really unescapable, though it often seems as though it were. -There are wider, freer notes, which only need awakening to stir, and -thrill us with their presence. The imagination leaps to meet them, and -feels them to be its right. For we are all heirs to a large inheritance, -though we are apt, as a rule, to be forgetful of the fact. - - - - -JANUARY 10, 1900 - - -Two kindly days in a desperately grim winter have had the effect of -reawakening in one’s mind half-forgotten thrillings; thrillings after -long grass, and green shadows; after a thousand eye-caressing tints; -after the pure, delicious life and companionship of flowers. There are -times when all this seems rather to pain than to please. When the -persistency of such perishable things appears but an added wrong, but an -additional unkindness. Why should these last, and other, and higher -ones, _not_ last? we demand; one of those questions which, seeing that -they can never be answered, it were as well, perhaps, that they should -remain permanently unasked. - -Walking briskly along the lanes this morning, with a determination to -think only of what lay immediately below my eyes, I have been struck -afresh, as often before, by the capabilities of beauty possessed even by -the poorest plots of ground; plots which, far from having been -intentionally beautified, have been stripped, on the contrary, for -utilitarian reasons of such beauty as Nature had originally endowed them -with. Yet, under the influence of a little kindly sunshine, how they -still gleam, those poor plots; how the few green things left in them -manage to prink themselves out, and to respond genially to that genial -greeting! “And is it not slightly discreditable,” I reflected, “that we, -who call ourselves gardeners, and have deliberately taken in hand -similar, often much better plots, specially with an eye to beautifying -them, should again and again completely fail in doing so; should again -and again spend thought, time, money, and the sweat of the brow--chiefly -of other people’s brows--and all that they should, as often as not, be -rather worse at the end than at the beginning?” - -The truth is that this business of “beautifying,” into which many of us -have recklessly plunged, is a very much more difficult and a very much -more delicate operation than we are prepared to admit. To the truly -discerning, the truly nature-loving eye, the smallest scrap of -plant-producing ground, the homeliest corner of earth--“long heath, -brown furze, anything"--has potentialities of beauty and interest which -even the best gardener rarely develops as they might, and ought to be -developed. It is not merely that individually our powers are weak, our -taste poor, our ignorance great, our imagination defective, but that -over and above all this we have in most cases not the faintest idea of -what we are aiming at. With no clear vision of what we propose -ultimately to produce, how in the name of reason can we hope to produce -it, or anything else worth having? - -The cause of the mischance in nine cases out of ten lies in the fact -that we attempt too much. Our original combination may have been good, -but we want to make it still better. Our gold gets overgilt; our lilies -are painted till they almost cease to be lilies at all, and the result -is failure all along the line. This sounds the reverse of encouraging, -but I am not sure but what it is in some respects better that it should -be so. I suspect that all gardeners--professionals and amateurs, experts -and gropers,--are just now rather in a state of flux and indecision. Two -chief schools hold the field, and are in some respects mutually -destructive of one another. There is the school which avows itself the -faithful, not to say the servile, follower and imitator of Nature, and -there is the school that proposes to itself to improve upon her. The -tendency of the first is to develop a good deal of picturesque disorder, -a pleasant, rather easy-going sense of repose, and possibly some want of -definite form and colour. The tendency of the second, or rather of its -members, is to regard the garden as a battle-ground; colour, size, -brilliancy, height, as so many tests of their own personal victory, and -every plant, species and hybrid alike, as objects for them to shape and -manipulate at their own good pleasure. - -Will these two divergent schools ultimately combine into one harmonious -whole? Will the over-strenuous science of the second strengthen and -reform the airy, somewhat weed-encouraging grace of the first? Will the -aspiration after beauty of the one, in time relax the utilitarian -tension of the other? These are questions which must be left to be -resolved in the still unplumbed future. Possibly the gardener of the -twenty-first or twenty-second century may be able to reply to them! - -Pending that desirable, but still rather remote, contingency, I have -left the lanes, and returned homeward, and am now looking down at our -own somewhat chaotic little garden, with its small brown beds, each -edged with a neat white frost-frill. Poor little garden! I have felt so -oblivious of it of late that a certain compunction comes over me as I -look at it. After all, gratitude for such good things as have come in -one’s way is an undoubted part of decent living, and the most practical -way of showing that gratitude is to make the best of them. Well, the -year is still young; there will be time enough for fulfilling that, and -every other small social obligation in the course of it. Eleven and a -half months! What unknown things have you got hidden away? What secrets, -as yet unguessed at by any of us, do you keep concealed behind those -picturesque, and friendly-sounding names of yours? - - - - -JANUARY 20, 1900 - - -The wind this morning was excruciatingly cold, with a hungry whistle, -that belied the pale sunrays, which were doing their best to redeem the -situation. On such a morning the good gardener’s thoughts, even before -going out, fly to the younger and weaklier amongst his plants, and his -imagination towards devising new shelters, and, if possible, more -efficient ones. Creepers are, as a rule, easily protected; either there -is a wall, against which mats can be laid, or, at worst, some post that -they can be fastened to. It is shrubs in the open that present the -greatest difficulty; nightcaps of sacking, or tents of matting not -adding to the picturesqueness even of a winter garden. - -Our more recently planted rhododendrons look anything but happy, and I -have just been begging Cuttle to bestow a good shovelful of nourishment -about the roots of each of them. It is not protection that they need, -for they are hardy enough, but they sicken in this thin, dry soil, -which seems to reach them through their two-foot blanket of peat. - -Even when well grown and long established, rhododendrons hardly seem to -me to be quite the ideal thing for these rustling oak copses of ours. We -plant them, partly for the sake of their colour in its season, partly -because we need evergreens, and the common ponticum is one of the best -of evergreens, but they seem to me to remain exotics, and not altogether -happy ones. There are two distinct varieties of scenery with both of -which rhododendrons consort magnificently. One is heavy, boggy ground, -deep, dark, and oozy, under large trees, into the recesses of which they -can settle, spreading out in all directions, re-rooting themselves as -they choose in the black earth; their flowers catching the divided -sunrays, and turning every hollow place into a pool of colour. Another, -and a yet more ideal place is a steep hillside, provided that it is -furnished with boulders, and provided that the said boulders are not of -limestone. There is one such hillside above the Bay of Dublin which I -find it difficult to believe might not be able to hold its own, even -though confronted with any similar extent of ground amongst the -Himalayas themselves. It begins as a ravine, rising out of a rather thin -wood. As one mounts the ravine opens, and the trees fall back. The -boulders, with which the slopes are covered, rise higher and higher, and -larger and larger, till they tower into the air over one’s head, perfect -monoliths. In and out, above, behind, and between them grow the -rhododendrons, in their flowering season an absolute feast of colour, -the sort of thing that in a cultivated age pilgrimages will be formed to -venerate. To see them in such a place is to get a new impression of the -possibilities of heroic gardening. One’s eyes are caught, one’s whole -mind and spirit is swept away upon a tide of colour; the grey micaceous -granite of the ravine, the heather looking down over its top, the long -blue river of sky, even the sea and its ships, seeming to be merely so -many adjuncts and accessories of the central picture. - -Such conditions are not to be found every day in the week, or in -everybody’s back garden. We have to work out our own redemption, each of -us as we best can, with such materials as the Fates have lent us. -Happily, as regards natural conditions, here in West Surrey, the -garden-lover, whatever other difficulties he may have to contend with, -has much to be grateful for. Thanks to its blessed unproductiveness, the -harrow has literally in many cases never passed over its soil; its very -weeds being mostly those of Nature’s own introduction, not imported -ones. Her handiwork is still plainly visible on every side. She looks -up at him out of the bracken with an aspect not very different from what -she wore at the Prime, and if he wishes to spoil her--well, he has to do -it for himself! This to many excellent gardeners would seem a poor -compensation for a sadly unproductive soil, and a deplorable lack of -summer moisture. There are others, however, to whom a certain sense of -indwelling peace, a certain feeling of underlying harmony, are the first -of all requirements. Now both of these are more easily _found_ than -made. - - - - -FEBRUARY 5, 1900 - - -Not to devote an indefinite number of hours to the reading of war news; -to eschew the luxury of idle hands, less on account of Dr. Watts’ -reasons against it, as on account of more personal ones, which have -taught me to reprobate the practice. Here are a couple of respectable -resolutions for a bitterly cold February morning. “Books, and work, and -healthful play”! Could a more commendable little programme be invented? -or one that might be followed with greater advantage by many of us who -only exhibit our superiority by laughing at it? - -Into which of the two latter categories gardening is to be ranged I am -not quite clear; it depends, I should say, upon the number of -rose-campions, “Snaking Tommys” and the like, that are to be found in -the garden in question. Winter is supposed to be a time of year which -gives comparatively little scope to the energies of the amateur -gardener. If so, then in this respect, if in no other, I am in luck’s -way this winter, for there is abundance to be done here; work moreover -which must either be attended to now, or else not done at all. With such -weather as we have of late had there is no margin either for dawdling. -To-day seems to be an off day with the frost fiend’s gang, and we must -try, therefore, to push our own work forward before they are back upon -us in renewed strength. By the look of the sky, and the general feeling -of things, it is evident that they are only just round the corner, and -collecting themselves for a fresh assault. As I crossed the open end of -the “glade” just now the wind met me with an edge, cruel and cutting as -spite, or hatred. A few aconites and snowdrops are pushing out their -flower-tips, but it is a mere bit of gallant bravado upon their part. By -night the stars, seen through any uncurtained window, seem to wink at -one derisively, and winter is still at the very top of its strength. - - - - -FEBRUARY 7, 1900 - - -“At the very top of its strength!” Cold as it has been of late, I hardly -expected to find no garden left when I got up to-day! So it is however. -Late last night everything seemed normal. This morning our little Dutch -garden has vanished utterly; swept out of existence as though it had -never existed. From centre to margin--beds, borders, walks, red walls, -everything--the entire little depression has been covered with a uniform -white blanket, effacing it completely, and restoring the landscape to -what it was before man, woman, or measuring tapes arrived to trouble it. -For the plants this new state of things is an improvement, but how about -our work? Behold us suddenly reduced to a state of deadlock; all our -various little activities brought to an absolute standstill. The paths -that were being cut through the copse; the ground that was being got -ready for grass-sowing; the flower-beds that had to be clipped into the -right shape; the heather that was being brought from a distant common, -where it could be cut discreetly; the entire bustle of the garden has -been brought to a condition of arrest. Into the middle of our fussy -little rhythm Nature has dropped her own imperious full-stop. Against -that full-stop there is no appeal. In vain one protests that one is -really in a great hurry; that unless these flower-beds are made, unless -yonder piece of ground is got ready for grass-sowing, March will be upon -us, and close at its heels, April; that the spring is coming on, and -that we _must_ get our work done. To this remonstrance Nature merely -opens her eyes with a mildly sarcastic air, and replies, “Must you?” It -is the case of the old woman of the nursery tale over again, who _had_ -to get her pig over the stile in order to give her old man his supper. -In that case she did, after many repulses, find a complacent beast, I -think, who undertook the task. The right spring was touched; the spell -broken, and the whole state of deadlock dissolved at once. How we are to -obtain so desirable a dissolution I have yet to learn. I see no spring -to touch; no bird, beast, or element that could be appealed to with the -slightest hope of success. The sky, iron-grey, with vicious, inky -streaks across it, does not seem promising; neither does the wind, which -keeps to its beloved north-east. The earth is invisible, consequently is -for the moment out of reckoning; while as for the birds and beasts, -they are much more disposed to turn to us for help, than to make any -friendly propositions the other way. - -It may be mere vanity upon my part, but it always seems to me that small -birds recognise their heavy, wingless, two-legged kinsfolk with less -difficulty during this sort of weather than at any other time of the -year. The fact that one bribes them to such recognition by vulgar doles -of breadcrumbs may have something to say to the matter, but I fancy that -I read a distinctly kindlier expression in their eyes. They glance at us -with an air of comparative condescension. They perceive that we share -their own helplessness; that we are not so very different from -themselves, only bigger and stupider. For instance, I have been publicly -snubbed this whole winter by the tomtits. Under the eye and to the -knowledge of the entire garden I set up a large post, hung over with -cocoa-nuts for their convenience. Some of these cocoa-nuts were sawn -into slices, others, more artfully, into rings, and I pleased myself by -believing that they would sit and swing in them, as they pecked an -unfamiliar, but not unpalatable meal. Will it be believed that not one -tomtit has deigned to touch those cocoa-nuts? They have hopped to and -fro on the boughs almost within peck of them, yet never so much as tried -to ascertain whether they were eatable or not. They preferred, in fact, -not to do so; in _their_ family, they practically sent me word, they -never ate victuals that had not been selected by themselves; other -people might do so, and they had heard that sparrows were less -particular, but it had never been _their_ custom. I felt--as anyone -would feel under the circumstances! To-day for the first time, thanks to -the friendly connivance of the snow, this fastidiousness has broken -down. With elation I perceive my disdainful blue neighbours, not only -pecking at, but actually sitting and swinging in the long-despised brown -rings. I am trying to bear my triumph meekly, and am helped towards -doing so by reminding myself of the well-known fact that in times of -stress and famine social distinctions are apt to break down. I shall -have to wait till the weather relaxes to see whether this amiability is -anything more than a truce, born of the hour of trouble, and not -intended to last beyond it. - -We are apt to talk as if the hyperborean conditions were no concern of -ours, yet, as Alphonse Karr long ago remarked, we have only to sit still -to find that these, and most other extremes of climate have come round -to us. It was the tropical or sub-tropical regions of the globe that not -long ago were good enough to send us specimens of their weather, as -enterprising trades-people enclose samples of their goods in envelopes. - -There were many days last summer--to be accurate, I believe, there were -forty-three--when it was by no means necessary to go to the Sahara in -order to ascertain what a condition of almost unendurable drought could -be like. For the present I feel that these two samples will suffice me. -I cannot, unfortunately, return them, since I do not know their sender’s -address, but I feel under no obligation to charter either camels or -whale-boats, in order to go and make their acquaintance upon a larger -scale. - -As for the mere ferocity and killing powers of Nature we are not without -a taste of her capacity even in that respect. Apart from the wild -creatures, which have to look out for themselves, she exacts in weather -like this a pretty stiff list of victims from the old, the weakly, and -the very young. My energetic chow Mongo insisted upon my taking him for -a late run through the snow this afternoon, and, as we stood for a -moment near the stile, there came up a melancholy little chorus of -bleatings from some sheepfold in the valley below us. I peered over into -the white darkness, but could see nothing; Mongo licked his lips, and I -earnestly trust that he was not thinking of mutton. It may be mere -weakness on my part, but I have always felt glad that in my various -communings with the good green earth I have stopped short at the garden, -the wood, the bog, the hillside, and have never once stepped into the -paddock or the farmyard. In reading lately Mr. Rider Haggard’s _Farmer’s -Year_, I found my pleasure a good deal interfered with by the eternal -and the detestable apparition of the butcher! Whenever the small lambs, -that frisked so delicately, were beginning to grow plump; whenever -certain Irish bullocks, whose vicissitudes one followed, were pronounced -to be not improving as they ought; even when the old milch cow, who had -given so much good milk, and had brought so many calves into the world, -began to flag--always there was that abominable apparition in a smeared -apron waiting for them close at hand, or peering in sinister fashion -from round a corner. No, whatever other functionary I might be willing -to share my pursuits with, assuredly I could never consent to share them -with Mr. Bones! The objection may be merely sentimental, but so are most -of our likings and dislikings merely sentimental. As for these green -clients of ours, it is true that they do die pretty frequently upon our -hands, and the fact is, no doubt, very distressing, the more so as in -nine cases out of ten we are aware that it is entirely our own fault. In -their case there are at least no heartrending cries or groans, heard or -unheard. They go to their own place in peace, wafted as it were by slow -music towards the gentlest of dissolutions. While as for ourselves, if -we are their murderers, well, we manage to hold up our heads, and take -particular care never to allude to the subject. On the contrary, we put -on an air of extra cheerfulness, and make haste to plant something -else! - - - - -FEBRUARY 10, 1900 - - -That resolution about the war and its newspapers I still feel to have -been the right one. Unfortunately, like many excellent resolutions, it -has only one drawback, which is that it is impossible to keep to it! The -situation has grown too strained; it clutches at one like a demon; it -rides one all day like some waking nightmare. In vain I assure myself -that the proper attitude for all non-combatants is one of absolute -patience. That it becomes us just now to study patience, as we might -study one of the fine arts; to learn, that is to say, either to go about -our own concerns, or else to wait till we are told--as we might be at -the end of an operation--“All over!” “All well!” This, I have no doubt, -is the proper and patriotic attitude, only how is it to be attained? or -who is sufficient for such placidity? It is not so many days since I -opened my paper at eight o’clock in the morning, and the message -heliographed by Sir George White to Sir Redvers Buller sprang to meet -my eye. “Very hard pressed” and immediately below it the comment--“Here -the light failed”! - -“Here the light failed!” That seems indeed to be the summary of the -whole situation. One question at least we are all forced to ask, if not -with our lips, at least inwardly. What of Ladysmith? Will it; can it now -be reached? and if not what is the alternative? Such thoughts are -gadflies, and would drive the tamest mad. Restlessness gets possession -of one. The thirst for news, more news, ever more, and more, becomes a -possession; one that is no sooner slaked than it revives afresh. My -particular garden boy has been turned into a mere newspaper boy, and -spends his whole days running downhill to the station, on the bare -chance of another paper having come in, or of someone having seen -someone, who may possibly know something. - -Has it often happened I wonder in the history of a country that this -sort of external and public news--the news of the street and of the -newspaper--becomes to each individual his own absolutely private news; -news that for the moment seems to supersede even the acutest personal -grief; news that makes the tears start, the pulses throb, the heart, at -apprehension of what may be going to happen, literally stand still from -fear? The thought of Ladysmith, it is no exaggeration to say, amounts -to an agony. One feels it in one’s very bones. Fear of what its fate may -be is the last thought at night, and one awakens to remember it with a -sensation of despair which would be ridiculous were it not so real. - -For the odd part of it is that not a single creature near and dear to me -is shut up within those walls. My interest in it is therefore a purely -external one, the interest of a citizen, nothing more. If we--myself, -and others in the like case--feel it thus acutely, how must the -situation stand to-day, to-morrow, all these pitiless, interminable -days, to some? - - - - -FEBRUARY 12, 1900 - - -I had occasion to go to Guildford yesterday despite the weather, and met -in the train our eminent horticultural acquaintance, Mr. R. P. We have -always a good deal to say to one another on the subject of our -respective gardens, although his is a long-established and renowned one, -ours such a callow young thing that it is hardly fit as yet to be called -a garden at all. On this occasion, seeing that he was coming from -London, my first remark was not a horticultural one. - -“Is there anything fresh?” I asked. “News seems so often to come in just -after the morning papers are out.” - -“Fresh? Oh, you mean about the war? No, I think not. Everybody seems to -be pretty sick over the whole business. I saw Sir F. J. the day before -yesterday, and he was very much in the dumps about it. He says the -Tommies out there don’t like it one bit. That they have got their tails -regularly between their legs, and I’m sure _I_ don’t wonder.” - -“How dare he!--I mean I don’t believe a word of that!” I exclaimed. -“Anything else I am willing to believe, but not that. We have got our -tails between our legs here at home if you like; I am quite ready to -admit that. But they! Never!” - -“Well, I don’t know. I only tell you what I hear. They have had a -baddish time, you must remember. Stormberg and all that!--quite enough -to give anyone the jumps, _I_ should say. Of course it has been kept out -of the papers. In the papers the Tommies always figure as heroes. Is -Anemone Blanda in flower with you yet?"--this with a sudden rise of -animation. - -“Anemone Blanda?” I repeated, feeling slightly confused by the rapidity -of the transition. “Yes. At least no. I think not--I haven’t looked -lately.” - -“It is with me! Sixteen tufts in full flower--beauties! I shelter them a -bit of course, but only to save them from getting knocked about. You -never saw such a colour as they are! Yours were the pale blue ones, -weren’t they? I know there’s a lot of that sort in the trade that are -sold as Anemone Blanda, but they’re not the right Blanda at all. Mine -are as blue as, oh, as blue as--blue paint.” - -“We have numbers of bulbs at present in flower,” I said severely. -“Scillas and chinodoxas, and daffodils, and tulips, and Iris Alata, and -many others.” - -“Ah, potted bulbs. They’re poor sort of things generally, don’t you -think? Some people, I believe, like them though.” - -“We have Cyclamen Coum in flower out of doors,” I added; garden vanity, -or more probably deflected ill-humour, arousing in me a sudden spirit of -violent horticultural rivalry. - -“Oh, you have, have you?"--this in a tone of somewhat enhanced respect. -“Don’t you shelter it at all?” - -“Not in the least!” I replied contemptuously. “We grow it out in the -copse; on the stones; in all directions. It is a perfect weed with us. -No weather seems to make the slightest difference.” - -I am really surprised that I did not assert that we had Orchids and -Bougainvillæas growing out of doors in the snow! It is probable that I -should have done so in another five minutes, for irritation sometimes -takes the oddest forms. Luckily for my veracity our roads just then -diverged; my horticultural acquaintance getting out at the next station, -and I continuing on my way to Guildford. - -I don’t think I have ever in my life felt more ruffled, more thoroughly -exasperated than I was by that most uncalled-for remark about the -Tommies. Had they been all individually my sons or my nephews I doubt -if I could have felt more insulted! I adore my garden, and yield to no -one in my estimation of its supreme importance as a topic; still there -are moments when even horticulture must learn to bow its head; when the -reputation of one’s Flag rises to a higher place in one’s estimation -than even the reputation of one’s flower-beds. “Anemone Blanda!” I -repeated several times to myself in the course of the afternoon, and -each time with a stronger feeling of exasperation. “_Anemone Blanda_, -indeed!” - - - - -FEBRUARY 13, 1900 - - -If what lies beyond the next few weeks could be suddenly laid open to -us, what should we see? It is, I am aware, rank cowardice upon my part, -but if by merely ruffling over the blank pages of this diary which I -hold in my hand I could in an instant find out, I know that I should -refuse to do so. The same feeling has beset me before now, but hitherto -always with regard to personal matters; never, so far as I can remember, -with regard to public ones. Three weeks! It is not a very long time. -Only a few more crocuses and scillas will be out in our little Dutch -garden; only a few more oaks and chestnuts cut in the copse, yet within -that time the fate of Ladysmith must be decided. Should help fail to -reach it--and it may well prove impossible--what shall we see? what will -the world see? what will our various enemies see? Only two alternatives -appear to be open: an unbelievable surrender, and an only too easily -believable slaughter. That last of course is the central thought, the -unendurable one; the vision that hangs before one’s eyes day and night. -Death upon those iron hills; death without the possibility of -accomplishing anything; death under the most unendurable of conditions; -shot helplessly, like the furred or the feathered beasts of a _battue_. -I write it down deliberately, in the hope of thereby getting rid of it, -for it haunts one unendurably. With that perversity, which makes us all -at times our own most ingenious torturer, my mind revolves continually -around the disaster before it comes, and fills up every detail with the -most diabolical distinctness. “Fall of Ladysmith! Fall of Ladysmith! -Destruction of the garrison!” It seems to reverberate along the roads; -it presents itself upon every village hoarding, as a friend of mine saw -it several times this winter upon those of the Paris boulevards. Before -I open my paper in the morning it seems to be hidden under the folds, -ready like an asp to spring out and poison me. At night I fall asleep to -the thought of it, and in my dreams it performs wild and Weirtz-like -antics, projecting itself in and out of them with all that monstrous -reduplication which the besetting idea has a way of achieving for -itself, when the brain that originated it is nominally asleep, and at -peace. - - - - -LONDON, FEBRUARY 16, 1900 - - -God be thanked! God be thanked! one of them, at least, is safe. -Kimberley has been relieved, and the others, assuredly the others will -follow? This leap from a midnight of gloom to a midday of joy has been -almost too great; life, even for the most placid, has become too -breathless, too crowded; let me pause a moment and recapitulate. I came -to London upon Saint Valentine’s day, the 14th; S. S. being on her way -south; circumstances delayed her a day, and in that day all this -happened. We had gone to see a friend; she left me to take a turn in the -Park; in a few minutes she returned breathlessly; she had met a -park-keeper and he had told her the news. Five minutes more we were both -in the park; had caught the same inspired park-keeper, and had fallen -upon him simultaneously. - -“Is it true? How do you know? Who told you?” - -“Quite true ma’am. Quite true ladies. You’ll find it written up at the -War Office.” - -“But how? Where did they get in from? The enemy were right across; -so----” - -“Well ladies, as I understand it were like this. General French was sent -north, and he fetched a big circuit as it were so. And----” - -With our umbrellas we drew a hasty but effectual scheme of attack upon -the park gravel, then hurried away from our gold-braided informant in -the direction of Pall Mall. - -Oddly enough St. James’s Palace did not appear to be in the least -irradiated by the intelligence! its grim old face remained as -unresponsive, and as dirty as usual. Everything else however had caught -the glamour. It shone upon the cabs, or at any rate upon their cabbies; -it lit up the sea of mud; it seemed to float along the pavements scoured -by a recent shower. Men were coming out of the clubs in groups, talking -loudly; everyone talked loudly; not an acquaintance was in sight, yet -they seemed to be all acquaintances; more than acquaintances, friends, -dear friends; we looked benignantly at them, and they looked benignantly -back at us. In London; in St. James’ Street! Tall or short, stiff or -pompous, young or old, it was all one; they were brothers; brothers in a -common joy, brothers in a common relief from an all but maddening dread. -To smile for no reason in some perfectly decorous stranger’s face -seemed to be the most usual, the most natural behaviour. Safe! Safe! It -was a chime, one which needed no joy bells to make it sound louder. -Surely for us at least it was worth the strain, worth the long suspense, -the almost hopeless anxiety for this? And Ladysmith? and Mafeking? The -turn has come; the tide has changed! We shall shortly hear the same news -of them. We shall be rejoicing over both of them to-morrow! - - - - -SURREY, FEBRUARY 26, 1900 - - -There is a little tapestry fire-screen in my sitting-room here, which -has been disturbing me quite seriously all this winter. It represents a -group of Boers--when the tapestry was made I take it the word was spelt -_boors_--of various ages and sexes, but all equally convulsed with -laughter. The central figure is a big, square-jawed, good-natured -looking fellow, who holds aloft in his hands a tiny, red-coated toy -manikin, which he is causing to perform ridiculous antics for the -amusement of a solid infant of two or three years old, who is trying to -reach it. At a table close by an old man sits eating, in a suit of what -appears to be greasy grey corduroys. He also grins with satisfaction at -the performance. So does a woman--presumably the mother of the solid -infant--who looks back laughingly from a doorway, over the dish which -she carries in her hands. Other Boers, or boors, are to be seen in the -background, all equally convulsed by the ludicrous figure cut by little -Red-coat; all distorting jaws--wide enough by nature--into grimaces -expressive of appreciation at his ridiculous position. - -Since the original of this piece of tapestry was painted over three -hundred years ago by a painter named Teniers, it is not at all likely -that it was meant to represent our Boers of to-day, nor that the -ridiculous little manikin in the red coat could be meant for an -unfortunate _Rooinek_! In spite of that fact I have been unable for -months to endure to look at this side of my harmless little fire-screen. -Every morning on entering my sitting-room my first act has been to push -it up through its sliding groove, until only a pair of prodigiously -stout calves, and one infant’s shoe remain to be seen. To-day--and I -write the fact down as a sign of changed times--my fire-screen remains -untouched! More than this, I have found a malignant satisfaction in -sitting down before it, and, as I warmed my feet--damp with gardening -operations--surveying the row of grinning faces, with the little red -manikin still performing his degrading antics in their midst. - -“Laugh away, my friends!” I remarked. “Laugh away! Make the most of your -time. Don’t disturb yourselves pray on my account. The unfortunate -_Rooinek_ is no doubt, as you say, a very ridiculous and helpless sort -of creature. At the same time don’t be too sure that he may not make a -sudden leap yet out of your fingers! Stranger things have happened.” - -So many caricaturists, friendly and unfriendly, have made capital out of -this struggle of ours that I rather wonder none of them seem to have hit -upon this familiar Teniers. That accuracy that pertains to all genius is -plainly visible, moreover, as one looks at it, for the -portraits--evidently they are portraits--might be those of any group of -our worthy enemies to-day. As for the old fellow at the table, it might -be Oom Paul himself in proper person; the same air of somewhat -sanctimonious rectitude; the same broad fleshy nose, the same protruding -chin, the same semicircular sweep of grizzled beard. It sets one -reflecting upon the persistency of national types. Centuries rise, and -grow, and fade away; wars are made and cease again, but probably few -things in this fluctuating world change so little, or with such a -snail-like slowness, as the few broad lines upon which the -characteristics of any given race have once got themselves legibly -inscribed. - - - - -MARCH 1, 1900 - - -Surely we need no satirist to point out the ironies of life, for they -are for ever with us! Here is the latest in my own experience:-- - -After all my arrangements, my care about telegrams, my determination not -to be defrauded of even half an hour’s satisfaction, I have heard at -last of the relief of Ladysmith from a child by the roadside; from a -child? nay but from a baby, a smudgy-faced cottage infant, that could -barely walk, and certainly was quite unable to talk! It happened in this -wise. I was hurrying along the lane on my way to take the train for -Godalming, having waited till the last minute in hopes of a telegram -which never came. My morning papers had told me nothing, or nothing -beyond vague surmises, which I was quite competent to provide for -myself; consequently I was famishing for more substantial fare. I had -nearly reached the village, and was hurrying round the last corner. -Suddenly out of one of the cottage doors came this creature, dragging -after it a stick with something red tied to it, which I entirely failed -to distinguish as having been even intended for a flag. Either it -stumbled, or from sheer force of circumstances simply sat down in the -middle of the road, right in front of me. I was delayed an instant, and -in that instant out flew its mother, and plucked it to its feet again, -with a sound maternal smack. - -“There ain’t no sense in yer being run over, is there, ye little fule, -not if Ladysmith _is_ relieved!” - -“Ladysmith!” I was upon the two of them in an instant, and had seized -the bigger one by the arm, though she was not an acquaintance of mine. - -“What did you say? _Is_ Ladysmith relieved?” - -“Lor bless you ma’am, don’t you know? Why hours and hours ago! _We_ -heard of it a little afore eleven we did!” - -“But are you certain? Is there no mistake this time?” - -“Mistake? Bless you, no ma’am, there ain’t no mistake! Why it were stuck -up at the office by Mr. Smith hisself, just gone quarter to the hour. I -was a-coming along with my husband’s second breakfast, for he’s working -now for Mr. Bellew at the Mills. So as I was passing close to the office -‘Whatever is all this about,’ thinks I, for there was eight or ten -people a-standin’ there, and a-readin’ somethink. And with that I -sees----” - -I too had seen something! A flag--unmistakably a Union Jack--hanging -near the Church, I had overlooked it in my hurry. At sight of that, -excitement, combined with the fear of missing my train, overcame my -politeness, and I flew down the lane in the direction of the station. - -The train was caught, but only by the narrowest margin. I sprang into a -carriage, all but shaking hands as I did so with an absolutely unknown -old gentleman, who was its only other occupant. Everyone knows the -shrinking, the more than maidenly dread of the solitary travelling _he_, -for the unknown travelling _she_, however harmless the latter may look. -On this occasion public interest overcame even that terror. As a river -bursts through its banks, so my old gentleman burst into a torrent of -repressed information. He had just come from London; he had witnessed -the scene at the Mansion House; he described to me the Lord Mayor coming -to the window with a telegram in his hands; he dilated upon the crowds, -the cheering, the flags, the block in the streets; above all upon the -central fact of the situation, which was that he had himself been -thereby made twenty minutes late at his board, or meeting, whatever it -was. “For the first time in twenty-five years!--the very first time! -They couldn’t make out _what_ had happened to me; thought I must have -been run over!” he assured me several times between Guildford and -Godalming. - -Well, well, it has come at last! All is right, all is well, and we may -go back to our own little concerns; our housekeepings, and our -marketings, our weedings, and our seed-sowing, with lighter; let us -hope, perhaps also, with a trifle gratefuller hearts? - - - - -MARCH 3, 1900 - - -Our good old Cuttle is leaving us; will be gone by this time next week, -and I feel more sorry than seems quite reasonable! To-day, when we began -talking the matter over together, a suspicious huskiness in my voice -warned me that I should do well to get away from the subject before my -character for propriety was quite lost! - -It is better I know for many reasons that he should leave. He cannot, -indeed will not, undertake sole charge of both flower and kitchen -garden, and to have anyone over him in either department is not to be -dreamed of. Moreover his own home is four miles away, all up and down a -long crooked lane, and a walk like that after a hard day’s work would be -enough to try anyone half his age. Under ordinary circumstances the -departure of a man who, though he has been with us now nearly three -years, came at first as a mere jobber, would be a small affair on either -side. Our poor old Cuttle is however so identified with the very -existence of this little possession of ours that to lose him seems like -losing a piece, and moreover a considerable piece of it. If the pegs and -the marking-tapes have been our contributions, all the solid work, the -earth turning and delving, the trenching, the grass-sowing, the cutting -down of trees, above all the interminable pitchfork operations, have -been his, and his satellite’s. Surely then he has a right to regard -himself as its creator? Our good, old, kindly, argumentative Cuttle! The -familiar little nooks and corners, cultivated, wild, half wild, will -hardly seem so entirely themselves; hardly so intimately familiar, -without your friendly face! - - - - -MARCH 5, 1900 - - -Allah be praised for a leisurely life! I have been visiting A. R. D., -whose days are filled with large and various activities; whose -responsibilities are great; whose hours of work are long; of leisure few -and scanty. I admire such indomitable workers, with an admiration which -increases with every year I live, but I envy them, Oh ye gods, not at -all! - -“Cling to the peace of obscurity; they shall be happy that love thee.” -Where, I wonder, have I acquired that rather ignominious injunction? -There is a seventeenth-century flavour about it which makes it sound -respectable, yet at bottom I suppose it is merely a counsel of laziness. -Work, far from the curse, is the alleviation of the curse; of that I am -as convinced as anybody. At the same time a good deal of the work that -goes on around one seems to be rather the product of the unasked -volition of the worker, than of any violent external necessity. -Obscurity and laziness moreover are far from interchangeable terms, -seeing that the majority of the hard-workers of the world are, and as a -necessity always will be, obscure. It is only in our little fussy -artistic or literary coteries that the two ideas have attained to a sort -of accidental connection. Personally I have a relish, I might almost say -a passion for obscurity. The retort is of course easy, and I am able to -reply to myself that the alternative has never been pressed upon my -attention with any very urgent insistence. That is true, but does not -really affect the matter. Honestly, I do regard obscurity as a blessing, -apart from such satisfactions it may provide for laziness. For what does -it mean? It means that you belong to yourself; that you have your years, -your days, hours, and minutes undisposed of, unbargained for, unwatched, -and unwished for by anybody. It means that you are free to go in and out -without witnesses; free as the grass, free rather as the birds of the -air. Further, I am inclined to think that only Obscurity can properly -and heartily enjoy his sunsets, moon-rises, spring mornings, running -streams, first flowers, and all the rest of the good cheap joys that lie -about his path. The known and admired person is expected to make capital -out of such matters, and he probably does so too, poor fellow! Yet upon -the untrammelled enjoyment of such things how much, not only of the -satisfaction, but of the peace of life depends? As was said by -one--who, by the way, was very far himself from being an -Obscurity--“Nothing startles me beyond the moment. A setting sun will -always set me to rights, and if a sparrow comes hopping to my window, I -can take part in its existence, and pick about the gravel.” - - - - -MARCH 7, 1900 - - -A sentimentalist sleeps in nearly everyone, whether he is aware of the -fact or not; just as we are all potential poets or lovers, though some -of us undoubtedly under rather a deep disguise. My particular vein of -sentiment has lately taken the form of linking together sundry small -spots here with others far away, upon the other side of St. George’s -boisterous channel. Thus I have a Burren corner, a West Galway corner, a -Kerry corner, a Kildare corner, even a green memento or two of the great -lost forest of Ossory, of which only a few shadowy remnants survive to a -remote, but happily not an indifferent generation. - -That pleasure is to be found in such childishness might at first sight -seem incredible. Since it is so, there is no use, however, in refusing -to recognise it oneself. Take the Burren, for instance. Burren the wild, -the remote, the austere, the solitary; to the few who know it a region -absolutely unique, with its cyclopean terraces sloping slowly to the -waves, that moan and mutter eternally around their bases. To represent -the Burren--even the Burren plants--by three or four tiers of stones, -which are not even limestones, might well seem even to oneself the very -acme of absurdity. I refuse however to be ashamed of it, and if my Dryas -octopetala and my Helianthemum canum, my Potentilla fruticosa, and my -Cystopteris fragilis would but accept such hospitality as I can offer -them; would but pretend that fragments of lime rubbish are slabs of -limestone, I should be content, and ask no more of them. - -Some are kindly enough, but others are hopelessly supercilious, and I am -at my wits’ end how to cater for them. If distinguished visitors would -only condescend to mention their wants plainly, how gladly, I have often -thought, would one hasten to satisfy them. When they merely look -disgusted, and, after sulking hopelessly for some months, die upon one’s -hands, what is an unfortunate host or hostess to do? Here is -Helianthemum canum, for instance, which for the last nine months I have -been keeping from dying, as it were by main force. Up to now I have in a -measure succeeded, and have even occasionally flattered myself that it -was beginning to resign itself. I know perfectly well however that it -has in reality made up its mind upon the subject, and that one of these -mornings I shall hurry out to my “Burren” corner, only to find -Helianthemum canum looking black but satisfied, having just succeeded in -dying triumphantly on my hands! - - - - -MARCH 8, 1900 - - -The pace at which some plants, no matter how discouraging the weather, -manage to swell out their tissues, and to spring aloft under one’s very -eyes, is an unfailing marvel, and in this unpropitious soil the marvel -seems all the greater. So many quite common plants decline to live in it -in its natural state, that one’s gratitude goes out all the more to the -few that are willing to put up with us as we are. Foremost amongst such -obliging vegetables stand the mulleins, and foremost amongst the -mulleins stands that really noble person, Verbascum olympicum. If it has -a fault it is that it is _too_ good-natured, and _too_ vigorous. Not -only does it attain to its robust proportions at a rate that takes one’s -breath away, but further it increases so rapidly, and with such a -reckless prodigality, as threatens to people the whole neighbourhood -with its descendants. Seeing that each of such descendants requires as -much space for its development as does its parent, the perplexed -gardener wonders at times how he is to dispose of his too obliging -property, and ends by being not a little embarrassed by his own wealth. - -There was one day last summer, when, returning home after a short -absence, and going into the garden, I was not a little startled to -discover what a congregation of the giants we had unwittingly been -entertaining. A giant may of course be highly ornamental, and a giant -that is eight feet high, and of a bright canary-yellow throughout the -greater part of that length, is almost bound to be so. There were--I -took the trouble to count them--one hundred and eleven such giants at -that moment all in flower together in the garden. Now considering that -the proportions of that garden are not those of Kew or Versailles, there -is no denying that one hundred and eleven bright yellow giants, all -occupying it at the same time, affected the mind with a certain sense of -surplusage! They stood in rows along the grassy paths; they shouldered -one another, and everything else out of any place they had been allowed -to spring up in; they appeared unexpectedly in out-of-the-way corners of -the copse, where the elderly oak-scrub found itself reduced to the -position of a mere underling at the feet of these aspiring biennials. To -come suddenly round a corner was to receive an impression of being -surrounded by a crowd of gigantic, lemon-coated attendants, all standing -respectfully at attention, an experience naturally rather trying to mere -modest humanity. - -There is another equally large and complacent biennial, which, on -account perhaps of that very complacence, I find myself constantly -treating with the scantiest civility. It has not I think quite the solid -strength and impressive bearing of the great mullein, but as regards -height, is often even more gigantesque. This is the large variety of -Œnothera biennis, familiar to most people as Œnothera Lamarckiana, -but possessing no English name that I am aware of beyond the generic, -and not very descriptive one of “Evening primrose.” There are a good -many varieties of evening primroses in gardens, both perennials and -biennials, and a few true species, of which missouriensis, otherwise -macrocarpa, is undoubtedly one of the best. Lamarckiana on the other -hand is hardly a subject for the garden proper. As a tenant of steep -banks, of rough borders; of all sorts of half, or three-quarter wild -places, it has in this soil no competitor, or only finds such -competitors in the two biggest of the mulleins. - -I have been trying this year the experiment of planting it along both -sides of the green walk that crosses the upper part of our copse. -Whether it will endure the amount of shade that it will find there -remains to be seen. It is a sun-lover by nature, like most of its tribe, -but its growth is so redundant that a little curtailment of it will do -it no great harm. Though less spreading, it requires almost more room -than the verbascums, for, if the space it covers is less, it is a true -biennial, never failing in my experience to flower the year after it is -sown. With Verbascum olympicum this is not so. There are some here at -this moment that were sown three years ago, and have not yet flowered. -They will do so no doubt this year, and with that event the cycle of -their existence ends. The worst is that the gap they leave when they die -is large; moreover, as in the case of foxgloves, the black stump is both -an ugly object in itself, and a difficult one to get rid of. When are we -to possess a really good perennial foxglove I wonder? There is a -perennial _yellow_ one, but it is a poor thing, hardly worthy of its -name. Perennial verbascums are also few in number, most of the family -showing a more or less aloe-like fashion of flowering. In their case one -is able to console oneself. The imagination grows a trifle giddy in fact -at the thought of every mullein one has seen spring from seed remaining -as a permanent possession; always equally towering, and equally -clamorous of space and sunlight. Many-acred would be the garden that -could support them all! - - - - -MARCH 19, 1900 - - -Some way back in this diary I was unwise enough to inveigh against that -“pleasant herb called Vanity,” especially in its relation to gardens. A -greater error I now feel there could not be, and I am convinced that if -we only took care to cultivate a sufficient supply of it, it would not -only be a satisfaction in itself, but an immense stimulus to the -successful cultivation of all other desirable plants. - -This is not, I am aware, the general view. The general idea being that -the herb in question is a mere weed, one that will not only grow -everywhere, and at all seasons, but that grows the most luxuriantly upon -the poorest soil. Now this is certainly not the case. What amount of it -is grown in other gardens I cannot say, no report--or only a very -indirect one--being forwarded to any of the regular gardening -periodicals. That there are poor varieties of it I am willing to admit, -but a really good “strain” is always worth securing, if it can be done -legitimately, and so I am sure every successful gardener would be the -first to say. So convinced do I feel of its value that there are many -succulent, and quite wholesome vegetables, that I would gladly see -thrown away in order to make room for more of it! - -That admirable essayist, and, from his own account, horticulturist also, -Sir Thomas Browne, evidently grew a good deal of it in _his_ garden, -though with the odd humour that prevails amongst its cultivators, he -imagined that he had very little, in fact none at all. Here is the -_Religio Medici_, so I have only to turn to his panegyric of it, a -panegyric all the more satisfactory because he apparently intended it to -be the reverse. Perhaps though, as Mr. Pepys would say, “That was in -mirth.” - -“I thank God amongst those millions of vices I do inherit and hold from -Adam, I have escaped this one.” [Millions of vices! now may heaven help -thee, Sir Thomas! however one must remember that he was a rhetorician.] -“Those petty acquisitions, and reputed perfections, that advance and -elevate the conceits of other men, add no feather unto mine. I have seen -a grammarian tower and plume himself over a single line in Horace, and -show more pride in the construction of one ode, than the Author in the -composure of the whole book. For my own part, besides the jargon and -patois of several provinces, I understand no less than six languages; -yet I protest I have no higher conceit of myself than had our fathers -before the confusion of Babel, when there was but one language in the -world, and none to boast himself either linguist or critick. I have not -only seen several countries, beheld the nature of their climes, the -chorography of their provinces, topography of their cities, but -understand their several laws, customs, and policies; yet cannot all -this persuade the dullness of my spirit unto such an opinion of myself -as I behold in nimbler and conceited heads, that never looked a degree -beyond their nests. I know the names, and somewhat more, of all the -constellations in my horizon; yet I have seen a prating mariner, that -could only name the Pointers, and the North star, out-talk me, and -conceit himself a whole sphere above me. I know most of the plants of my -country, and of those about me, yet....” - -Nay Sir Thomas, dear Sir Thomas, let me not follow thee longer in this -vein, else might one of the devoutest of thy followers lose some share -of that devoutness! I hastily ruffle thy pages over, feeling certain -before long of coming upon thee in a worthier one. - - * * * * * - -I have been longer over my search than I expected, having set my heart -upon finding one particular passage, which I failed to do, a fact -hardly to be wondered at, since, as it turned out, there was no copy of -_The Garden of Cyrus_ in the house. I have found it however, at last, -safely hidden, like a sprig of myrtle, in the tight embrace of an -ancient notebook. - -“But the quincunx of heaven runs low, and ’tis time to close the first -parts of knowledge. We are unwilling to spin out our awaking thoughts -into the phantasms of sleep, which often continueth precogitations, -making cables, and cobwebs, and wildernesses of handsome graves. Beside -Hippocrates hath spoke so little, and the oneirocritical (!) masters -have left such frigid interpretations from plants, that there is little -encouragement to dream of Paradise itself. Nor will the sweetest -delights of gardens afford much comfort in sleep; wherein the dullness -of that sense shakes hands with delectable odours; and, though in the -bed of Cleopatra, can hardly with any delight raise up the ghost of a -rose. - -“Night, which Pagan theology could make the daughter of Chaos, affords -no advantage to the description of order, although no lower than that -mass can we derive its genealogy. All things began in order, so shall -they end, and so shall they begin again; according to the Ordainer of -order, and of the mystical mathematicks of the city of heaven. - -“Though Somnus in Homer be sent to rouse up Agamemnon, I find no such -effects in these drowsy approaches of sleep. To keep our eyes open -longer were but to act our Antipodes. The huntsmen are up in America, -and they are already past their first sleep in Persia. But who can be -drowsy at that hour which freed us from everlasting sleep? or have -slumbering thoughts at that time when sleep itself must end, and, as -some conjecture, all shall awake again?” - - * * * * * - -Most melodious of rhetoricians, and most whimsical of prose-poets, I bid -you a good-night. For by a coincidence which you would be the first to -appreciate, twelve o’clock is striking even as I copy your last line, -and I light a bedroom candle with the sound of those dim -prognostications, and thunderous conjectures of yours still ringing -sonorously about my ears. They do not alarm me, however; nay I would -gladly carry them with me past the ivory gate. For, as you yourself -say---- - -“Happy are they that go to bed with grand music like Pythagoras, or have -ways to compose the fantastical spirit, whose unruly wanderings take off -inward sleep, filling our heads with St. Anthony’s visions, or the -dreams of Lipara, in the sober chambers of rest.” - - - - -MARCH 20, 1900 - - -From the defence of Vanity, to the defence of England! “Attend to your -transitions, my boy,” is said to have been the reply of a veteran -orator, when pressed by a junior for some axiom that would sum up the -whole art of oratory in a sentence. Literature also, like oratory, has -to attend to her transitions, else dire confusion, and the just -indignation of her readers, is the result. The diarist stands upon a -slightly different footing. If there is such a being as a literary -libertine, or harmless law-breaker, he perhaps is entitled to the name. -His pages are filled up according to no settled plan, and with an eye to -no particular convention. He claims to be free as the wind upon the -tree-tops, free as all our unwritten moods, which are rarely quite the -same for many consecutive hours. Such at least, is the claim of this -particular diarist. To-day, for instance, leaving the garden, and all -that relates to it, to take care of themselves, he has wandered away -upon the theme, of all things in the world, of _Invasion_, moved -thereto, partly by the desire which assails us at all times, of dilating -upon what one knows least, partly by the equally inborn desire of -running counter to conventions upon which one has been brought up, and -which have been instilled into one’s mind ever since one could walk -unaided. - -That the difference between soldiers and civilians is an absolute -difference, clear as glass, hard as adamant, is one of those -conventions. Until the other day I never remember hearing it so much as -questioned. Yet how does that fact now stand in the face of all that we -have been hearing, seeing, reading about, during the last five months? -If one thing more than another has been brought home to us by this -present struggle it is that under modern conditions a civilian--without -the slightest pretensions to be anything else, so long only as he is a -good marksman--is not only as valuable, but under many circumstances, -far _more_ valuable than the average soldier, who as a rule can just -shoot, and nothing more, who has all the finer parts of his art still to -learn, and is not at all likely to learn it when he has no more -leisurely target to practise upon than the living man. - -It is upon the strength of this revolution that I have been indulging -this morning in a private Invasion of my own, specially designed for the -exaltation of the rifle-shooting civilian, in whose doings I take a -natural interest. Plans of Invasion are always rather fascinating, -whatever the realities are likely to be. On this occasion I have only -allowed myself a very small and cheap Invasion, just enough to put our -rifle-shooting civilian standing in it and asking how he is to behave -himself. It is not coming off in the orthodox place, which I take to be -nearly opposite the bathing sands of Boulogne, but upon quite a new -theatre, namely upon the shores of Dublin Bay. My invaders are probably -French, but may be anything else, it does not in the least matter. -Whoever they are they have succeeded in evading the Channel Fleet, have -run the gauntlet of the forts--no impossible feat--and have disembarked -some forty or fifty thousand strong somewhere between the Bailey of -Howth and the foot of Bray Head. - -As for their purpose in landing, so far as my information extends, it is -simply to do as much damage as can be conveniently accomplished within a -given time. If the defending fleet remains entangled elsewhere, and they -can be reinforced, so much the better. In any case France can afford to -lose some twenty or thirty thousand recruits in a good cause. Moreover -he would be a poor sort of Frenchman who for the sake of burning, -harassing, shooting, raiding, racking, ruining, and generally running -amuck, amongst British possessions, would not run the risk of capture, -and the, not after all, very uncomfortable, entertainment of a prisoner -of war. Here, then, stands our military position; and now comes the -question of what in such a case, are the rights and duties of the -ordinary, peaceable but rifle-shooting civilian? - -First let me clear the ground for myself a little. In the course of -certain profound researches upon the whole art and practice of war as -laid down in the _Débâcle_, _La Guerre et la Paix_, and other recondite -manuals, I have learnt that in the case of invasion the barrier between -civilians and professional soldiers is even stricter and more menacing -than at other times. The soldier, let his capacity or incapacity be what -it may, is entitled in case of capture to honourable treatment. He may -be nearly starved to death, if provisions run short, as the French -soldier-prisoners were after Sedan. He may be shot out of hand, if he -endeavours to escape, but with these trifling exceptions he is a person -having definite rights and a definite status; a person the cold-blooded -slaughter of whom would stamp the perpetrator of such a deed as a brute, -no gentleman, and a man generally to be avoided, even by his own side. -Turning now to the position of a civilian during invasion, I learn, by -studying the same authorities, that he is an individual without rights -of any kind should he attempt--no matter upon what provocation--to touch -a weapon in war time. Although the weapon in question be his own -familiar rifle or fowling-piece; although the spot he proposes to defend -with it is his own hearth, with his own wife and daughters standing -beside it, he is liable--legally and honourably liable, for that is the -whole point--to be led away from that hearth, settled comfortably with -his back against the nearest wall, and then and there uncomplainingly -shot, his wife and the rest of his family looking on. This I am assured, -or used to be assured, is the whole law and the gospel, as the law and -the gospel is laid down for military purposes; a law the carrying out of -which is not only permitted, but is the bounden duty of every honourable -soldier and Christian officer. In no other way, so I have always been -told, could the protection of the civil population be guaranteed during -invasion. If a man, merely because the property destroyed is his own, -were free to pot--we call it nowadays to snipe--at the destroyer of that -property, what in such a case would become, one was asked, of the poor -defenceless soldiery? - -So much for the old rule, now for its modern application. Bearing all -this in mind, I look away to South Africa, and what do I see? I see a -crowd of fighting men, upon hardly one of whom--our own regulars and -militia of course excepted--can I succeed in discovering any of the -recognisable marks of a soldier. Here and there one or two such may be -discerned, but the bulk are purely and avowedly civilian. They have -walked out of their shops, their farms, their offices, their -counting-houses, their clubs, or wherever else they come from, precisely -as we see them. They can shoot, or they think so; they can ride--more or -less--but in spite of these accomplishments they are no more soldiers -than is the diarist who dips this eminently civilian pen into this -utterly unmilitary inkpot. If the German commanders of 1870 refused to -see in the _francs tireurs_ anything but unrecognisable freebooters; if -Napoleon declined to accord the Tyrolese marksmen and their heroic -leader decent treatment, mainly on the grounds that the latter was an -innkeeper, what would either of them have said to the bulk of those -fighting upon both sides to-day in South Africa? - -All this, however, is merely preliminary. Our invasion is no problematic -peril this time, but a peril that has actually arrived. They have -_come_, the aggressors! they are already standing upon our sacred shore! -the question now is what are we to do with them? Can there be any doubt -upon that subject? Up, arm yourselves, and away! high and low, young and -old, brave and the reverse--women first, as befits their daring! Up, and -at the villains! Let them not carry their purpose an inch further. Let -not one of them return to boast of where he has been! Yet hark! what -sound is that? Surely it is not the luncheon bell? How _exceedingly_ -inconvenient! Well, our invasion must be postponed for the moment. After -all, as Peter Plymley wrote to his brother Abraham, “It is three -centuries since an English pig has fallen in a fair battle upon English -ground”; so, though this particular struggle is coming off not on -English but Irish ground, it is not likely to be all over before this -afternoon. - - - - -MARCH 20, 1900. 3 P.M. - - -That interruption disposed of, we now return to our Invasion. Owing, -perhaps, to the dilatory nature of our proceedings, the invaders have -already left the coast, and pushed their way some distance inland, the -result being that matters are beginning to look exceedingly -uncomfortable for the unfortunate invaded. The regular army in Ireland -happens to be at an exceptionally low ebb. It has been heavily drawn on -lately to fill up vacancies at the seat of war, no one in authority -having of course dreamt of anything so improbable as a sudden incursion -into Dublin Bay. The Commander-in-Chief is reported to be half dead with -work and worry at the Royal Hospital. His subordinates are behaving like -heroes. The “Polis"--otherwise the Royal Irish Constabulary--are doing -soldiers’ work, and doing it a good deal better than most soldiers. -Dublin is believed to be for the moment safe, but the condition of the -country immediately south of it is critical to a degree. No one seems to -be certain what the opinion of the bulk of the people really is. -Invaders, especially French ones, are historically dear to their hearts, -but the thing has been sprung upon them this time with rather -uncomfortable rapidity, and there is something extremely sickening, so -everybody admits, about the smell of burning roofs. - -Immediately upon landing, the enemy established their headquarters, with -no little strategical discretion, in a naturally defensible position -upon the Wicklow Hills, from which point they are cheerfully engaged in -sending out raiding parties over the whole of the adjacent country. The -portion of Kildare nearest Wicklow has already been overrun, and most of -its villages burnt, despite their nearness to the Curragh; Naas and -Sallins are reported as likely to be the next assailed. The suddenness -of the catastrophe has strained the military resources almost to -breaking point, and the soldiers are forced to be kept together, not -only to defend the approaches to the metropolis, but also in the hope of -being able to bring on a general engagement in some more hopeful -position than against the fortified camp in Wicklow. The result is that, -beyond a limited number of constabulary, the general in command of the -district is unable to spare a man for the protection of the smaller -places. - -Before that harassed and overdriven officer there suddenly appears--the -Civilian! How many, or how few, is a detail. Few or many they are all -civilians, undiluted, country-bred civilians, good shots and good -riders; men of varying ages, but all with a more or less intimate -knowledge of the local conditions. They are--but generalities are so -unsatisfactory--let me take one of them, and suppose myself to be him, -and I can be multiplied afterwards as required. Here I am; big and -strong, level-headed and resolute; no boy--far from it--but sound in -health and vigorous, a local magnate in a small way, fairly good at most -sports, rather more than fairly good at rifle-shooting; a familiar -figure formerly at Wimbledon, more recently at Bisley. Nothing can be -further from my intentions than to obtrude my services; I wish that -clearly to be understood. At the same time if I can be of any use under -the circumstances, you had better say so! - -With South Africa fresh in all our minds, can there be any question as -to the answer? What more desirable material could unfortunate, -under-manned commander have, or desire? As to what he could do with me -there are plenty of answers ready. He might place me in certain chosen -positions, rifle and field-glass beside me, and desire me to pick off -certain of the enemy’s officers, who are known to be surveying the -country. He might fill a country house or two with me and others like -me, and so prepare pleasant little surprises for those who expected to -find them vacant. He might do many things, only--and this is the point I -am trying to arrive at--would he venture to do any of them? If such a -man as I am representing myself to be were liable to be treated as the -Germans in 1870 treated French fighting civilians, including women, and -as the French would no doubt have treated German ones, in such a case it -is hard to see how any responsible commander dare run such a risk, -however great his need, or our willingness to serve. Risks are of course -of the essence of war, but there are risks and risks. No one proposes to -hunt with the hounds, and then run with the hares; to fight while -fighting is reasonably safe, and afterwards slip hurriedly back into -mufti; to play a soldier’s part, yet claim the immunities of civilians. -Let the risks be no worse than those which any soldier runs, and our -faithful civilian is satisfied, and asks no more. There are, however, -risks which it is hardly proper, hardly I may say decent, for any -self-respecting man to run. That our typical civilian would be really -liable in these days to be shot in cold blood, most people would find a -difficulty in conceiving, yet how does he stand officially? above all, -how does he stand internationally? Have the risks of so monstrous, so -utterly abhorrent a contingency, been once and for ever removed? and if -so, since when? This is the point that one would like extremely to have -authoritatively cleared up, seeing that the number of civilians, capable -at a pinch of defending their own homes, possibly even their own fields -and parishes, seem likely as the years go on to increase. Organised, or -unorganised, the straight-shooting civilian has arrived, and he proposes -to stay. He is still, however, an entirely new factor in the body -politic, and, like other new-comers, he requires therefore to be neatly -adjusted to the rest. That under no circumstances he could be of any -use, few, I take it, would be bold enough to assert. These are hardly -days when any possibly useful national asset can be left with safety -upon the shelf. Let our sturdy civilian be able, in case of capture, to -claim the same amount of amenity that is accorded in all decent warfare -to the captured soldier, in that case I should say--speaking, of course, -merely as a fool--that the more of him we had the better and the more -comfortable for all of us. - - - - -MARCH 26, 1900 - - -A view, a brand-new view, and in a garden supposed to be viewless! That -our best point as regards scenery lies in the direction of the Dorking -downs, is I think beyond question. The worst of it is that lying as they -do nearly due north of us, the more of them we show the more the wind -catches at our plants. Openings upon this side have, consequently, to be -thought out with care, and executed only after long deliberation. - -This time I think we are safe. A space of copse, ending in a fence, over -which in summer tree-lupins and everlasting peas tumble together in -friendly confusion, has been cleared. What was lately solid copse, -fifteen to twenty feet high, has sunk to a mere russet-coloured growth, -just bracken height, no more; three feet to four feet, that is to say, -rising occasionally to five. This makes a broadish space, in which -bracken and bramble, stunted elder, seedling birch, two or three low -thorns, and some wild guelder-roses sprout together. Past this, -sweeping up from the region of the larches, comes our new grass walk, -eleven feet wide, consequently a walk of pride to people who have -hitherto subsisted upon two-foot tracks! With a fine easy curve it turns -away to the south, making for the gate which divides the garden from the -copse. That turn being shared by the new opening, will I think ensure -that no new rush of cold air can come tearing in upon the flower-beds. -But for this no hatchet or billhook would have been conducted to the -spot by me. Our new little view is--_pace_ our neighbour’s opinions--a -remarkably nice little view, but did it display Alps or Andes, in place -of the despised Dorking downs, the right-minded gardener would in the -latter case hesitate; might even feel in the end that it would be too -dearly purchased. - -Now for the next question, and a serious one. Are we to allow ourselves -to make any garden use of this new clearing or not? This touches upon -the larger question of meddling generally. To meddle, or not to meddle? -Is it permissible--as regards what lies outside the strict garden -boundaries--to interfere, or ought we to leave the whole matter to -Nature, in other words to Chance? - -To lay down the law dogmatically upon this point would be to lay it down -for every garden in Great Britain, or all not girded by kitchen -gardens, or ploughed fields. Such a prospect, though enticing, might -take some little time to carry out. Confining oneself for the moment to -the immediate case, one finds that like most other cases, political, or -horticultural, it is mainly one of compromise. Were our copse beginning -to dwindle perilously, then, with a politician of the last generation, I -should exclaim “_Can’t_ you leave it alone?” Seeing that, though we have -been chopping assiduously ever since we came, two-thirds of our space is -still covered with uninvaded copse, the case seems to me to be a fair -one for experiment. - -That being decided upon, what to experiment with becomes the next -question, and here aspect is clearly the ruling factor. That no early -morning sun will reach the place even in summer is certain. Four -respectable oaks, of quite a gentlemanly girth, stand along the fence, -and forbid it. They are not near enough for their roots to do much -damage, but the firstlings of the sun’s rays they will certainly keep to -themselves. This being so, there is a limit clearly as to what will -answer. All things considered, especially with regard to the fact that -the brambles could hardly be dislodged without a wrench which would -disorganise everything, I am inclined to give my vote for more brambles, -only this time civilised ones. There are plenty fortunately to choose -from. There is, for instance, Rubus odoratus, showing a vigour, and a -turn for colonisation hardly to be exceeded by the very wildest of wild -brambles. There is the cut-leafed bramble; there is the bramble of the -Nootka Sound; there is the whitewashed bramble; there is the -salmon-berry; the cloudberry; the bramble of the Rocky Mountains, and -others, all of which I already in fancy see tossing themselves up and -down the bracken, and over their wilder brethren, in one delicious froth -of white or rose-coloured blossom. - -Another, and a yet more fascinating vision, sweeping over the field of -my mind, has for a moment given it pause. What of a jungle, not of -brambles, but of roses? None of your trim standards, of course, but some -of the freer kinds--Rosa alba, Rosa lucida, Rosa brunonis, with some -Ayrshires, some Dundee ramblers, and one commanding thicket of the -biggest of the Polyanthas? It is a heady vision, and as a portion of the -natural “wildness” might intoxicate the brain of Lord Bacon himself. In -gardening it does not do, however, to be too easily intoxicated. We have -to keep a sober head; we have to look at the matter from all its points -of view; there is the question of aspect, already touched upon; there is -the question of soil; above all there is the question of -fertilisation--dear, delicate word! No, we must not allow ourselves to -be carried off our feet by any vision, however roseate. We have always -been a pair of sober horticulturists, and we will continue to be so -still. Our rose-jungle must wait. It is only postponed: we will have it -yet, and in a better place. Even if we never _did_ have it, even if the -postponement had to be an eternal one, is it not, one sometimes asks -oneself, the gardens that never have been planted--“whose flowers ne’er -fed the bee”; whose dusky scented walks no foot has ever trod, that -yield the deepest, the most unqualified enjoyment? “Heard melodies are -sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” What then of unseen gardens? What -wealth of blossoms! what a flood of sunshine, which yet never scorches! -what green and translucent groves, which at the same time are never -damp! what order, without the faintest touch of formality! what -wildness, what heavenly entanglements, without so much as an approach to -confusion! But I perceive that I am again wandering out of the domain of -horticulture, into a much less attainable region, and it may be as well, -therefore, to pause. - - - - -MARCH 28, 1900 - - -Had we embarked upon a little stone house, instead of a little red-brick -one, should we, I wonder, have had the energy to bestow upon ourselves a -small flagged and stonewalled garden as an adjunct to it? I doubt it. -For one thing flagged gardens are, I imagine, costly affairs. Moreover I -have never myself seen a new one that appealed to me as quite -satisfactory. An old, grey-walled, and grey-flagged garden, as part of -an old, grey farmhouse, or manor, is one of the most ideal possessions -that the heart of man could sigh after. Like most other ideal -possessions, to have it, it is, unfortunately, necessary as a rule to -have been born to it. - -Be this as it may, I have never ceased to rejoice that we had the energy -to embark at once upon our little red-brick garden. The comfort of -knowing that there is always one spot sure to be clean, sure to be dry, -sure to be a satisfaction to step into, even in such weather as we have -of late been afflicted with, is a boon that can hardly be overrated. As -a mere matter of appearance, the red-brick garden seems to be at least -as “natural” an appanage of the red-brick house as the little grey-stone -garden of the grey-stone one. Both require a certain amount of thought -and contrivance, especially as regards proportion, but once this is -attained, they soon learn to wear that inevitable aspect, which in -garden making, as in all the other arts, great and small, is the first, -and surely the least dispensable of all requirements? - -That the grey-stone garden is on the whole the higher species of the two -I admit. At the same time the red-brick one has this great advantage -over its stony brother that it is essentially a winter’s day garden, -whereas the stone one may, and in bad weather does, look grim, to the -point of being almost forbidding. In both gardens some amount of -hindrance is apt to arise with regard to the laying down of the walks. -Flagging is a costly process, and where the walks are very narrow, the -laying down of stone flags must be a matter of some difficulty. The same -applies, though not quite to the same extent, to the red-brick garden. -That it ought to be tiled, just as the other ought to be flagged, I feel -sure. At the same time good, red gravel, or even bricks, broken fine, -mixed with sand, and rolled, answers fairly. Another question arises in -the matter of vases. Terra-cotta ones of the right design are not easily -come by in this country, and, when come by, they often cost more than if -imported direct from Italy. These, however, are details, while the -question of what to plant in such gardens is still more obviously an -open one. That the more of glaucous, grey-blue tints--such as that found -in the foliage of carnations--we have the better, is I think certain, -while if small bushes are wanted, lavender will provide the same shade. -Where both walls and walks are of red brick, blue, white and violet seem -to be the right prevailing colours; reds and yellows only to be admitted -slowly, and with precaution. All this, however, savours of dogmatism! - -The supreme moment for such little plots is of course their spring-bulb -time. Most people call them Dutch gardens, and whether common in Holland -or not, the tulip undoubtedly seems born to flourish in them. When the -tulips are over, plenty of other things come on however to take their -places. Pansies, for instance, never look better than in such gardens, -whether as a carpet for tea-roses, or in beds by themselves. The smaller -campanulas, especially the white hairbells, the small double daisies, -and a host of other things of the same sort, answer perfectly, while, if -we want to stretch out our bulb season all we can, sparaxis, ixias, -bobartias, the early white gladioli, and others, are all ready to hand, -followed by the various lesser irises, winding up, at perhaps their best -point, with xiphium and xiphioides. - -The one indispensable point--here again dogmatism appears!--is that such -gardens should be so close to the house as to keep up the idea of being -merely an adjunct, or flowery courtyard to it. With this idea in our -minds anything like distance is fatal. You must be free to step into -your garden from your door, or with no more interval than two or three -steps, or the breadth of a gravel walk. Garden fanatics as many of us -already are, and--as life increases in strenuousness--more and more will -yearly become, it is our interest obviously to spin out our playtime all -we can. Now nothing so helps us towards this, or so effectually -counteracts our Arch-enemy, as to have some little settled place so -cunningly contrived that even _his_ malignity, backed by its worst -agents--sleet, hail, fierce winds, cutting rains,--fails to reduce it to -a condition of mere despairing sloppiness; mere forlorn, and -death-suggesting desolation. - - - - -MARCH 29, 1900 - - -Who would believe in being seriously tormented by a plague of oaks? Such -nevertheless has been our lot for the last few weeks. As plagues go they -are certainly better than locusts, not to speak of others that we read -of in the Bible. For all that we find them quite troublesome enough. -Although so young that they were only dropped from the parent bough last -autumn, they already cling to the ground with all the tenacity of their -ancestors; the most exasperated pull causing considerable fatigue to the -puller, but producing no effect whatever upon the youthful athlete. Many -of them are in the engaging condition of being still attached to their -natal acorn, which, acting as a sort of grappling iron, effectually -hinders their being drawn up, even through the soft soil of our -flower-borders. Last year was a most bountiful one for acorns, and every -sty in the neighbourhood revelled in plenty. Since we do not ourselves -keep pigs, we hope that another season we may be less blessed! - -Biologists have a theory--they would call it a law--which they call the -law of “Multiplication in Geometrical Progression.” By that law the -plants of any region would, under favouring conditions, increase from a -hundred to a thousandfold every year. Happily for people who wish to -walk about they never really do anything of the sort; on the contrary, -the population of any given district, apart from man’s interference, -remains for the most part all but stationary. Until a parent is -considerate enough to die, and make way for it, every green child that -is born is bound to die in its infancy. These little oaks of ours are an -excellent example of that fact, as well as of the summary fashion with -which Nature is in the habit of wielding her maternal sceptre. They are, -as anyone can see, as hale and as vigorous as could be desired; hearts -of oak, every one of them, and they know it. Not an oaklet amongst them -but sees itself in nightly visions as an umbrageous giant, lifting high -in air a mighty trunk, and spreading out branches that all the fowls of -the air could lodge upon with comfort. Alas, for so much prospective -dignity! Every one of these youthful monarchs is doomed to an early -death, and it is merely a question of what stage of immaturity he will -be called upon to perish at! - -There is yet another biological dictum which these deluded young -sovereigns may serve to illustrate. Before Darwin, or any other -expositor, laid it down in prose, it had been already laid down in -unforgettable verse--thus:-- - - “No being on this earthly ball - Is like another, all and all.” - -Nothing certainly on this earthly ball can be truer. Never two living -beings came into the world precisely alike, and these baby oaks differ -each of them in some imperceptible fashion from its baby brother. Here -is a handful plucked at random out of the flower-beds that will prove -it. In this one that I hold in my fingers, it is easy to see that the -future giant would have been a somewhat thick-set, and stunted colossus. -This one again has already a tendency to self-division, and would -probably have ended by becoming forked. Yet again this one would, if it -had been spared--appropriate phrase--have grown up to be the very ideal -of oaks; a glory of the woods; star-proof; sun-proof; magnificent in its -life, and in its death destined to be converted into the very -straightest and most wind-defying of masts. This last, by the way, is -not a loss that we need delay to weep over, seeing that long before it -could have reached maturity, masts will in all probability have gone to -join the other relics of the past; even yachts being converted probably -by that time into little electrical monsters, with ingenious -arrangements for enabling them to become submarine ones, whenever the -wars of that date threaten to interfere with the comfort of their -owners. - -Poor baby oaks! They gave me a great deal of trouble to pull up, and -now, with that inopportune remorse, sometimes ascribed to murderers, I -am disposed to grow quite pitiful over them. They have been so spoilt, -moreover, in the process, that they are not even worth putting into a -flower-vase. Imagine having been potentially capable of serving as the -tutelary deity, the beloved shade, the _rendezvous_ of all the lovers of -a parish for possibly half a dozen generations, and being found actually -unfit to fill a bow-pot for an hour! Could poet or pessimist hit upon -instance of malicious destiny more dramatically or tragically complete? - - - - -APRIL 2, 1900 - - -At last we are in April. The winter corner is turned, and a new era -entered upon. But April this year is an incongruous sort of an April, -though the incongruity is possibly only in one’s own fancy. We are apt -to fashion our notions of the becoming, and to expect Nature to conform -to them. A desperately dry April it certainly is. The days are hard, and -cold, parched, and nipping; at night the wind howls, but with no -accompaniment of desirable drops. The garden cries to the sky for rain, -but no rain falls upon it, yet the only days I have spent in London were -days of unceasing downpour. Such favouring of the Metropolis at the -expense of the country is manifestly unjust. - -April is such a lovely word, that it ought also to be always a lovely -thing. If one imagines it--or rather her--as she might appear to us in -dreams, or an allegory, we should deck her out of course in the -tenderest green. Floating gossamers would hover around her; small pink -buds would bend down to kiss her small pink feet. So encompassed she -would come to meet us along the wood paths, a vision of grace and -maidenly beauty; the traditional smile on her lips, the equally -traditional tear in her eye. She would look up in our faces with an -appealing glance, and then begin suddenly to weep, she herself knew not -why. A maiden with the most maidenly of dreams, enclosing a whole -enchanted world of visionary hopes, fears, delights, anticipations, -which it would be the dull business of Experience to dissipate as the -year rolled on. - -But April, as she presents herself before us this year, is not that sort -of maiden at all. She is a remarkably uncompromising sort of young -woman, with hardly any visible green about her costume. She does not -care for the colour apparently, but prefers drabs, and greys, and -browns. As for tears she is not nearly as much given to them as we could -desire. She thinks poorly of them evidently, and considers them out of -date. Her smiles too are doled out in the same penurious fashion as her -tears. She gives us what no doubt she considers our due of both, but -nothing to spare. Her impulses are all dull, decorous, mechanical; as -for her feet, far from being bare, they are clad in warm winter shoes -and stockings, which indeed they have every reason to be. - -Doubtless I am old-fashioned, but I cannot admire such sedate damsels. -Give me a little more spontaneity; a little more youthful impetuosity -and dash-- - - “Robes loosely flowing, hair as free; - Such sweet neglect more taketh me.” - -To drop metaphor, which has a tendency to drop itself, we are in despair -over this dryness, and as a consequence have had to resort already to -the aid of our watering-pots. Now in April the watering-pot ought in my -opinion to be still reposing in its tool shed, with the early spider -weaving his first web across its spout. So strongly is this impressed -upon my mind that I feel as if there were something illicit, something I -might almost go so far as to call unprincipled, in resorting to its -assistance thus prematurely. After all though, a gardener’s first -virtue, I reflect, is to save his plants, and unless we promptly take -some step of the kind, ours for a surety will for the most part die. - - - - -APRIL 11, 1900 - - -One advantage we have secured out of our dry April. Ever since our -arrival we have wanted an additional water-stand for the garden, but -various causes, chiefly I think dislike to making any more inroads upon -the bracken, have hindered us from setting one up. When it comes to -dragging watering-pots several hundred yards while the year is still -only three months old, imagination pictures what fatigues will be ours -in July and August. A new stand accordingly has been established, and an -ugly scar the laying of it has made through the copse. Now however that -part of the business is done; the grass sods, carefully laid on one -side, are back in their places again, and one must only hope that the -bracken, safely curled away underground, knows little or nothing about -the transaction. - -As its practical outcome we have, rising out of the ground, a short -stiff pipe of lead, which has been more or less dexterously hidden away -in the heart of one of our stunted oaks. I am ashamed to confess the -intense, the childish satisfaction I found this morning in turning our -new tap for the first time, and seeing the water gush out in one free -bound, as if glad of its escape; looking as clear too, as if newly come -from the heart of a glacier, or upon its way to the edge of some -Atlantic cliff, there to be caught by the wind, as I have often seen it -caught, and sent back high overhead, in one dancing, rainbow-coloured -feather of light. - -“Take you at your commonest, at your ugliest, and what a lovely thing -you are!” I thought, as I let the tap run for a few minutes, and stood -to watch the water beginning to create little rills and runnels for -itself, and to feed the dry copse, the dead leaves, brambles, withered -bracken, everything within reach, with the first full rush of its -benevolence. - -I do not know that I am more given than other people to proclaiming -aloud that I have too many blessings; that Nature has been too generous, -and too bountiful in her benefits on my behalf. Now and then however it -has occurred to me to ask myself what I--or, for that matter, other -people--have done to deserve this free unstinted gift of clear, pure -water. In and out of our houses; through our pipes and conduits; into -all our tubs and washhand basins, it flows and flows continually, and we -take it as an absolute matter of course that it should do so, rarely -even taking the trouble to say “Thank you.” - -By way of commentary upon the above reflection I have just taken up a -newspaper from the table, and this is what has met my eye. It is an -extract apparently out of a letter home. - -“We found some water at last near Stinkfontein"--suggestive name--“but -the place was very shallow, and the mud black and deep. We could not get -the horses to look at it, but the men drank it greedily, and drank it -too at the only place where they could reach it, which was where the -hoofs had churned it into a blackish liquor, thick as soup.” - -Poor Tommy! Yet there are people who declare that you are not fond of -water! Evidently this is another of those libels of which you have been -too long the subject. - - - - -APRIL 17, 1900 - - -The west wind this morning had a rolling sonorousness which sent my -thoughts flying, swift as light, across all the little intervening -ridges, over the plains, over the villages, across endless housetops, -through multitudinous suburbs, over the big, ugly, stately town; out -again, over fresh sweeps of more or less encumbered green fields, -hedgerows, lanes, roads; past meadows and orchards, redolent of -centuries of care; past brickfields and coalfields, redolent only of -defiling greed; over a fretful space of sea; across more fields, less -enclosed, less cultivated, but certainly not less green. On and on -breathlessly, until I stood--free of all encumbrances, free of any -thought of luggage, conveyance, or the need of a roof to shelter -under--upon a very familiar spot, close to the tumbling breast of the -Atlantic. - -The clearness, or lack of clearness, with which certain familiar spots -rise before the eye is one of the minor mysteries of life; mysteries -which like many larger ones we are never likely to clear up entirely to -our satisfaction. There are moments in my experience when such a spot as -this that I am thinking of, is in a sense _more_ vivid to me away from -it than if I were standing there in person; when every tuft of bog -myrtle becomes clearly visible; every yard of “drift” or of “boulder -clay” shows in its entirety; the very stones fallen from them, and lying -like small cannon-balls upon the beach, being all able to be counted. -The waves toss; the clouds roll wearily; the seaweed rises and falls, as -it naturally would. No scene in a cinematograph could by any possibility -be clearer. - -This is the vivid condition. An hour later one tries to conjure up the -same familiar scene, and not a detail will rise to one’s bidding. Not a -leaf, not a stone, not a wave will become manifest. Clearness is gone. A -dull, blurred impression is all that remains. The landscape as a whole -may be there, but its details are lost. That living, -multitudinous-tinted foreground has vanished as though it had never -existed. - -It must have been the scent of the bog plants which conferred that -momentary impression upon me this morning. That scents “open the wards -of memory with a key” we all know. They do more, for they sweep away for -the moment those films which ordinarily cover the mental eye, so that -during that moment we really do see. Of all scents commend me for this -awakening quality to the boggy ones. They alone in my experience are -really transformatory. For the brief time that their aroma is in one’s -nostrils one actually _is_ in the place that they recall. - -It is a proof of the demoralising effect of ownership that one of my -first impulses nowadays is a desire to transfer the plants that I see, -sometimes that I merely remember, from where they are to where I happen -to want them. Yet, when one thinks of it, what an outrage! Why should -one desire to do anything of the sort? Conceive the contrast, the -downfall; the roominess, the elemental breadth, the cool, rain-saturated -comfort of the one setting; the cramped limitation, the unpalatable -dryness of the other. Not that I would for worlds disparage our own -faithful coppice; to do so would be to show myself the merest of -ingrates. Was I not an alien, and did it not befriend me? Was I not -roofless, and did it not offer its soil for us to lift a roof over? -Still, when one tries to place the one scene beside the other the -contrast becomes farcical. The very wind--the cold, unsentimental -wind--must be sensible of such a difference. How much more then a -root-extending, acutely sensitive, living thing! - -I have a profound affection for bog plants, which I hope some of them -respond to, for they thrive fairly. Others are exceedingly difficult to -establish, and rarely look anything but starved and homesick. Amongst -these are the butterworts. Why the translation should so particularly -affect them I have yet to learn, but the fact is unmistakable. Not all -the water of all our taps, not all the peat of all our hillsides will -persuade them to be contented. In vain I have wooed them with the -wettest spots I could find; in vain erected poor semblances of tussocks -for their benefit; have puddled the peat till it seemed impossible that -any creature unprovided with eyes could distinguish it from a bit of -real bog. No, die they will, and die they hitherto always have. - -The sundews, on the other hand, are much less hard to please. Indeed, -considering that at least one species grows wild within a few miles of -us, it would be the height of affectation were they to refuse to -tolerate us. I find myself falling into the habit of thinking that I am -inhabiting here a region of eternal thirstiness, devoid of the materials -of sustaining any vegetable more requiring in the matter of water than a -gaillardia. Yet, when one considers the matter seriously, England is not -precisely the Great Sahara! There are brown streams, purling brooks, -dripping wells, rushy meadows, even puddles and bog-holes, to be found a -good deal nearer to this spot than the Atlantic. We are purblind -citizens all of us; apt to dogmatise largely upon an uncommonly small -substratum of knowledge. Like the moles and the blindworms we know -remarkably well the few inches that we can actually feel and touch; but -with regard to what John Locke calls “the rest of the vast expansum,” -that we give up to fog and practical non-existence, thereby saving -ourselves from the trouble of knowing anything about it. - - - - -APRIL 18, 1900 - - -Yet even dull, and quite unfeathered bipeds have their glimmerings now -and then of sense, and of instinct. There are hours in which the great -Mother befriends them, as she does the rest of her two-legged, -four-legged, or many-legged offspring. That she should continue to do so -is I think amiable, and rather surprising on her part, when one -considers how they disobey and deride her; how they sit day after day in -stuffy rooms, eating dinners of many courses; hardly ever getting up to -see the sun rise, or doing any of the other things she directs, and -which her better-behaved scholars invariably do. - -In spite of this, when the right winds blow, when the spring is afoot, -and the leaves are beginning to bud, she allows the old visions to -return to them. She brings back the old voices from the old haunts, to -whisper once more in their ears, so that for the moment they forget the -years that the locust has eaten, and their own incredible stupidities, -and all that has been, and time rolls itself up like a scroll, and they -are once again in very deed, though but for a little while, as they once -were. - -There is a spot in a hill-wood barely a mile from this door, to which I -have been a good many times this spring, and which each time I go gives -me a curiously homely feeling. Ireland seems to breathe in it, even West -Ireland, though I can hardly say why, the only apparent reason being the -rather unpatriotic one that the fir trees, of which the wood consists, -have been sadly neglected. It covers an unusually steep bit of hillside, -and below expands into a tangle of brakes and brambles, circling about a -hollow place, which in my mind’s eye I conceive to be a boggy pool, -though, were I to clamber down to it, I should probably find it to be -dust-dry. Far and near not a roof is within sight, else were that -illusion for a certainty lost. Moreover, the only bit of distance -visible seems to be houseless also, and in these grey, rather -despondent-looking spring days wears just a touch of that wistful -indefiniteness, the lack of which, one is apt to assert, amongst many -beauties, to be England’s most conspicuous blemish. - -Until the last great summons comes for us, we can never, happily, -entirely lose what has once formed a part of our little mental -patrimony. We may deliberately discard it, or, what oftener happens, it -may get unintentionally overlaid with other matters, so that it appears -to be gone, but a little search, or some happy accident, brings it -flying swiftly back, and the pleasure of that repossession is so great -that it seems almost worth while that the thing should have been -temporarily mislaid. - -Of all such inalienable possessions the love of out-of-door life is -surely the most inalienable? And is it not profoundly natural that it -should be so? For this race, to which one belongs, was after all born -under an open sky, even though every individual of which it is composed -may have been born to-day under roofs. We do not any longer require the -comfort of sheltering boughs, nor yet to nestle at night in moss-lined -hollows, but the thought of such places still lurks in our blood, and -the life of out-of-doors remains as much a part of the natural -inheritance of a man, as it is a part of the inheritance of a fox, or of -a wood-pigeon, or of a tiger moth. - -Back, back--like the touch of half-forgotten greetings--comes a flood of -remembrances to the heart. Back flows the old stream along its old -channels. No longer tearing along with a wild tumultuous rush, but still -sweeping by, full and clear, with a pleasant afternoon patter, and -showing many an unlooked-for nook, many a forgotten corner along its -banks, once we surrender ourselves frankly to its guidance. Back the -scenes return; ever back and back; now vividly; now with a dream-like -vagueness; scenes, some of them, that we have ourselves known, others to -which we have only as it were a communal right. Waking hours under the -flickering shade of leaves; life as it was lived in a larger, freer -world; a world without walls or hedgerows; without sign-posts, or -notice-boards; a world without towns, or smoke; without dust, or crowds. - -It has been often debated, and not perhaps very profitably, which of two -types of men see deepest into that great arcanum of life which we -roughly call Nature. Is it the Man of Science, whose business it is to -chronicle what he sees and learns, but who must never travel half an -inch beyond his brief? who must cling to fact, as the samphire-picker -clings to his rope, and never for an instant relax his hold of it? Or is -it on the other hand the Singer, who is only too ready to toss all fact -to the winds, and to account it mere dust, and dregs and dross, so he -can awaken in himself, and pass on to others, some hint, some passing -impression, of what he would probably himself call the soul of things? - -Time was when the barrier between these two types was held to be an -absolutely impassable one. We call ours a prosaic age, but it is -certainly one of its better points, and a mitigation of that prose, that -those barriers hardly appear to us so absolutely impregnable as they -once were. If we have never seen a great scientist combined with a -great poet it is at least not inconceivable that the world may some day -behold such a combination. Even within the generation just over, and in -utilitarian England, there have been one or two men who have given us at -all events an inkling of so desirable a possibility. - -Given a mind that can feed on knowledge, without becoming surfeited by -it; a mind to which it has become so familiar that it has grown to be as -it were organic; a mind for which facts are no longer heavy, but light, -so that it can play with them, as an athlete plays with his iron balls, -and send them flying aloft, like birds through the air. Given such a -mind, so fed by knowledge, so constituted by nature, and it is not easy -to see limits to the realms of thought and of discovery, to the feats of -reconstruction, still more perhaps to the feats of reconciliation, which -may not, some day or other, be open to it. - - - - -APRIL 26, 1900 - - -The reddening of our sundew patch has brought back to my mind various -sundew experiments, carried on long since, with all the zeal of youth -and enthusiasm. In this, as in every other walk of biology, the -investigators of those days, amateur and scientist alike, followed with -docility in the wake of their master. Darwin played the tune, and all -the rest of us, great and small, danced to his piping. - -To the best of my recollection my own investigations were chiefly -carried on standing stork fashion upon a tussock, surrounded by an inky -opacity, which threatened to draw the investigator downwards with a -clutch, more tenacious and formidable than that of any sundew. To the -faithful Irish botanist the poverty of the Flora of Ireland as compared -with that of Great Britain has always been a serious humiliation. In -this respect these Droseraceæ form an exception. Of the few British -species all, I think, are to be found upon the bogs of the West of -Ireland, the largest of them--appropriately called anglica--being much -commoner in Ireland than elsewhere in these islands. - -A very slight acquaintance with their habits could hardly fail, I think, -to convince even the most sceptical that their roots are mainly employed -as anchors, and water-pipes, while for a supply of that nitrogen which -every plant requires they are chiefly, if not exclusively, dependent -upon insects. Of these the two lesser species would appear to content -themselves with the smallest of Diptera and Lepidoptera, whereas anglica -will occasionally tackle larger prey, and I have myself seen it with a -good-sized moth (a noctua) attached to and nearly covering the entire -disk, the long tentacle-like hairs being closely inflected over the -victim, whose struggles are soon put an end to, once the sticky -secretion exuding from the hairs closes above the trachea. When the leaf -re-opens nearly the whole of the insect (be it fly, moth or beetle) will -be found to have disappeared, even the wings being reduced to a few -glittering fragments. No animal substance in fact comes amiss; fragments -of bone, hide, meat-fibrine, and even, according to one authority, tooth -enamel, softening, and in time dissolving under the powerful solvent -secreted by the glands. Whether the Droseraceæ have the power of -attracting their prey, or must wait until chance sends it within their -clutches, seems undecided. In the case of a little Portuguese relative, -one Drosophylum lusitanicum (growing, unlike other members of the -family, upon _dry_ hills in the neighbourhood of Oporto) such a power -appears undoubtedly to exist, the people of the neighbourhood using it -as a flycatcher, and hanging it upon their walls for that express -purpose. - -This meat-eating habit or instinct (whichever we may agree to call it) -is shared to a greater or less extent by all the Droseraceæ, such as the -Venus’s fly-trap, the Byblis gigantea of Australia, and a small but -curious aquatic cousin, known to botanists by the formidable name of -Aldrovanda vesiculosa, whose tiny leaves have the power of shutting -vice-like over every unfortunate insect which approaches them, and which -thus finds itself enclosed in a floating prison. If eminently -characteristic of them, this carnivorousness is by no means confined -however to the sundews, and their allies. If anything the Pinguiculas, -for instance, rather exceed them in voracity. Few plants are at once so -beautiful, and so interesting from the problems to which their -distribution gives rise, as is the great Irish butterwort--Pinguicula -grandiflora. Unknown to England and Scotland; unknown to the whole north -of Europe; unknown even to the rest of Ireland; its viscid green -rosettes may be seen on most of the lowlands of Kerry, and upon many of -the bogs of south Cork. For nine months of the year that is all that -there is to see. In June a flower-stalk rises out of the centre of the -rosette, crowned with a pendulous bell of the most pellucid, the most -ethereal shade of violet. Happily for the susceptibilities of the -investigator this is not the flesh-eating portion of the plant, that -office being strictly confined to the leaves. Stooping down and -examining these leaves we find that, whereas some are flat, others are -slightly dog-eared along the edges. If further we unroll a few of the -dog-ears we discover the remains, not of one alone, but often of a dozen -unfortunate flies and midges, in all stages of assimilation; some -already half-digested, others still alive, and struggling to escape from -their glutinous prison. If further we place a fragment of bone, of meat, -or indeed of any nitrogenous substance, upon the edge of one of the -fully expanded leaves, we shall find that little by little the leaf -begins curling upwards, until the two edges approach, and then join. -Finally the morsel is lost to sight, becoming entirely immersed in its -bath of secretion, where it remains until all its nutritive parts are -absorbed. - -Viscous as the whole surface of the leaf is, it does not seem as if this -process of digestion was carried on with the same rapidity in the centre -as at the sides, and, as there are in this case no long hairs to act as -locomotive organs, it often happens that one may see flies and other -small insects lying partially dried up and useless in the centre of the -leaf. In one respect this viscidity appears at first sight to be -inconvenient, the entire surface of the leaf being often covered with -twigs, leaves, particles of boggy fibre, and such-like matters, which -the plant has apparently no power of getting rid of. In the end this may -prove however to be an advantage rather than otherwise, since it has -been ascertained that the Pinguiculas feed, not alone on animal, but -also on vegetable substances; the extreme stickiness of the leaves -causes them moreover to act as a chevaux-de-frise, thus hindering small -but industrious ants from making their way up the flower-stalks to the -corolla. - -Yet another little group of bog-plants, namely, the Utricularias, or -bladderworts, are meat eaters. In their case the fly-catching apparatus -is situated, not in the leaves, but in certain small attached -air-bladders, which are constructed almost exactly upon the principle of -an eel-trap, and which, if opened, may generally be found to contain -flies. Thus we see how discovery may be anticipated, and how one of -man’s most boasted attributes--that of the Destroyer--may be wrested -from him by a miserable little green bog-weed! Before the first Celtic -hunter flung spear at wolf or stag; before the Firbolgs, or the -Tuatha-da-Daanans--cunning workers and craftsmen--had set up any gins -or traps in the wilderness; before the first monk or abbot had arranged -ingeniously devised weirs, wherein the salmon--seemingly by -miracle--rang a bell to announce its own arrival; before any of these -things had been done, or thought of, little Utricularia minor and little -Utricularia intermedia had set up their own primitive green eel-traps in -the yet unvisited wastes of Iar-Connaught. - - - - -MAY 5, 1900 - - -Few events are more gratifying than to find oneself taken more seriously -by other people than by oneself, and I am pleased therefore to discover -that our palpably artificial little pond has been taken possession of by -a colony of frogs, which must have travelled some distance to make its -acquaintance, frog-haunted ponds or even ditches being by no means -abundant on these dry hillsides of ours. - -I have never myself met more than one species of frog in these islands. -Professor Bell, however, speaks of another, Rana Scotica, which he held -to be distinct, but the difference seems to be mainly one of size. It is -extremely difficult to persuade anyone who has noticed the multitudes of -frogs which swarm in Ireland that they were only introduced there -artificially, and as lately as the beginning of last century. Such, -nevertheless, is the fact, and the date of the event is, moreover, a -tolerably fixed one. It was a Dr. Gunthers, or Guithers, who, in the -year 1705, turned out a handful of spawn into a ditch near Trinity -College. For some years the frogs appear to have contented themselves -with the neighbourhood of that University, but sixteen years later, in -1721, they were found forty miles away, from which point they seem to -have rapidly extended themselves over the whole island. Incidentally the -fact is confirmed by a great, if hardly a zoological authority, namely, -Dean Swift. In his _Considerations about Maintaining the Poor_, which -appeared in the year 1726, in the course of thundering against certain -fire offices, which had the impertinence to be English, he declares that -“their marks upon our houses spread faster and further than a colony of -frogs.” The portent, therefore, it is plain, had reached his ears. - -Coincidences are attractive things, and it is satisfactory to discover -that as regards earlier times we are again able to fortify our mere lay -zoology upon the authority of an eminent ecclesiastic. This time it was -St. Donatus, bishop of Etruria, who, writing in the ninth century, -assured the world, upon his episcopal authority, that no frogs or toads -existed, or, moreover, could exist in Ireland. Three centuries later -Giraldus Cambrensis tells us, however, that in his time a frog was taken -alive near Waterford, and brought into court, Robert de la Poer being -then warden. “Whereat,” he says, “Duvenold, King of Ossory, a man of -sense amongst his people, beat upon his head, and spake thus: ‘That -reptile is the bearer of doleful news to Ireland.’” Giraldus is careful, -however, to assure us that “no man will venture to suppose that this -reptile was ever born in Ireland, for the mud there does not, as in -other countries, contain the germs from which frogs are bred”; indeed, -in another part of the _Topographia Hibernica_ we learn that frogs, -toads, and snakes, if accidentally brought to Ireland, on being cast -ashore, immediately “turning on their backs, do burst and die.” This -statement is corroborated by a still more illustrious authority, that of -the Venerable Bede, whom Giraldus quotes as follows: “No reptile is -found there” (in Ireland), “neither can any serpent live in it, for, -though oft carried there out of Britain, so soon as the ship draws near -the land, and _the scent of the air from off the shore reaches them_, -immediately they die.” So efficacious was the very dust of Ireland that -on “gardens or other places in foreign lands being sprinkled with it, -immediately all venomous reptiles are driven away.” So, too, with -fragments of the skins and bones of animals born and bred in Ireland; -indeed, parings from Irish manuscripts, and scraps of the leather with -which Irish books were bound, were amongst the accredited cures for -snakebite until well on in the Middle Ages. Of his own personal -experience Giraldus relates to us how, upon a certain occasion, a thong -of Irish leather was, in his presence, drawn round a toad, and that, -“coming to the thong, the animal fell backward as if stunned. It then -tried the opposite side of the circle, but, meeting the thong all round, -it shrank from it as if it were pestiferous. At last, digging a hole -with its feet in the centre of the circle, it disappeared in the -presence of much people.” - -Our frogs and toads are not likely at present to become an affliction to -us. Should they ever do so I must certainly send for some Irish leather, -or, failing that, for a pinch of Irish dust, and try its effect upon -them. An influence that has been vouched for by such a variety of -authorities ought to retain something of its ancient potency. Scientific -experiments in any case are always interesting! - - - - -MAY 8, 1900 - - -Returning to our pond this morning to see whether the water-lilies -propose flowering this season, I find that the frogs have been -depositing spawn along its edges, so that the thongs of Irish leather -may become necessary sooner than I expected! - -All the same I am delighted to see the frog-spawn, for I have an -affection for tadpoles. Youthful associations cluster pretty thickly -around them, but apart from such a merely sentimental attachment, there -is a satisfaction, I may say a zoologic thrill, about this transition of -a water-living and water-breathing animal into an air-breathing one; a -transition going on, moreover, not at some remote, and more or less -dubious geologic age, but under one’s very eyes, even, as in this case, -in the middle of one’s own decorous, shaven lawn. - -It is difficult to remember that frogs breathe air as much as we do -ourselves. Unlike ourselves, and their other zoologic betters, they do -so, however, not by alternate contractions and dilations of the chest, -Nature not having provided them with ribs, but by the doubtless more -archaic process of swallowing air. Not only would a frog die if kept too -long under water, but--seeing that it can only swallow air by shutting -its mouth--were that mouth kept forcibly open it would equally die, and -from the same cause, namely, want of breath. Tadpoles, on the other -hand, are strictly water-breathers, and until they have shed their -gills, have no more need to go to the surface to breathe than a fish -has. That, by the way is not an absolutely accurate illustration, seeing -that certain fishes _do_ need to go to the surface for air. The famous -Anabas, or “climbing perch” of India, is such an air-breathing fish, the -air reaching it by means of cavities on either side of its gills, and if -prevented from reaching the surface, and renewing the supply, it would -“drown like a dog,” or so the scientists assert. Such cases, however, -can hardly be called normal. Fishes that can live comfortably for days -out of the water, that can nest in a bush, and travel across a -particularly dry country, are not likely to be met with in zoologic -rambles about this parish. - -Returning to our Irish frogs, it is an odd fact, especially considering -their recent introduction, that in addition to swarming over the -lowlands, and in every place dear to frogs, they have learnt to climb -long distances up hill, and to establish themselves in ponds separated -widely from any others, often not even fed by streams, and moreover -destitute of nearly all other animal inhabitants, with the exception of -certain minute molluscs, which are believed by zoologists to have -reached them upon the feet of wading birds, and that at such a remote -period of time that they have become what are practically new species. - -Many years ago, on reaching the top of Mweelrea, the leading mountain of -Connemara, I remember my surprise at finding swarms of young tadpoles -wriggling along the margin of a small pond, nearly upon the actual -summit. They were still in the engaging comma-like stage, before legs -had begun to dawn upon their consciousness, and seemed to have -remarkably little to eat, for the water was crystal clear. The pond was -one of that attractive kind known as _corries_, held by the geologists, -doubtless truly, to be of glacial origin; a delicious clean-cut oval; -pure rock, from marge to marge; gouged, as if by the chisel of Michael -Angelo, from the matrix in which it lay. But for the unmistakable -evidence of the tadpoles it would, to any reasonable imagination, have -suggested the bath of some mountain nymph very much sooner than -frog-spawn. - -We are all of us to-day evolutionists, if some of us still with a -certain amount of reservation, and to the evolutionist tadpoles must -always prove interesting acquaintances. They provide us with at least an -inkling as to the fashion in which your unadulterated water-breather may -have been converted into an air-breather, and by means of no process -more recondite than that of losing its gills. That such conversions do -take place, and under certain circumstances remain permanent, has been -proved in the well-known case of the axolotl, or Mexican gilled -salamander. As long ago as the year 1867, while conducting some -experiments at the Jardin des Plantes, M. Duméril startled the zoologic -world of Paris by communicating the fact that, out of a number of -axolotls kept in the collection there, about thirty had left the water, -and had assumed the form of what had hitherto been regarded as an -absolutely distinct genus of land salamander, known as amplystoma. This -discovery made at the time a prodigious stir, not so much on account of -a water-breathing creature losing its gills, and becoming an -air-breather, for that was a phenomenon which might be seen every -spring, and in most of the ditches round Paris, but because the axolotl -was known to breed, and that it therefore appeared to indicate the -exceedingly anomalous case of a larval form proving to be fertile. - -How the feat of transformation was to be actually witnessed was the next -problem, and it is pleasant to remember that it was through the energy -and perseverance of a woman naturalist, Fraulein Marie von Chauvin, that -the matter was finally cleared up. By continually damping the specimens -of axolotl kept by her on land, and assiduously feeding them, she was -able to preserve two out of five through the gradual process of -decreasing their gill-tufts, and tail-fins, changing their skins, and so -forth. Finally to her own and everyone’s triumph, the complete -amplystoma form was assumed, and the transformation was thereby -accomplished. The world has seen a fair number of miracles since it -began to run its course, and perhaps not the least difficult of those -miracles to receive with absolute credulity have been some of its -natural ones! - - - - -MAFEKING-DAY, 1900 - - -It is the nineteenth of May. S. S. has returned, and the east wind which -has long been vexing our souls has departed for the moment, and a soft -caressing zephyr blows seductively. The garden, comforted by recent -showers, is smiling one broad smile from the red steps at the top of it -to the new pergola at the bottom. And now this morning comes the news of -the Relief of Mafeking. Joy for the victors; joy for the nation; joy for -everything and everybody. Flags flutter from all the posts; the dogs -strut about in new tricolor rosettes; “the air breaks into a mist with -bells.” All this is well, very well. Only; only. A few lines coming by -the same post, a single short note, and for one person that May sunshine -is blotted out as effectually as though the very orb itself had -perished. The garden with all its flowers; the copse surrounding it, new -clad in gala attire; the whole cheerful little picture has become -darkened; its atmosphere changed; its pleasant anticipations turned -into a simple mockery. Even to-day’s news sounds thin and unreal, and -the tale of Mafeking is as it were the tale of some defence read of long -since in an ancient, a seldom-opened history, the actors and heroes of -which have long vanished and been forgotten. We are but poor, bedimmed -mirrors all of us, and what we reflect is rarely the real thing, more -often only some blurred and distorted image projected by our own sad -selves. - - - - -MAY 26, 1900 - - -That Nature is cruel is not to be denied; the evidences of that cruelty -are written out large and red in every woodland, under every hedgerow. -That she can be also unaccountably pitiful, or at all events take pains -to appear so, is fortunately equally true, and it is a truth that at -times comes very near to the heart. This morning at a very early hour -there was a tenderness, a kind of hovering serenity over everything, -that appealed to one like a benediction. The air itself seemed changed; -sanctified. The familiar little paths one walked along were like the -approaches to some as yet invisible Temple. - -There are certain pictures of Jean Francois Millet’s in which this -quality of sanctity is the first thing that strikes one, the more so -that the obviously religious element is conspicuously absent from them. -His “Angelus” has always seemed to me a poorer composition in this -respect than some others. When one sees a man standing with his hat off -in the middle of a field, in the company of a woman, who clasps her -hands, and looks down, one knows what one is expected to feel. When on -the other hand one sees only a childish-looking farm-drudge knitting, a -number of greedy sheep feeding, and a rough dog watching them, where, -one asks oneself in perplexity, does the religious element come in? That -it is to be found in the “Bergère” is however, unmistakable, and equally -unmistakably was it to be found in the copse this morning, though how it -got there, or who implanted it, I were rash were I to attempt to -explain. - -Assuredly man is by nature a devotional creature, however little of the -dogmatic may mingle with his devotions. He may avert his ear from the -church-going bell, he may refuse to label himself with the label of any -particular denomination, but it is only to be overtaken with awe in the -heart of a forest, and to fall on his knees, as it were, in some green -secluded spot of the wilderness. The sense of something benignant close -at hand, of some pitying eye surveying one, is so vivid at certain -moments of one’s life that it actually needs a rough conscious effort if -one would shake it off. Even the sense of the vastness of that arena -upon which our poor little drama is being played out, even this habitual -impression becomes less grimly crushing at such moments than usual. What -if it is colossal, one says to oneself, and what if, as compared to it, -ourselves and our troubles are infinitesimal? what if they count no more -in the scheme of things than do the afflictions of a broken-legged -mouse, or of a crushed beetle? Very well; be it so. The mouse and the -beetle have, after all, each their allotted place in that scheme. Nay -for aught we know to the contrary, each may have its own incalculable -hour; each may be susceptible of the same profound, if intangible, -consolation. - - - - -JUNE 2, 1900 - - -The revolving year has brought us back at last to June. Here is June, -and here are all the June flowers. If June were only always really June, -and if our hearts could always keep time to its weather, then were earth -paradise, and any remoter one might be relegated to the remotest of -Greek kalends. June however is by no means invariably June, while as for -our hearts they are like our eyes, which have a fashion of blinking -sometimes at the light, as those of owls are reported to do, preferring -their own shadowy places, and the night, which at least brings kindly -dreams. Yet are kindly dreams, it may be asked, really the kindliest, -seeing that we wake from them, and know that they are false? Are not -ugly dreams, are not even terrible ones, better, seeing that we wake -from them, and say to ourselves that matters, after all, are not quite -so bad as _that_? It is a question, and, like many questions, a good -deal easier asked than answered. - - “If there were dreams to sell, - Pleasant, and sad as well, - And the crier rang his bell, - Which would you buy?” - -It is not the time, however, now for dreams, or for dream thoughts. It -is nine o’clock in the morning, and everybody ought therefore to be wide -awake and smiling. The garden at all events is performing its duty in -both these respects, and seems, moreover, to be making encouraging -little signals, like some humble but rather impatient suitor, who wishes -to observe that he has really been waiting a long time, and deserves a -little attention. Perhaps it does. Perhaps, seeing that it is there, and -that we are here, it ought not to fare worse at our hands than our own -dull bodies, which have to be clothed and fed, put to bed, and taken up -again, whatever the less material portion may be feeling at the time. -Here on my table I see is a list of some of our latest seedlings. They -are not alpines this time, only common border plants, with a sprinkling -of candidates for naturalisation, of which this copse can absorb almost -any amount, so long as they are of the right sort. It is not a long -list, and will not therefore take very long to transcribe. - -Here it is:- - - Adonis vernalis. - ” pyrenaica. - Alströmeria aurantiaca. - Anchusa italica. - Anthemis tinctoria. - Aponogeton (self-sown). - Armeria cephalotes. - ” ”” alba. - Aster amellus. - ” ericoides. - Campanula pyramidalis. - Catananche cærulea. - Commelina cælestis. - Chionodoxa sardensis. - Cimicifuga fœtida. - Chelone (Penstemon) barbata. - Clematis graveolens. - Cobæa scandens. - Convolvulus sylvatica. - Coreopsis lanceolata. - ” tenuifolia. - Cistus laurifolius. - ” formosus. - Cyclamen Coum. - ” europæum. - ” hederæfolium. - Cytisus scoparius. - ” ” albus. - ” Andreanus. - Cytisus præcox. - Delphinium (various). - Dictamnus fraxinella. - Dipsacus laciniatus. - Doronicum austriacum. - ” plantaginum - ” excelsum. - Eccremocarpus scaber. - Echinops Ritro. - ” ruthenicus. - Erigeron speciosus. - Eryngium amethystinum. - ” Olivierianum. - Onopordon arabicum. - ” illyricum. - Ferula tingitana. - Francoa appendiculata. - Gaillardia grandiflora. - Gypsophila paniculata. - Heuchera sanguinea. - Hypericum calycinum. - ” olympicum. - Iberis corifolia. - ” sempervirens. - Lathyrus latifolius grandiflorus. - Lilium tigrinum (from bulblets in axils). - Lupinus arboreus. - ” polyphyllus. - Lupinus polyphyllus alba. - Lythrum salicaria superbum. - Libertia formosa. - Lobelia cardinalis. - Muscari armeniacum, } slow. - ” conicum, } - Meconopsis cambrica - ” nepalensis - Meconopsis Wallichi. - Mimulus cardinalis. - Myosotis dissitiflora. - ” sylvatica. - ” palustris semperflorens. - -My list appears to be a longer one than I thought. I have as yet only -reached the N’s, yet my energies have quite come to an end for the -present. I will put off the remainder of it therefore for a day or two. - - - - -JUNE 8, 1900 - - -I had intended going doggedly on this morning with the list of our -seed-sowings, but another impulse has come, and the sowings must stand -over for the moment. Something in the look of to-day’s sky and earth--a -brand new earth after last night’s rain--has brought a new, and a most -unlooked-for wave of exhilaration to my mental shores, and the -visitation is just now too rare and comforting not to be met half way -with the keenest of hospitality. - -“Life is a flux of moods,” and to the fluctuations of those moods there -is assuredly no limit. If we are eternally surprised by our own -limitations, our own torpidity and dullness, there are also--and for -this heaven be thanked--some possibilities of surprise upon the other -side, and that for the oldest, the saddest, the least alert amongst us. -A hundred hours of intolerable dullness and stagnation pass over our -heads. Then comes the hundred and first, and lo! the dull brain wakes, -and the deaf ear hears. A new perception of the unperceived relationship -of things; a new perception of the invisible splendours lying unnoticed -around us, becomes for the moment almost startlingly visible. Such hours -are the only really countable ones, the chief solace of existence, the -one clear reason, one is tempted to say, of our poor encumbered, stunted -little lives. For their sakes, if for no other reason, it were well -worth the trouble of being born, and of all the aches and ills that -belong to that very singular estate; worth our meeting gallantly, if -possible merrily, the thousand petty pinpricks, the slings and arrows of -outrageous fortune, the occasional alienation of those one loves best, -nay--if it must be so--even the fell assaults of Giant Despair and all -his abominable brood. - -For the suggestiveness of what lies about us is no mere fancy, but is -absolutely real; real as the light upon yonder tree-tops; real as the -sorrow in our hearts; real as the love that makes all things endurable; -real as the death which puts an end to pain. At this very moment, now -passing over my head, there is lying about me--close to my eyes, could I -but discern it--the materials alike of the loftiest poetry, and of the -most riddle-solving science. Disregarded and unheeded there they lie, -ready alike for the greatest singer in his happiest mood, for the most -era-making of discoverers, nay, for aught I can tell to the contrary, -for the seer, the saint, and the prophet in their hours of highest, and -most God-inspired contemplation. - -For the raw materials of inspiration are eternally at hand, only -invisibly. They are as present here this morning as they ever were; -present in the earth and its green things; in the common face of day; in -the comings and goings of the clouds, and of men; in the changes of the -sky, and of our own poor lives. The light that is gilding yonder cumulus -is as capable of inspiring great thoughts here to-day in a Surrey copse, -as ever it was in Delphi, or in Argos, or in Jerusalem. It may awaken -just as resounding emotions, it may inspire just as great deeds to the -hearts of yonder passers-by in a dogcart, as it did to the Assailants of -Troy, or to the Seekers of the Golden Fleece. The constituents of all -greatness, of all poetry, heroism, and sanctity are for ever amongst us. -It is only the right recipients of them that are alas! so scanty. - -And yet, even though we are not quite the right recipients, it is well -for us that such gleams come. Who shall say that an existence which is -capable of being even thus temporarily lifted above itself is not for -that very reason a goodly and a desirable one? What proportion of -discomfort, what proportion even of sheer pain, of numbing weakness, of -crushing sorrow were not worth enduring so long as one knew--knew as a -matter of absolute certainty--that they would be now and again pierced -by gleams of such celestial potency? The hard thing, and the thing that -for all mortals will always be hardest to bear patiently, is--not the -uncertainty even--so much as the desperate transitoriness of such -visitations. Almost before we have time to see and to confer with them, -our enchanting visitors have spread out their gauzy wings, and have -vanished beyond recall. They are gone, but where they are gone to, or -when they will next revisit us we have not the faintest notion. Ariel -and Titania have disappeared into the abyss, but Caliban and Bottom on -the contrary remain permanently behind, and are continually at our -elbows. At this very moment, and while I am still thinking about it, the -light is shifting rapidly. The day has grown older; more crowded. A -thousand bloated nothings have sprung up like so many fungi in the path. -Shadows, slight, but impenetrable, have gathered over the foreground. My -own mood too has shifted, and what a while ago seemed so clear has grown -fainter and fainter, and seems to be upon the point of disappearing -altogether. The good little hour has passed! - - - - -JULY 7, 1900 - - -Once more the great outside tide of life has beaten down the little -barricades that one erects against it, and has come thundering in over -them in an avalanche, tossing them to right and left, as though they -were so many straws in its path! This week that has just ended has been -for millions--for all Europe, for the whole world in fact--stamped with -the impress of what one would fain still hope to be an incredible -horror. Personally this Pekin nightmare has centred itself for me in the -fact that E. B. was reported to be still there. Recently she was known -to have been there, and whether she had, or had not left seemed at first -impossible to ascertain. At last, though not until after days of -suspense, of uncertainty, of growing hopelessness, came the -telegram--“Safe at Hong Kong,” and the relief is greater than it is -easy, without exaggeration, to put into words. - -So great has been that relief that for me it has perceptibly altered the -whole situation, as I suppose it was inevitable that it should do. -Nevertheless, the tragedy as a tragedy remains, and if anything seems to -be deepening daily. The newspapers certainly do nothing to minimise it; -perhaps they would say that it was hardly their province to do so! Such -headings, however, as “The Chinese Cawnpore!” “Last shots reserved for -the women!” “White children carried on spears!” seem to be rather more -than it is their absolute duty to offer to their readers! As regards -hope, no one appears to have any left, so that it seems mere optimism to -cherish any. A ray reached us two days ago from our neighbour S. B., who -had heard of a reassuring telegram from someone in Sir R. Hart’s -employment in Pekin. No such gleam, however, seems to have travelled -down to the murky depths of our newspapers, so that one can only fear -that there must be some mistake. - -It is with a sort of angry helplessness, mixed with an instinctive -feeling of self-defence, that one turns from such accumulated, such -carefully elaborated horrors, and tries to forget them in whatever -little pursuit happens to lie nearest to one’s hand. It is not -particularly creditable to one’s humanity that one should succeed in -doing so, and there is no denying that one’s attitude is essentially -that of a kitten, or other small Unreasonable, which runs after its -ball, though disaster may be hovering, or conflagration about to -involve, it and everyone else. Happily, we are made so, just as surely -as the kitten is so made. We catch at straws, and in nine cases out of -ten the straw saves us. Were it not for this same blessed prerogative of -being interested in trifles, what, one sometimes asks oneself, would -become of all our poor wits? or where on a journey so full of loss and -sorrow, shock and trouble, would they have got to before the final goal -is reached? - - - - -JULY 14, 1900 - - -With a mind full of China, and its abominations, I happened this -afternoon to take up _The Opium Eater_, and opened full upon the -passages describing the results of the Malay’s visit. What imagery to be -sure! What an amazing rhetorician! Certainly if all life were the -feverish dream, the half nightmare, one is tempted sometimes to call it, -no greater exponent of its terrors has ever existed than Thomas de -Quincey. Take this as a prelude. - -“The Malay has been a frightful enemy for months. I have been every -night, through his means, transported into Asiatic scenes. I know not -whether others share my feelings on this point, but I have often thought -that if I were compelled to forego England, and to live in China, and -among Chinese manners, and modes of life and scenery I should go mad. -The causes of my horror lie deep, and some of them must be common to -others. Southern Asia in general is the seat of awful images and -associations. As the cradle of the human race it would alone have a dim -and reverential feeling connected with it. But there are other -reasons.... The mere antiquity of Asiatic things, of their institutions, -histories, modes of faith, etc., is so impressive, that to me the vast -age of the race and name overpowers the sense of youth in the -individual. A young Chinese seems to me an antediluvian man renewed.... -It contributes much to these feelings that Southern Asia is and has been -for thousands of years, the part of the earth most swarming with human -life. The great _officina gentium_. Man is a weed in these regions. The -vast empires into which the enormous population of Asia has always been -cast, give a further sublimity to the feelings associated with all -Oriental names and images. In China, over and above what it has in -common with the rest of Southern Asia, I am terrified by the modes of -life, by the manners, and the barrier of utter abhorrence and want of -sympathy, placed between us by feelings deeper than I can analyse. I -could sooner live with lunatics, or brute animals.” - -Now for the dream proper. - -“Under the connecting feeling of tropical heat and vertical sunlights, I -brought together all creatures, birds, beasts, reptiles, all trees and -plants, usages and appearances, that are found in all tropical regions, -and assembled them together in China, or Indostan. From kindred -feelings I soon brought Egypt and all her gods under the same law. I was -stared at, grinned at, hooted at, chattered at, by monkeys, by -paraquets, by cockatoos. I ran into pagodas; and was fixed for centuries -at the summit, or in secret rooms; I was the idol; I was the priest; I -was worshipped; I was sacrificed; I fled from the wrath of Brahma -through all the forests of Asia: Vishnu hated me; Seeva laid wait for -me. I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris; I had done a deed, they said, -which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was buried for a -thousand years in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow -chambers, at the heart of eternal pyramids. I was kissed with cancerous -kisses by crocodiles, and laid, confounded with all unutterable slimy -things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud.” - - - - -JULY 28, 1900 - - -The last ten or twelve days have been different from any that I ever -remember before. Circumstances have made them so, yet it has seemed as -though there were something about themselves that has, as it were, -affected those circumstances. For one thing it has been extraordinarily -hot, so that we have been thankful for every breath of air that has -travelled to us across the downs. The new little water-lily pond has -been most kindly, and has contrived to produce an amazing illusion of -coolness, while the oaks in whose shadow it lies have provided us with -the reality of shade. We two have sat day after day for hours beside it, -and the minutes have slipped along, like bubbles upon some very slow -stream. There is a strange sense of unreality over everything; a sense -that everything is very near its end. The hours of a summer’s day, and -the years of a man’s life seem to be much the same thing, and the one -hardly longer than the other. The chimes from the clock across the -valley are almost the only sounds that break in upon our stillness, for -the birds sing very little just now. It has been a most strange -fortnight; curiously unreal; extraordinarily dreamy and spectral-like. -One by one its days have slipped by, very, very slowly, yet now that -they are almost gone I say to myself--“How terribly swiftly!” - - - - -AUGUST 1, 1900 - - -There are times--surely we all know them--when the injustices of life, -of the individual destiny, seem more than can be silently endured. “Why -should this? and this? and this be?” we ask. “To what end such -superfluous happiness heaped upon one head, such equally uncalled-for -refusals of it consigned to another? What does it mean? or who is the -better for such unendurable partiality?” - -The question is the oldest of all questions, yet it is the question of -to-day, as it will be the question of to-morrow, and of many more -to-morrows. Job asked it about himself, as some of us ask it about those -whom we know to be infinitely better than ourselves. Moreover it is not -alone the apparent injustice of a life as a whole, but of the several -parts of it, that we murmur at. There are acts of courage, of silent -endurance, of unrecognised heroism, which only need to be performed in -some more conspicuous fashion, or upon a larger field, to awaken the -whole world to admiration. Yet they pass away unnoticed; oblivion -enshrouds them, and they are never so much as heard of. - -When such suppressions, such seeming injustices, occur at the beginning -of things, while the sun is still high, and Time seems a friendly -factor, one is able to reassure oneself. One says--“Wait a little -longer!” “The time will come!” When such illusion, however, is no longer -possible; when the sands have run out, or been scattered in mid-career; -what is one to say _then_? What faith, what philosophy, what stoicism, -or what mixture of all three, will enable one to accept it without -complaint? - - - - -AUGUST 4, 1900 - - -Of the vicissitudes of this year there seem to be no end! After we have -mourned over these victims of Pekin as men mourn over those for whom -there is absolutely no hope; after we have enumerated their names, like -the names upon a death-roll, and all but held a national funeral service -in their memory; and after we have followed their last moments; gloried -in its heroism; wept over its tragedy; starved, sighed, bled, almost -died with them; lo, it appeareth now that none of them are dead at all! -Was ever an entire continent in the history of the world so mercilessly -defrauded before of its tears? - -I have no notion how they may feel about it themselves, but my -impression is that were I the responsible head of a daily newspaper I -should prefer to immure myself from society for the next few days! There -is a pile of such papers at this moment in my sanctum, which I have just -been turning over, and reading a few of the headlines with some little -inward entertainment. Not that I pretend for a moment to have been one -whit wiser, or less lugubrious myself! Far from it. We have all been a -flight of ravens and screech-owls together, only that some of us have -screeched and flapped our wings a little more energetically, and in -rather a more public fashion than the rest! - - - - -AUGUST 6, 1900. - - -Few of the minor experiences of life are, I think, more consoling than -to come across some small link in the chain of natural law, over the -right connections of which one has long groped blindly. Such a little -bit of good luck befell me only yesterday. In itself it was what one -calls the veriest trifle; simply a question as to the relationship of -certain obscure organisms, profoundly uninteresting to the world at -large. To myself it seemed, for a while at all events, to be of some -little consequence. It imparted--for fully ten minutes--an entirely new -impression of a vast, a peaceful, and a most orderly progress. It seemed -to open up vistas into the perfection, into the breadth, no less than -the complexity, of that great scheme of Life, of which we ourselves form -a part. It came as a sudden vision, as a conception of possibilities--I -hardly know what to call it--the vividness of which it would be -difficult without exaggeration to put into words. - -For those who, like myself, are the mere irresponsible camp-followers of -science, the importance of any given solution seems often to be less in -what it actually teaches us, than in what it allows us indirectly to -guess at. The new fact may or may not be important, but the ideas that -it starts in our minds can hardly fail to be so. In the imaginative -realm there is literally no limit to the revelations to which the -tiniest of natural phenomena may not serve as an introduction. The fact -itself may be the minutest of facts; a mere pin-point, a scarce -perceptible chink of light, but it is a chink in the walls as it were of -a great cathedral of discovery, the doors of which may, for anything one -knows to the contrary, be thrown widely open to oneself, and to everyone -else to-morrow. - -This, if I am not misleading myself, is the real attractiveness of every -pursuit which has the elucidation of Nature for its end and aim; one -perhaps most felt, or at all events most enjoyed, by the more ignorant -of her votaries. Properly directed ignorance is in truth a most -desirable haze, and when some stray beam does traverse its obscurity, -how great is the illumination which follows! What may not be possible -where there is no dead-weight of fact to keep our feet upon the solid -earth; no panoply of unescapable knowledge to bid our pleasant fancies -nay? - -Even for those less comfortably unfettered by circumstances, it must be -an alleviation surely of the prose of life that in this region of the -ideas no man can ever positively say what may not be in store for him. -However tame, however dull his foreground, there is always the chance of -something ahead; something that when it comes, will sweep his thoughts -away with it to the very verge of the horizon. There is never a day, -there is hardly an hour, in which some new idea may not be upon its -road. Now a really new idea for the time being remakes life. It is a -solvent which dissolves all old impressions, and rebuilds them anew. Men -live by ideas, as surely, almost as literally, as they live by bread, -and a world into which no new idea ever entered would be a dead world, -tenanted only by corpses. - -The strange thing is that we should any of us doubt this, or that in -those innermost citadels which we call our brains, we should really very -greatly care about anything else. Surely for people so oddly -circumstanced as ourselves the quest for ideas, ever larger, ever more -comprehensive ideas, is the only perfectly rational occupation? Stranded -upon the shores of the Unknown; rocked to and fro by all the winds of -mystery; ignorant of whence precisely we came, whither precisely we are -going; for people in so strange a position as this to be continually on -the quest for some new intimation, for some further hint, or -indication, seems as natural as for shipwrecked sailors to be for ever -on the watch for sails. - -I remember--it is years since, yet the impression is as clear as though -it were yesterday--one who, during the vigils of a sleepless night, -slipped suddenly into a dream. And in that dream it seemed to the -dreamer as though he stood upon a narrow-topped hill, encompassed by all -the stars, and lifted high in air above the slumbering earth. And, -looking upwards, he was aware of a sky, immeasurably vaster and higher, -or so he thought, than he had ever observed any sky to be before. And, -still gazing into that vast sky, the dreamer perceived that it was -filled with what at first he took to be snowflakes. Looking more closely -he saw that, if snowflakes, then they were snowflakes lit up by all the -colours of the prism. And one of these snowflakes, just then slowly -descending, touched the dreamer’s head with a soft, but quite a sensible -impact. And as it touched him, lo, a new thought sprang up, alive, -full-fledged, wonderful, within his brain; a thought absolutely -unsuspected by him before; vast, formative, irresistible, like some new -law of Evolution, or of Gravitation. And, with it, light seemed to break -in upon him from every side at once, and a great joy, and a sense of -elasticity such as he had never known before. And a voice said--“These -are the thoughts with which this earth of yours has been built up, and -all yonder other earths, of which this is one of the very least.” And -another voice said--“They are as the sands of the sea for multitude, and -of the secrets hidden in them, and of the wonder, and satisfaction, and -delight of those secrets there is no end.” - -Then that sleeper awoke, and, though the night was still long and dark, -the thought of his dream remained with him, and was like the song of a -thrush in his heart until the morning. - - - - -AUGUST 10, 1900 - - -Life; Life the indomitable, the multifarious; Life, as it rises in the -scale, becoming conscious of itself--the thought of this recurs again -and again to one’s mind, and each time with a greater sense of power, -and of a sort of consolation. What limit need be assigned, one asks -oneself, to its capabilities, to the endless transformations, to the -possibilities, as yet unguessed at, which may have been destined for it -by its Inventor from the beginning of things? If the mere personal -consciousness, the precarious personal life, is rarely without an -element of discomfort, in this larger sense that personal life all but -disappears, and with the loss of it comes--not perhaps actual joy, that -could hardly be looked for--but at least a great exhilaration, an -extraordinary sense of width, of serenity, and of detachment. - -As the mind descends deeper and deeper into that serene abyss it seems -to shake itself free for the time being from all that confused, -battling, disturbing sea in which its daily lot is cast. As that -downward course continues, all that appertains to the surface becomes -more and more dreamlike, as it might to a diver, and the mind widens and -strengthens insensibly with each descending fathom. “Life” is indeed a -marvellous shibboleth; a spell that unlocks innumerable doors; a word of -varied and manifold meanings. Merely to write it down, merely to utter -it, seems to clear the atmosphere. Mental fogs of all kinds at that -touch roll up their dingy tents, and depart. An impression of -morning--fresh, imperishable morning--hovers around it; youth, health, -fecundity, vigour belong to it. All the winds of Spring--“driving sweet -buds, like flocks to feed in air"--rush after it, and fan it on its -course. The sense of the good green earth, and of all those good green -things that belong to it, pours in a stream of joy through even the -dreariest veins. “And if one little planet is able to show it in this -inexhaustible profusion, what of all the other planets?” one thinks. -“What of those countless other worlds, all belonging to the same great -plan; all built and upheld by the same architectonic hand; all strung, -as it were, upon one great string, and vibrating eternally to a single -immortal touch?” - - - - -AUGUST 18, 1900 - - -Standing, shortly after dusk yesterday evening, upon the edge of the -slope which drops suddenly into the valley enclosing our village and its -church, my ear was filled with a variety of sounds, all of them -familiar, yet none somehow quite recognisable; all with a certain -strangeness about them, born no doubt of the mist and of the oncoming -obscurity. - -Sounds which reach our ears after nightfall never seem to be quite the -same sounds as in the daytime, even though they may be produced by -exactly the same means. Commonplace in reality, they are never perfectly -commonplace in their effect. They awaken curious echoes. They bring back -odd, and half-vanished thoughts. They play the same rather uncanny -tricks with the brain as they doubtless did in the days of the -Patriarchs, or of the Shepherd Kings. The bark of a dog half a mile away -will conjure up visions of hunting scenes, swift and phantasmagoric as -the pageant of a dream. The sharp “click-clack” of a horse’s hoof; the -crunching of a waggon-wheel; most of all, perhaps, the thin, -lamentable, bleating of sheep floating up from the valley; all these set -vibrating fibres within us which have their roots as far back in the -history of the race as anything well can be. Our life of to-day, with -all its crowded impedimenta, tends at such moments to sink suddenly, and -to disappear. We realise--if only during the duration of a lightning -flash--that we are standing, not in the least upon any apex, merely upon -some small peak on one of the sides of the great organic mountain. That -we are looking at a scene which has witnessed the arrival of our race, -as of other races, upon it, and which will assuredly one day witness its -departure again. That all that we can discern is but, as it were, a few -front streaks upon the surface of an ocean, rolling on without bourne or -limit. And at that realisation the mind is apt to start, and to shiver -instinctively, as before some yawning gulf, opening unexpectedly below -the feet. - -Such little mental peaks afford, in truth, but a dizzy standing ground, -and are best, perhaps for that reason, not ascended too often. Just as -the trade of the astronomer is said to need a sound leaven of stolidity -before it can be safely embarked upon, so only a very strong head can -with safety peer long into a void, hardly less perturbing and -intoxicating than that into which it is his business to pry. Those -capricious little particles, upon which all our comfort depends, -dislike it, and they are probably right in doing so. It is true that -what we call the Past, that which is entirely put away, and done with, -might seem to be a harmless enough subject of contemplation. So -conceivably it might be, were it not for the fact that in following it -one is apt to find oneself brought suddenly face to face with the other, -and the far more formidable brother; the one whose kingdom lies, not -behind us, but ahead. At those dim barriers all real advance is -inexorably stayed; into the recesses beyond them no secular lantern has -ever peered; while even our most authoritative, our most convinced -guides, can at best assure us as to its geography with hesitating, and -often curiously conflicting voices. - -To abstain from all attempts at peering into that obscurity is more -perhaps than can be asked of mortals. The less of such peerings we -indulge in, however, surely the better, because the saner, because, -also, the more trustful. Of all the cataracts of words, poured in verbal -Niagaras over this momentous topic, have there been many, I wonder, -wiser or truer than these of old Hooker? I write them down as they have -lodged in my memory; probably therefore quite incorrectly. - -“Rash were it for the feeble mind of man to wade far into the doings of -the Almighty. For though ’tis Joy to know Him, and Pride to make mention -of His name, yet our deepest Wisdom is to know that we know Him not, and -our truest Homage is our Silence.” - - - - -AUGUST 25, 1900 - - -From gropings along unlit ways, and towards an undiscoverable goal, what -a pleasant experience it is to turn suddenly back to the well-trodden -paths of a near and a tried companionship! It is almost an exact -parallel to the sensations of the child who, having rushed out of its -home into the wild winter night, full of hollow reverberations, and -perturbing gleams, suddenly retreats, and finds itself once more beside -the hearth, with an absolutely new sense of its security, and wide-armed -delightfulness. - -Upon few topics has more ink been expended than upon this one of -friendship. As regards one point all the pens have I think been agreed, -and that is that diversity constitutes its soundest basis. If a truism, -this is at least one of those truisms that every day’s experience throws -into new relief. Friendship demands absolutely no conformity, but lives, -thrives, and has its being upon the most absolutely radical differences. -Friend and friend may differ by nearly everything that can -differentiate one human being from another. By the tenour of their -thoughts; by the circumstances of their lives; by the very texture of -their brains, their souls, their hearts, their entire natures. -Friendship makes light of such little discrepancies as these. Its roots -push down to a stratum where even the largest of them become mere -accidents, and at that serene depth they meet and lock securely under -them all. - -To say that such a tie is the great ameliorator of life, the soother of -its sorrows, the encourager of its brighter moments, is to say -ridiculously little. To say that it is one that we could hardly endure -to think of existing without, is to say almost less. The very notion of -such a deprivation produces a sort of vertigo; a species of mental -confusion, akin to the thought of losing identity itself. Worse, indeed, -for it is not merely the everyday, the vulgar self, that such a -loss--supposing it to be complete--would deprive one of. It is that -other, better, and more shining self, which only really exists inside -the enchanted walls of a loving, sympathetic friendship. Within those -fostering walls it grows, expands, and flourishes, but outside of them -it sickens, pines away, and dies. - -It is a very singular tie, when one reflects a little upon it; so close -often that no nearness of blood, no identity of name, could, so far as -one can see, make it any closer. It seems to be antecedent, not alone -to itself, but to the whole social warp and woof, of which it is an -outcome. Just as the trees in one wood seem, to anyone who wanders often -in it, to have acquired a sort of identity, so two who have walked for -some time very closely together, though they may differ as widely as an -ash does from a pine, as an oak does from a hornbeam, acquire a sort of -similarity, due to the same sunshine having warmed, the same storms -having shaken and darkened both. It is well to speak a good word now and -then of a personage whom one habitually abuses, so let it be recorded in -favour of that odd compound of good and ill which we call our existence -that, if it has thwarted our desires, dwarfed our ambitions, nipped in -our joys, chilled back our aspirations, cut down our hopes, and not -infrequently wrung our hearts, at least----it has given us our -friends! - - - - -SEPTEMBER 4, 1900 - - -Surely people live fast in these days, even the very slowest of them! I -find myself turning back of a morning to the thoughts of the Transvaal, -and of the struggle still going on there, with the oddest sense of -renewal; as of one trying to rekindle dead fires, or to reawaken some -set of well-nigh obliterated emotions. When did it begin, this war, -which seems to have been going on throughout the greater part of one’s -lifetime? which the newspapers have again and again announced to be just -over, but with which they nevertheless manage to fill several columns -every morning? It is perhaps a mere personal impression, due to closer -anxieties, but to myself the fears and perturbations of last spring seem -often almost incredibly remote. There are moments when they appear to be -as out of date for any practical purpose as the alarms that convulsed -our grandfathers and grandmothers two generations ago. _E pur si muove!_ -It is still going on, this war of ours, and seems likely moreover, to -do so for a considerable time longer. Botha, De Wet, Delarey, with half -a dozen more guerrilla leaders, are swarming about, active as ants, and -at least as dangerous as hornets. We have got Pretoria, but we have -emphatically _not_ got our new colonies, though both, I see, are now -officially annexed. That we shall get them some day or other, and that -the last of England’s big daughters will--in the course, say of the -coming century--become as friendly and tolerant of her as are the other -two, a good many people seem to expect. Possibly. The very moderate view -she takes of the motherly function will certainly be a help in that -direction. In these days grown-up daughters are not expected fortunately -to be deferential--especially, perhaps, to their mothers. - -The closing scenes of a war have a tendency to awaken in some -speculative minds thoughts of war as a whole; of the entire attitude of -man as a combative being. So long as the particular struggle we have -been watching remains at the acute stage, so long especially as the -faintest doubt exists as to its final result, such a merely academic -attitude is impossible. Pride; dignity; honour; fear of what may be; -anger, perhaps, at what has been; all these rush in a tide through even -the most tepid veins, and everything else is for the time being as -though it were not. When however the struggle is nearing its end; when -the trumpets are beginning to sound the recall, and the fighting, even -if it still goes on, appears on both sides to be growing somewhat -perfunctory; then thoughts of what it all means, thoughts of War in the -abstract, make themselves felt, and in place of hanging breathlessly -over the newspapers, one wonders, as one saunters to and fro the garden, -whether this same instinct of combativeness really is an integral part -of man’s nature? Whether, in other words, it is an absolutely incurable -disease, congenital to the species, or merely a sort of youthful malady, -destined, like other youthful maladies, to pass away, as a very slowly -evolving race attains nearer and nearer to its full maturity? - -In a year when the roll and rumble of cannon have never ceased even for -a day; when the rattle of rifle-shot has seemed like something that had -become part of every brain; when all public life has centred round a -single point, and the most reticent of races has flung its reticence -utterly to the winds; in such a year so remote and speculative a fashion -of looking at the matter strikes even the speculator himself as somewhat -thin, and cold-blooded. “What right,” he turns round, and asks himself -hotly, “what right have you, or such as you, people who, far from taking -any part in the struggle, have kept out of even the very wind and whiff -of it! Who have chartered no yachts, nursed no wounded, sung no war -songs, or even--lowest of all the efforts of patriotism--so much as -composed any! Who have remained at home the whole time; tending your own -gardens, culling your own fancies, and sorrowing over your own sorrows. -What right have such as you--idlers, cumberers, that you are!--so much -as to mention the word “war” at all? - -“Very true,” the other self answers submissively. And yet again, he -reflects, as he looks around him, is it not, after all, just such little -plots as these that the earthquake of battle has this year shaken the -most fiercely? Is it not such gardens as these--not this one perhaps, -but others almost identical; flowery places, where the robins peck -about, and where no hostile foot has ever trod--is it not against these -that the harshest blows have been struck, where the cruellest wounds -have been received? Quick, quick, as in a dream, fancy conjures up a -vision--a procession, rather--floating along upon the soft bands of -autumn sunshine; a procession of mothers, of sisters, of betrothed ones, -of wives. As each in turn passes by memory evokes the face, or the -faces, that belong to it; then turns to linger last and longest with the -mothers. Ah, those mothers! God’s pity, above all others, rest this year -with the mothers. For whom hope can never be anything again but a -delusive word; for whom the future can hold _no_ compensations; for -whom the very things that they love the best--their gardens; the walks -they pace along; the flowers that they stoop to pick--must henceforth -seem all bestreaked and shadowed over by the red, abhorrent shadow of -the battlefield. Truly the garden is a place of peace, but it may also -be a place of the most cruel, the most undeserved war, and the bullets -that have been speeding thousands of miles away, have too often found -their last, and their deadliest targets within its circle. - - - - -SEPTEMBER 10, 1900 - - -The year has more than run its complete round since these loosely -connected jottings were begun, so that it is high time that they shut -the cover down upon themselves, and withdrew into a corner. -Diary-keeping, like knitting, like whittling, like any other of the -minor distractions, begins often with more or less effort, yet after a -time becomes, first a habit, finally almost a necessity. Entered upon -without any particular motive, it creates a place for itself, it fills a -void, it becomes a solace. The practice of the diarist varies, of -course, almost infinitely. It may mean merely that conscientious daily -record, to which alone the words “journal,” “diary,” “day-book” properly -belong, or it may enlarge its scope until it covers all those looser, -and necessarily more intermittent outpourings, in which most of us from -time to time indulge, whether for our weal or our woe depends largely -upon circumstances. - -One merit it certainly has. Few mediums of thought are equally fluid; -few admit of greater variety; more diversity of mood; more ranging from -topic to topic. Possibly the most satisfactory of all its developments -is when it enables us to follow some well-beloved pursuit, keeping pace -with its minutest ramifications, losing ourselves, as it were, in its -existence, and thereby evading half those irritating points, half those -wounding asperities that belong to every human lot. Amongst such beloved -and healing pursuits that of gardening stands prominently forward. I -have been assured that there are superior persons by whom it is held in -exceedingly low repute; who regard it as a symptom, indeed, of mental -degeneration, and, as a resource, below stamp-collecting, and about on a -par with the acquisition of the idiot stitch. Were it my lot to be -acquainted with any such superior persons there is one punishment that I -must confess I should dearly love to bestow upon them; which is that -they should first desperately need the comfort of such a solace, and -afterwards--upon due probation and penitence--that they should come to -find it! Few ideas are more bigoted, more essentially narrow and -foolish, than this one about the elevating, or the non-elevating effect -of our pursuits. It is upon a par with the equally pestilent notion that -it is the narrowness of our lives, or the obscurity of our lots, that -keeps our swelling souls from greatness. Greatness, like genius, is -dependent upon no such trumpery circumstances, but is a self-existent -quality, not to be concealed though it were hidden under all the rocks -of Mount Ararat, or had every wave in the Atlantic piled upon its head. -Let us then assert, roundly assert, that no pursuit--certainly no -natural pursuit--can with any accuracy be called petty. It is, moreover, -the great advantage of all such out-of-door pursuits that they enable -their followers to confer with Nature at first hand, and not through any -intermediary. This is recognised in the case of what are called the -higher natural pursuits, but it is equally true of all. Like many other -potentates Nature has her unpleasant, even her very dangerous aspects, -but it is one of her best points that she is no respecter of persons. -She is an autocrat, and an autocrat in whose eyes all subjects stand -upon precisely the same level. At her court there is no superior, and no -inferior. Geologist, botanist, zoologist, horticulturist--beetle-hunter, -stone-breaker, weed-picker, crab-catcher--it matters not what we call -ourselves, or what others call us, so long as it is herself alone we -follow, she receives us all alike. Within those imperial and open-doored -halls of hers all rapidly find their own level; all may speak to her on -occasion face to face; all present their own credentials, and all are -accepted by her with the same serene, the same absolutely indifferent -toleration. - -It is not even as if her greater secrets were reserved for the wiser and -the more erudite of her followers, and were withheld from those that -were less erudite, for the same partial revelations, the same profound -concealments, seem, so far as can be ascertained, to be allotted to all -alike. The Sphinx which looks up out of the heart of a toadflax or a -columbine is the same Sphinx that speaks out of the stilly night, out of -the clouds, out of the primæval rocks, out of the stars, and out of the -inviolable sea. “And this,” she possibly murmurs, “is my lesson which I -give to you. Cease to occupy yourself wholly with the shows of the -surface, the toys of to-day; things which come and go, which pass and -end in an hour. Look a little deeper. Follow any of these brown roots -down to where the motherly earth receives them, and the dews and the -rain nourish them, and all the complicated chemistry of my workshops -have been at work from the beginning to bring them to perfection. On and -on, deeper and deeper yet, towards that vaster laboratory across whose -threshold even I have never glanced. There, in that incredible -remoteness, thou and I; the small brown worm, and the goodly oak; the -old, worn-out worlds, and the new, as yet only half-born stars; all the -gay shows of this little green earth, and all the unknown things of the -immeasurable Cosmos, meet, and are on a level. There is neither larger -or smaller there, neither younger or older, neither wiser or more -foolish, neither less or more important. For out of it came that by -means of which all this that we see and know has come. There, once for -all, was uttered that spell of which this huge teeming universe is but -the outcome. There Life herself was born, and it may be therefore other -powers, greater and more wide-embracing than even Life herself. But of -what that spell consists, or what the name of it is, no bird, or beast, -or man, or possibly other creature, has hitherto so much as even begun -to guess.” - - - - -SEPTEMBER 11, 1900 - - -So one ends. Yet, even in the very act of ending, qualms arise. Thinking -of what lies under one’s hand, no longer as a sheaf of familiar -manuscript, but as a full-blown book, printed, bound, stitched, and a’ -the lave o’ it, misgivings awake, and are lively. Only yesterday I -sounded the praises of the diary, and I do so still; yet the manifest -destiny of every diary is to live a life of absolute seclusion, and, -when it has served its turn, to feed the fire. It is true that one may -murmur something to oneself about “subjective”; “subjective forms of -literature,” but the words ring hollow, and have little validity. In a -well-known passage Carlyle has described a visit which he paid to the -Sage of Highgate, whom he found sitting in his Dodona oak -grove--otherwise Mr. Gilman’s house and garden--“as a kind of Magus, -girt in mystery and enigma.” “I still recollect,” Carlyle says, “his -‘object,’ and ‘subject,’ and how he sang and snuffled them into -‘om-m-mject’ and ‘sum-m-mject,’ with a kind of solemn shake or quaver, -as he rolled along.” The diarist need not necessarily roll along, and -has no pretensions certainly to be called a sage, yet he too is apt now -and again to murmur “sum-m-mject,” “sum-m-mjective,” with a sound that -even in his own ears rather resembles that of some bumble-bee upon a -summer’s morning; extremely self-important, that is to say, but not -particularly lucid. It is true that so far as self-importance is -concerned he stands absolutely excused, seeing that egotism is his -profession. To cease to be egotistic is to cease to be a diarist -altogether. This is as clear as it is satisfactory, but it can hardly be -said to meet the point. There is nothing odd, of course, about a man or -a woman being confidential with himself or herself; it is when they -proceed to drop their confidences into other, and less indulgent ears, -that the oddity begins. - -There are moreover seasons when such outpourings seem even less -appropriate than others, and this year--September to September--appears, -looking back, to be one of these. It has been a black, a despairingly -black, twelve months for thousands; how black, how despairing, few of -those thousands would have credited when it began. Amongst those -incredulous ones, though on somewhat different grounds, the diarist -might have been reckoned. Diary-keeping is not entirely a matter of -egotism and of introspection, of fun, and of frolic, though it may -appear to the non-diarist to be. What a nice innocent-looking book it -seems, when its spaces are all blank, and the days they refer to are not -yet born! yet such a book may come to look like a mere fragment of -malicious destiny, bound in calf or calico. Holding it in his hands the -would-be diarist turns the leaves over one by one with a smile. How will -this, and this, and this space be filled up? he wonders. What odd little -adventures will they have to record? What absurdities of his own, or of -others, to recount? What books read? what expeditions made? what trees -or shrubs planted? So he sets jauntily forth on his self-appointed task, -to be met by--- What? A thought to give the lightest pause. - -And yet, and yet. Let the very worst come to pass that can come to pass, -even so an attitude of mere unmitigated despair hardly befits fast -disappearing mortals, whose breath is in their nostrils. Looking -backwards may seem all gloom and pain, and looking forward no better, -possibly rather worse, and yet assuredly it is _not_ all gloom, or all -pain. Enchanting things spring up by thousands in the ugliest of clefts, -and the barest of trees may serve as a perch for some winter-singing -robin. Sorrow itself, carried out into the open air, under the -benignant arch of heaven, changes in some degree its character. It is -Sorrow still, but it is Sorrow with a difference. It seems to merge into -the category of other things; terrible ones, it is true, but still -natural--earthquakes, volcanoes, avalanches, pestilences, and so -forth--things that we shrink from, but that we cannot reasonably resent. -The sense of wrong, of hardship, of bitterness, of personal injustice, -seems by degrees to melt away from it, and therefore it can be better -faced. At least it is well that we should tell ourselves so. - - THE END - - PLYMOUTH - - WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON - - PRINTERS - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Garden Diary, by Emily Lawless - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GARDEN DIARY *** - -***** This file should be named 51477-0.txt or 51477-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/4/7/51477/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Garden Diary - September 1899--September 1900 - -Author: Emily Lawless - -Release Date: March 16, 2016 [EBook #51477] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GARDEN DIARY *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="cb">A GARDEN DIARY</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<h1>A GARDEN DIARY</h1> -<p class="cb">SEPTEMBER 1899—SEPTEMBER 1900<br /> -<br /> -BY<br /> -EMILY LAWLESS<br /> -<br /> -METHUEN & CO.<br /> -36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br /> -LONDON<br /> -1901</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To the Garden’s chief Owner,</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And the Gardener’s Friend</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -A few leaves from this Diary (or something very similar),<br /> -have already appeared in <i>The Garden</i> and <i>The Pilot</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a>{01}</span></p> - -<h1>A GARDEN DIARY</h1> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 1, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“A</span> WANDERER is man from his birth,” and some of us who have done -comparatively little wandering in our own persons, have done our full -share of those less palpable divagations which may be performed within a -very small compass of the earth’s surface, nay even within the radius of -a single garden chair.</p> - -<p>The gipsy dies hard in many people, and the dreams which have fluttered -round our youthful fancy flutter round it still, though youth may have -become a memory, and the chances of any serious explorations be reduced -to a scarce perceptible minimum. To be a traveller in the real and -heroic sense is a very great and a very stirring ambition. To have the -hope of wandering far and fruitfully; of bringing home the results of -those wanderings; such a hope and such an aspiration is one of the -biggest things that can be set before a youthful ambition. With a -disregard of probabilities, which, looking back, I can only characterise -as magnificent, such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span> an ambition had I, in early days, set before -myself. To be a traveller on the great scale; a visitor of remote -solitudes, and practically untrodden shores; a discoverer of undescribed -forms; a rifler of Nature’s still unrifled treasure-houses—such was the -hope, and such the happy dream. The words “Unknown to science” floated -in those days before my youthful fancy, and were to it a shibboleth, as -other and more obviously stimulating words have been to other youthful -brains. Fate has not willed that any such resounding lot should be mine, -nor was it, to tell the truth, particularly likely that it should so -will it. To few of our race has it been given to add, by even a little, -to the knowledge of that race, and I am not aware that any portion of my -own equipment had particularly marked me out for this rôle that I had so -confidently assigned to myself.</p> - -<p>Luckily we learn to grow down gracefully, as the sedums and the -pennyworts do. A lot that at ten years old seems unendurably pitiful in -its narrowness, at five times that mature age comes to be regarded as -quite a becoming lot, leaving room for plenty of easy self-respect, and -even for a spurt or two of the purest and most invigorating vanity. As -that down-growing process advances we assure ourselves, more and more -confidently, that all the really important, the vital part of such -explorations belongs to us, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span> least as much as to the explorers -themselves. If we have not thridded Amazonian forests in our own persons -with Mr. Bates, or Nicaraguan jungles with Mr. Belt, we know all that -those indefatigable travellers have seen, done, discovered, experienced, -and only need to take down their books from the shelf to be in the thick -of those experiences once more.</p> - -<p>So too, with the rest—the botanists, zoologists, -paleontologists—greater, as well as less great. With the prince of them -all one starts once more upon that immortal <i>Voyage of the Beagle</i>, -which, besides circumnavigating the world, enables one to accumulate -those prodigious stores of observation, destined by-and-by to make one’s -own name famous to the world’s end, and to endow that world itself with -one or two practically new departments. With Professor Wallace, one -spends years in the Malay Archipelago, till the geography of even the -obscurer members of that bewildering group becomes rather more familiar -than that of the next parish. With Collingwood one pores over the -rock-pools of Chinese seas, which never before reflected human face, or -at most that of some shore-haunting Mongolian, uninterested in zoology. -With the savants of the <i>Challenger</i> one sets forth, with all the pomp -of subsidised science, upon a three years’ cruise, in search of -Globigerinæ, of blind Decapoda, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span> Coccospheres, of Rhabdospheres, and -other long-titled occupants of abyssmal depths. And if one has been -tempted to now and then share the dismay felt by the youthful -lieutenant, upon being shown that single teaspoonful of grey slop, as -the result of nights of toil, which kept the whole crew of Her Majesty’s -ship from their bunks, well, one reflected that the wise men probably -knew what they were about, and that the teaspoonful in question could -hardly be an ordinary teaspoonful. Later, hand in hand one has journeyed -with other travellers, some biological, others merely exploratory, or -geographical. With Stanley groped for weeks in African forests, and been -shot at by unpleasant little beasts with hands. With Miss North -travelled far, yet unweariedly, in search of unknown flowering trees, -and other forms of vegetation. With Nansen, until one grew to feel -brittle as any icicle, and occasionally almost as callous as one. With -Mrs. Bishop, across many seas, and scenes; and last of all with Miss -Kingsley, the only one of these illustrious travellers in whose company -I have always felt entirely secure, sure that no dangerous animal—lion, -rattlesnake, cobra, shiny tattooed warrior, German trader, or the -like—would dare molest me while under her ægis.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Written in September, 1899. Alas!</p></div> - -<p>Yes, I have been a great explorer. The earth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span> and its multifarious -contents has lain below my feet, as the Pacific was believed by Keats to -have lain below those of Cortez, and if now and then I have been -troubled by a passing doubt, a “wild surmise” as to whether all these -places really have been seen by my own eyes, I have made haste to put -that misgiving aside, as His Majesty King George the Fourth was no doubt -in the habit of doing, whenever similar misgivings as to the heroic part -played by himself at the Battle of Waterloo crossed the royal mind.</p> - -<p>To have been so far, and to have seen so much is good, but to have -retained a lowly spirit with it all is even better. To be able, with -Alphonse Karr, to set forth on the five hundred and first tour round -one’s garden, brimming with expectation, and all the certainty of new -discovery. To be as thrilled over the alternations between the nut-tree -walk in winter, and the alpine heights in summer, as ever the family of -the Vicar were over those between the blue parlour and the brown. These -are the things that really carry a traveller comfortably forward in an -easy jog-trot towards his predestined bourne. And if there happen to be -a pair of such travellers, a pair of such explorers, and if each of them -carries his or her own wallet, or knapsack, and if those two travellers -part often, yet often come together again, then what an opening up of -budgets takes place! What a retailing of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span> adventures; what a comparison -of discoveries; what a vastly extended sense of the round world, and of -all the fulness thereof! That there are really great journeys to be -performed, great events in life, and great adventures to be met with, I -am quite willing to concede; also that there are very small journeyings, -very small events, and very small adventures. But the odd thing is that -no one seems ever able to decide for one finally and authoritatively -which is which!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 4, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T has been wet, and is now fine again, consequently our view of the -downs exhibits those tones of vinous purple, shading into indigo, that -in moments of patriotic expansion I am apt to call Irish. I do not think -it is quite friendly of our neighbours, especially those who live upon -the ridge above our heads, to smile so significantly whenever that word -“view” happens to slip out, as it did just now, in alluding to our new -possession, and its prospects. For what, after all, is a view? The -question seems to suggest a reference to the dictionary, and here is -Webster, ponderous in brown calf. “View. 1st. Act of seeing, or -beholding; sight; survey; examination by the eye. 2nd. That which is -looked towards, or kept in sight; an appearance; a show.” Well, have we -not something to look towards, to keep in sight, some appearance, some -show? For that matter, so, it may be urged, has the habitant of the “two -pair back,” or the rustic whose prospect is limited to a survey of his -or her neighbours’ under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span> garments,—those “short and simple flannels of -the poor” hung to dry in silhouette against a back fence. The truth is -it is not at all desirable to be so haughty. I will not go so far as to -say that it is unchristian, but it is certainly unbecoming, for are we -not all fellow-creatures? What if you <i>can</i> command seven counties from -your windows? What if on one particular morning—to me incredible—you -did see three ships cross Shoreham gap? What if from your garden chair -you can be regaled by a fantasia of changing lights and shadows? be -lapped into peace upon summer afternoons, or stirred by the drama of -battle clouds, flung into blackness by a storm? Well, if you can, be -glad of it, but for pity’s sake abstain from bragging! “Gi’ God thanks, -and say no more o’ it.” Believe me it is not even commonly lucky to be -so proud, and I speak with some little authority upon that subject.</p> - -<p>For as regards this matter of views, I too have been haughty to the -point of insupportableness. I too have believed that the possession of -wide prospects argued some peculiar, some ineffable superiority in -myself. There was a time when nothing short of an entire ocean, none of -your petty babbling channels, but the whole thundering Atlantic, -sufficed for my ambition. In those days only upon the largest -combination of sea, sky, mountain; sea-scape, land-scape, cloud-scape, -did it seem possible adequately to exist. As for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span> a mere rustic -landscape, as for a confined one, as for a humdrum English one, above -all as for a landscape within fifty miles of London, why the mention of -such things merely moved my commiseration! Those were the days when to -be called upon to leave what is sometimes uncivilly called the ruder -island, and to repair, even temporarily, to the more prosperous one, -seemed a fall and a degradation hardly to be measured by words. When the -contraction of the horizon seemed like a contraction of all life, and of -all that made life worth having. When the remembrance that one would -have to wake in the morning with no dim blue line to greet one, -appeared, to a patriotic, a self-respecting being, to be a wrong and an -indignity hardly to be endured without revolt.</p> - -<p>Such an attitude is, I now hold, unbecoming in mere mortals, and, like -other vaulting ambitions, is apt to precede a fall. The man who starts -in life determined to be either Cæsar, or nothing, frequently fails to -become Cæsar, whereas with regard to the other alternative, the gods are -quite capable of taking him at his word. Happily, life is for most of us -a liberal education, and the narrowing of the horizon comes to be -endured with a philosophy born of other, and more serious deprivations. -It may even be open to question whether any man or woman ever yet was -made the better by the possession of a noble view?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span></p> - -<p>That he or she ought to have been made so is quite true, but as a matter -of fact, have they? We are moulded out of exceedingly stubborn stuff, -and are not often ennobled, I suspect, by the landscapes that surround -us, any more than we are by the pursuits we follow, or the names that we -carry about with us. Furthermore the essentials of all landscape show a -considerable similarity. Much the same sort of clouds and sunshine, much -the same sort of nights and days, much the same sort of summers and -winters, visit alike the tamest and the wildest of them. Even the more -dramatic and exciting fluctuations—snow, and hail, storm, and -lightning—exhibit a greater impartiality than might have been expected. -The gale that has just unroofed your lordly tower, has equally swept the -tiles off our humble porch; in the same way that moralists are fond of -assuring us that sickness and sorrow, loss and pain, old age and death, -fall equally upon the homes of beggars and of kings.</p> - -<p>Never having belonged to the last of these classes, I cannot take it -upon me to answer for the discomforts that pertain to it. With regard to -the other, though I have often seen myself figuring, or upon the point -of figuring, amongst its sad and tattered ranks, the impression has -never been a particularly agreeable one, and I prefer, therefore, not to -dwell upon it. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span> moreover the subject of landscapes, I think, not -of either kings or beggars, that was under discussion? But that is the -sort of thing that is always happening! Of all the unsatisfactory stock -to keep, ideas are in my experience the most unsatisfactory; equally -whether they are winged, or entirely wingless ones. As for a -diary—which, to be of the slightest use, ought to act as a kind of -crow-boy, or goose-girl, to them, and keep them in order—on the -contrary it seems merely to follow their waddlings and gyrations with -the most foolish, and unnecessary submissiveness. The result is that one -starts intending to fill a page with one subject, and before one has got -very far one discovers that in reality one is filling it up with quite -another!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 6, 1899.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E often say to one another that it is impossible that we can have been -only two years and a half in possession here, so greatly has the scene -changed in that time. Those two and a half years have done the work of -many, or so it appears to us in our innocent vanity. Where I am now -sitting three years ago stacks of raw planking rose out of the trampled -briers and bluebells. The house stood roofed, but the inside was -horrible. The reign of the Hammerer had spread to every creature with -ears. Even in my own little nursery-garden—chosen in the first instance -as the most remote spot—the sound of it went far to extinguish the -nightingales. Now quietude and a sense of comparative settlement has -stolen over the scene. Indoors, when the windows are open, the birds -have it all their own way. Outdoors there is still much to be done, much -to be harmonised and regulated, but the first sense of newness and -desecration has, I think, wholly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span> passed away. This then seems to be an -appropriate moment for inaugurating a sort of running commentary upon -the garden and its surroundings; setting forth what the spade has -already done, and what the spade has still to do; what we possess in the -way of plants, and what we still visibly lack; laying bare above all our -failures and blunderings in the clearest of colours, with an eye, it is -to be hoped, to their rectification. Such a record, honestly kept, must -be a highly improving one to look back upon. A man’s proper -shortcomings, writ out fair in black and white, should contain very -edifying reading for that man himself, whatever it might be for anyone -else. The worst is that, like other amended sinners, we may come to burn -in time with the zeal of the missionary. Not content with our own -private flagellations and exhortations, we may sigh to exhort and to -flagellate others. Hence doubtless, that vast and increasing host of -garden books, which so greatly decorate our bookshelves.</p> - -<p>Yet after all a garden is a world in miniature, and, like the world, has -a claim to be represented by many minds, surveying it from many sides. -If it takes all sorts to make a world, it must take a good many -varieties of gardeners to exhaust the subject of gardening. Assuming the -said gardener to be of the right sort, naturally we accept his -exhortations thankfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span> Assuming him even not to be quite of the right -sort—a mere harmless fumbler and bungler—still ’twere rash to assume -that he can teach us nothing. Just as every garden—every real garden, -owned by its owner—provides lessons for other garden owners, so even -the written equivalent of such gardens, as long as they are genuine -ones, not bits of confectionery tossed up to look pretty on tables, may -claim the same praise. So frequently has this of late been brought home -to me by experience that, give me only a writer who has faithfully -toiled with his own spade, her own trowel, and I am ready to accept a -new book at his or her hands every week in the year!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 8, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>UR indefatigable old Cuttle has just come to tell me that the new -water-lily pond leaks, and that I must send for the bricklayer, in order -to upbraid him. I am sometimes asked whether Cuttle is our gardener, and -am always rather at a loss what to answer. Hardly, I suppose, seeing -that he declines to take much notice of any of our flowers, with the -exception of the roses, for which he has a passion. When he came to us -three years ago it was merely “on job” from the builders. Our grounds, -as grounds, had not then begun to exist. Cuttle stuck the first spade -into them then and there, and from that minute their existence began. -Since then he has grown to be more and more intimately identified with -them, and that to such an extent that I find it difficult now to -disentangle the one from the other. Followed by his obedient satellite -and shadow, he ranges at large over all that lies between their -holly-guarded boundaries. His spade, pick, axe, billhook are masters of -all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span> that come within their reach. Walks, and shrubberies, lawn, and -flower-beds began within a short time of his appearance to emerge as if -by magic out of their primal chaos. Order grew out of disorder; symmetry -to be evolved, and light to break in upon the very duskiest of our -entanglements. We have a habit of telling our friends that we ourselves -“made” these grounds, but our part in the process has in reality been -chiefly to sit still, and point our wands. It is Cuttle, Cuttle alone, -who has been their real creator.</p> - -<p>For sheer, beaver-like, apparently instinctive industry I have never in -my life known his equal. For rooted self-opinionatedness not, I must -add, very often. How he contrives to get through the amount of work he -achieves in the course of every day, still more how he induces his -subordinates to do the same, remains a perennial marvel to me. -Possibly—seeing that my gardening experiences have hitherto lain a long -way to the west of Surrey—my standard as regards manual labour is not -of the highest. That our Cuttle is a typical Surrey labourer I decline -however to believe, though theoretically that, and nothing loftier, is -his status. Early in our acquaintance he discovered my ingenuous -surprise over his prowess. Far from this suggesting to him that less -activity would serve the turn, it seems to have only spurred him on to -fresh and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span> ever fresh assaults upon my astonishment. That there have now -and then been inconveniences in this excess of energy I am free to -confess, but that is hardly Cuttle’s fault. If, for instance, I remark -that such or such new work had better be begun next week, my remark is -usually received by him in apparently unheeding silence. Next day -however, when I return to the charge, I am told with a smile of pity -that the work in question is already done. As I have just hinted this -sometimes places me in a position of some little embarrassment. -Naturally the work produced at such high pressure rather represents -Cuttle’s ideal of what it ought to be than mine. To show anything but -delighted surprise would be to prove oneself utterly unworthy of such -devoted service, and it is only therefore by degrees, and in the most -circuitous and disingenuous fashion, that I am able little by little to -reinstate my own ideas upon the more or less mutilated ruins of his.</p> - -<p>In these early days of September, we stand once more at a new parting of -the ways. Within the next six weeks all the essential part of what we -hope to see accomplished by next summer must be at all events prepared, -or it will be too late. Three chief undertakings at present engage our -energies. First there is the new little water-lily pond, and its outer -environment of bog. Secondly there is the “glade,” which, beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span> at -the upper portion of the copse near the house, runs somewhat steeply -downhill to its lower end. Thirdly there is the “long” grass walk, which -passing first along the last named, is eventually to traverse the whole -of the lower portion of the copse, a distance of some six hundred yards, -crossing as it does so the region of the tallest bracken, emerging for a -while upon a gravel walk, which skirts the fence of our nursery-garden, -thence, through another stretch of copse, and between two tall heather -banks, into a fresh tract of birches and sweet chestnuts, till it -finally attains the gate opening out upon the little common at the top.</p> - -<p>One somewhat serious problem underlies these, as indeed all similar -little enterprises. How far, one asks oneself, may the natural -conformation of any given piece of ground be legitimately modified?—the -most difficult, in my opinion, of the many small problems which confront -the gardener. The lamentable declivities, the yet more terrible -acclivities, which abound in a certain type of garden we all know; -objects calculated to bring the blush of embarrassment to all but a -hardened visitor’s cheek. Like other adornments it is less their -artificiality than their deplorable lack of Art that so distresses us. -These indeed are sad warnings, and, remembering them, it is well to -misdoubt our own judgment, and to ask ourselves whether it were not -better to abstain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span> altogether from any attempts at modification, which -might lead to results so humiliating and so disastrous?</p> - -<p>There are however more encouraging omens. Anyone who has observed how -casual, how purely accidental are many of the natural variations of -surface which nevertheless give us pleasure, has a right to ask himself -whether the spade may not be allowed to produce in a few days what sun, -wind, rain, and similar agents can achieve in a few years. I am inclined -to think that it may, only it must be a spade with eyes, and if possible -with a brain behind it, and both are unusual with spades. In any case -wisdom exhorts us to proceed very cautiously and modestly with all such -changes. To be sure that in the first place they are called for, and in -the second that they will suit with the features of our ground, and the -scene in which it is set. Else, if we neglect these precautions, we too -may come to swell the ranks of those who have made the very words -“landscape gardening” and “landscape gardener” sounds of terror to all -discriminating and nature-loving ears.</p> - -<p>One of the least unsatisfactory ways of modifying one’s ground, and -relieving its monotony, is, it seems to me, the “glade.” Glades may of -course be of many forms, and may suggest many ideas. They may pierce -through the dusky heart of a wood, or they may lie nakedly and stonily<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span> -open to the sky. They may be furnished with trees, with bushes, with -heather, with grass, or with alpine plants. On the whole the easiest -glade to create, and certainly one of the pleasantest when made, is the -grassy one. Even a perfectly level bit of ground can be induced with -care to pass by gradations into a grassy glade, though where there is -some natural slope the matter is of course very much easier. In that -case all that is necessary is to add a sufficiency of earth on either -side of the upper part of our incline, leaving the lower to merge by -insensible degrees to the natural level. The essential point is not to -miss the right moment for the sowing of the grass seed. This month of -September is in this soil unquestionably the best month in the year for -that purpose. August is apt to be too hot, October may be frosty, while -spring sowings are in my experience exceedingly delusive. If the summer -that follows them is wet, all goes well. Seeing however that each summer -since we came here has been more thirsty than its predecessor, it were -hardly the part of prudence to rely upon that.</p> - -<p>It has been a satisfaction to us to find that a moderate upturning of -the soil does not apparently disturb those inmates of it that we wish to -retain. Bluebells and bracken both have their roots at a depth to which -the spade in these operations need not penetrate, while to superimposed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span> -earth they appear to be quite indifferent. The spring that followed our -first operations of this kind bluebells flowered better than usual, as -if glad to be freed from some of their troublesome neighbours, -especially probably that pest of copses, dog mercury. The introduced -bulbs, which now share the ground with them, are mostly of the taller -kinds, daffodils predominating, and for these the fact of the soil being -all newly upturned is an advantage. Our present plan is that the sides -of the glade shall remain permanently uncut, or cut at most once or -twice a year, the central, or walking space, being kept regularly mown. -The bulbs, being at the sides, will thus not suffer. Moreover the -considerable difference of height between mown and unmown grass is bound -to give height and emphasis to our little glade. As in the similar case -of planting rock gardens, such considerations may seem to some poor -devices. Yet upon the successful carrying out of them depends the whole -of that “general effect” which is all that such critics probably heed. -We are not, after all, Nature’s mandatories, and our little slopes are -not Alps, or even alpine meadows. If we can attain to so much as a -suggestion of the sort of thing we dream of we may rest content.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 11, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>ERE on the bench beside me is a basketful of plants, not garden ones by -any means, but weeds, mere ugly weeds, detested, and detestable, which, -having pulled up, I was about to throw away. And, sitting down for a -moment before doing so, I chanced to turn over two or three of them in -idle mood, and in so doing have been captured unawares, as I have often -been before, by the wonder, the mystery, of those ordinary processes of -nature, which we all of us know so remarkably well, and which we -certainly as a rule take such uncommonly little heed of.</p> - -<p>Matthew Arnold has somewhere counselled us to let our minds dwell upon -that great and inexhaustible word “Life,” till we learn to enter into -its meaning. It was a critic’s and a poet’s counsel, but it might still -more appropriately have been a naturalist’s or a botanist’s. Life is -indeed one of the unescapable mysteries, a mystery that expands and -grows as we consider<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span> it, even as the hosts of heaven seem to grow and -multiply as they recede before our straining gaze. For, if we even put -aside the more active animal world, and look merely at the comparatively -placid vegetable one, is it possible to think of it for a moment without -being overwhelmed, as it were stunned, by the vastness of its effects; -by the complexity of its untiring energy? To take only one of the -results of that energy. It is the plants of the world, especially those -which we are in the habit of calling its weeds, which constitute its -great restraining forces. The operations of inorganic nature tend for -the most part towards obliteration; towards the rubbing down of -landmarks, towards the effacing of all individuality in the landscape. -Water, tumbling as snow, hardens into ice, and rasps away continually at -the surfaces of the mountains. Rivers scrape off, and carry away with -them, every particle of earth that they meet with on their journey to -the sea. As for the sea, we know that its one object ever since it came -into existence has been, day by day, and at each returning tide, to -encroach upon, and devour more and more of the heritage of its brother -the earth. Seeing that the land we live on occupies only about a third -part of the superficies of the globe, it follows that the whole of what -is now dry land could easily be disposed of below the water;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span> indeed it -has been ascertained that were it thus neatly tucked and tidied away, -the level of the ocean would be only altered by less than a hundred -feet. It is due mainly to the untiring vigour, to the extraordinary -binding power of plants, that this consummation has been averted. Their -office has been to hinder a tendency which, even if it had not ended in -the submergence of the whole earth, would at least have washed and pared -away its irregularities to one deadly monotonous level. Trees and bushes -do much in this direction, but it is the little clinging weeds, which as -gardeners we detest, and would so gladly annihilate: these -crowfoots—why not, by the way, crow<i>feet</i>?—with their crowding roots; -these knotgrasses, these clinging bind-weeds,—it is such as they, -backed by sea-spurreys, and bents, and by reeds and rushes innumerable, -that do more to keep the waters of the globe in order, and to maintain -dry land, than man, with all his dykes, dams, embankments, and such like -accumulations, since first he began to strut or to caper over its -surface.</p> - -<p>But the journey which lies before one’s thoughts when once they embark -upon this river we call “Life,” is indeed too big for them even -imaginatively to attempt. Our boats are so small, and the river so wide, -that one soon loses sight of shore. Even if, abandoning these perplexing -living things, one falls back upon the mere inorganic<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span> forces of the -world, what a prodigious amount of energy here too comes into play! -Nature everywhere eternally building up, and with apparently no blind -hand, but with a most clear, definite, and shaping policy. It is good -for us to escape now and then out of our own hot and fussy little rooms, -into these larger, cooler spaces; yet, if a wholesome, it cannot be said -to be entirely a gratifying experience. For how soon, even in the -simplest of such matters, does one arrive, like the people in the -<i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> at a place called “Stop”? How soon does thought -practically cease, and one remains dumb and gasping, like some poor dull -beast, in a mere, vacant-eyed daze of wonder? “The mind of man"—it was -one who knew what he was talking about that said it—“is an indifferent -sort of musical instrument, with a certain range of notes, beyond which, -upon both sides, there is an infinitude of silence.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 12, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE Epic of Weeding has still to be written! It should be undertaken in -no light or frolic vein, but with all the gravity that the subject -demands. What I should wish to see would be either a careful scientific -treatise by a competent authority, or, what would perhaps be still -better, a great poem, which, like all the highest poetry, would go -straight to the very soul of the subject, and leave the votary of it -satisfied for ever. To the earnest-minded Weeder, most other occupations -seem comparatively subordinate. Blank is that day some portion of which -has not been devoted to faithful weeding. Blank is that night in which, -as he lays his head upon the pillow, he cannot say to himself that such, -or such a piece of ground has been thoroughly cleared, and will not -require to be done again—for quite a fortnight!</p> - -<p>One disadvantage it certainly has, but then it is one that it shares -with all the other higher, and more absorbing pursuits. If inordinately<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span> -pursued, it tends to grow upon its votary, until everything else becomes -subsidiary. What was originally a virtue, may thus in time come near to -growing into a vice. Of this danger I am myself a proof. There have been -moments—not many, nevertheless some—when I have found myself sighing -for more weeds to conquer. Worse, I have had the greatest difficulty on -more than one occasion to keep myself from pouncing upon my neighbour’s -perfectly private chickweeds and groundsels, which I have happened to -catch sight of across a fence!</p> - -<p>I notice in myself, and have observed in others, a lamentable lack of -accuracy as regards the proper names of weeds. Even some that I know the -best, and hate the hardest, I really cannot put any name to. Now this is -not as it should be. Everything, however detestable, has a name of its -own, and that name ought to be used. You may not like a man, but that is -hardly a reason for calling him “What’s-his-name,” or “Thingamy.” It is -true that in the West of Ireland it is regarded as a very unsafe thing -to mention any of the more malignant powers by their right names. The -<i>Sidh</i>, for instance, if spoken of by their proper title, invariably fly -at you, and do you a mischief. The only way of avoiding this peril is to -use some obscure and roundabout designation, which is not their real -name at all. I do not know<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span> whether the same mode of reasoning has ever -been held to apply to weeds. If so, I cannot say that the plan appears -to me to answer. At least I can safely swear that I have never called -one of them by its proper botanical name in my life, yet they rush in on -us from all sides, and persecute us none the less impishly.</p> - -<p>There is one particularly diabolical individual, which has clearly -marked this garden as its prey, and marches continually to and fro of it -like a roaring lion. What its correct name is I shall in all probability -never know, though I have carefully cross-examined several botanical -works on the subject. It has narrow fleshy leaves; a mass of roots, -constructed of equal parts of pin wire and gutta-percha; the meanest of -pinky white flowers, and a smell like sour hay. It is not the leaves, -the flowers, the roots, or even the smell, that I so much object to. It -is the capacity it possesses of flinging out offshoots of itself to -incredible distances, which offshoots no sooner touch ground than they -begin to weave a kind of ugly green net over everything within reach, -enmeshing it all into as dense a mass of leaves and roots as is the -parent plant.</p> - -<p>Although I am no nearer extirpating it than I was before, since -yesterday I have at least been able to name it, a satisfaction which -many a poor Speaker must have been thankful for, especially in an age -grown too picked and tender to allow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span> of even the most obdurate -obstructor being despatched to either the Tower, or the Block.</p> - -<p>It was Cuttle who provided me with that satisfaction, and it is not one -of the least of the many debts that I owe him.</p> - -<p>“What can be the name of this thing, I wonder, Cuttle?” I said, rising -exhausted from an effort to hinder a fresh colony from enmeshing and -strangling a line of “Laurette Messimy” which had been recently planted -upon the top of a slope.</p> - -<p>“I’m not sure as I can tell you its proper name, ma’am, but about here -<i>we</i> calls it ‘Snaking Tommy.’ ”</p> - -<p>Admirable Cuttle! “Snaking Tommy” of course! The instant I heard it I -felt convinced that in that preliminary naming of all plants and animals -performed by Adam in the garden of Eden, that, and no other, must have -been the name bestowed upon this. It is true some theologian might -assure me that there were no weeds in the garden of Eden, but that I -think is not particularly likely, because, whether there were weeds in -that garden or not, there are certainly no theologians in this one. -Moreover we all know that the snake was there, to everyone’s -immeasurable discomfort. And if the snake, why not, let me ask, “Snaking -Tommy”?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 14, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>OWEVER it may be in other gardens, seed-sowing, I find, to be the very -centre and kernel of this one. The sowing of seeds is apt to be -accounted merely a matter of the raising of a due supply of annuals, -salpiglossis, nicotiana, lobelia, nemophila, clarkia, bartonia, godetia, -“and a long etcetera.” With us it is the permanent, the perennial -occupants of our flower-beds which must either be grown from seed, or -else not grown at all. This fact was early impressed upon our minds, and -in a very summary and effectual fashion, such as Nature’s fashion of -instilling indispensable truths for the most part is.</p> - -<p>It was three years ago, and we were a pair of destitute garden-owners. -We had however good friends, with large gardens. The connection was -perfectly self-evident. Without a moment’s hesitation the basket went -round. The response was noble. Plants came to us from North, South, -East, and West, especially West. Alas for those plants!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span></p> - -<p>They were just what we wanted; they were moved at the right time; they -were packed with care; they were not unreasonably long on the road; they -arrived to all appearance in excellent health; they were received with -all the respect they deserved, and their wants provided for as far as -our poor knowledge of those wants enabled us to cater for them. Never -were elaborate arrangements less handsomely rewarded. Seasons returned, -but never have to us returned those plants so generously bestowed, so -hopefully planted. In my private garden-book a list of them still -exists, and a very black list it is to refer to. There they stand, as -they were written down in all the pride of proprietorship. Unhappily a -later entry shows a large round <i>O</i> standing out prominently against -nearly every one of them. Now a round <i>O</i> in that book signifies Death.</p> - -<p>From this disaster we arose chastened gardeners. It was determined that -no more guileless plants should be brought to such a fate; no more -kindly owners exploited for so inadequate a result. Remembering the -good, dark, comfortable earth from which most of those plants came; -sadly surveying the very different earth to which they had been -consigned, the cause of their doom could hardly be called mysterious.</p> - -<p>Friendly gardens, unless labouring under our own disabilities, being -thus excluded, the question<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span> remained how were the flower-beds to get -themselves filled? Only one answer to that question has ever presented -itself to the professional gardening mind, and that is “Send to the -nurseryman.”</p> - -<p>Now that nurseryman may or may not be an excellent one. Ours, as it -happens, may fairly I think be called so. Good or bad he is never a -functionary to be approached without deference, at least by those in -whose eyes Thrift stands for something in the battle of life. “But -common plants are <i>so</i> cheap” one is often told. Very likely, they may -be; indeed, judging by their catalogues, nurserymen stand habitually -astonished before the spectacle of their own moderation. An average -herbaceous plant—a lupin, or a larkspur, let us say—costs as a rule -about ninepence. It may sink as low as sixpence, or it may rise as high -as a shilling. Anybody, it will be argued, can afford sixpence; some -people have been known to spend a whole shilling without wincing. A very -short walk along any ordinary garden border, calculating as one goes the -number of sixpennyworths it would take to fill it, will be found an -excellent corrective for such lightheartedness. I made such a -calculation myself only the other day, and the result was an eminently -sobering one.</p> - -<p>Seeds on the other hand are honestly cheap. There are expensive -seedsmen, but generally<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span> speaking, threepence is the price of a -fair-sized packet of the commoner perennials, and sixpence for one of -the scarcer kinds. This initial difference is, however, an infinitesimal -part of the real one. It is the magnificent possibilities, the vast -fecundity of those sixpences, as compared with the others, which is the -real point. Not one plant, but dozens of plants, often hundreds of -plants, may be the result of a single successful sowing, nor is the time -lost by such sowings nearly as great as people seem to imagine.</p> - -<p>But the number of plants to be had in the course of a year by this means -is only part of the advantage to be gained by it. The great advantage is -that by so doing one’s plants become acquainted betimes with the -qualities of the soil in which they find themselves, and, so getting -acquainted, they reconcile themselves to it, as we most of us do -reconcile ourselves to any environment, however little naturally to our -taste, which has compassed us round from babyhood. To come to details. -Alpine plants, though small to look at, are for the most part tolerably -dear to buy. If a man, “whatever his sex!” loves his alpines, is -determined to have them, has a fairly big alpine garden or border to -fill, but will not be at the trouble of rearing them from seed, then I -shall be rather sorry for that man’s pocket. A few of them—notably the -Androsaces—are not amiable in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span> the matter of germination, and these -therefore require a mother-plant or two to begin upon. Others, of which -the gentians may be taken as a type, are unendurably slow in appearing, -though, if a safe place can be found for their seed-box, and it is then -forgotten, the time passes! The great majority of alpines, fortunately, -will grow perfectly well from seed, even ultra-fastidious ones, such as -Silene acaulis, or Ramondia pyrenaica, which for that reason rank high -in nurserymen’s catalogues, doing perfectly well with care, and, of -course, at a fiftieth part of the cost.</p> - -<p>Details like these have a sordid ring, and I have to remind myself that -it is upon the successful wrestling with them that one’s ultimate -failure or triumph wholly hinges. Thrift, moreover, is the badge of -every proper-minded husbandman, and it is according to the thriftiness -of his husbandry that Nature rewards his labours. “But Nature,” I hear -some caviller exclaim, “Nature is herself the most reckless of -spend-thrifts. She is the very mother, grandmother, and -great-grandmother of extravagance. She squanders her treasures as the -rain-clouds squander their raindrops, and tosses her wealth abroad like -dust upon the desert air”! True, she does do all this, but I am not -aware that she ever specially desired that her children should follow -her example. “What are your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span> poor little savings? your petty -extravagancies?” we might imagine her saying, “that they should be -likened to mine?” Further, by an odd paradox, it is upon her -wastefulness that our thrift rests most securely. We possess say one -solitary plant of some given kind, and we find that with that single -plant her lavishness has freely provided us with the material of a -hundred, possibly many hundred others. There is scarcely a plant we can -name that by some means or another—by division, by layers, by seeds, by -cuttings, or by some other equally simple variation of the garden -craft—may not be multiplied almost without limit. Truly there is -something staggering about such fecundity, and the brain of even the -strongest gardener might be expected to whirl as he contemplates it. -Following in imagination the history of almost any flowering -plant—yonder pimpernel astray on the gravel will do—giving it only -time enough, a fair field, and not too many rivals, and we shall find -that it has gone far towards peopling every waste place within reach; -nay, if the process could be continued long enough, by the mere law of -its organic existence its descendants are capable of reddening their -entire native countryside for a dozen miles around.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 16, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>EW forms of frailty are more lamentable than vanity, and few variations -of vanity have for some time back seemed to me more stamped with -puerility than garden vanity. Can anything be imagined more childish, or -less worthy of a reasonable human being, than for A or Z to pride -themselves on the fact that whereas <i>Horificus globuratus fl. pl.</i> -flourishes like a weed in their gardens, it entirely refuses to grow in -those of B or X, despite the fact that B and X have remade the greater -part of their borders, in a spirit of slavish emulation? The same -argument applies, even more forcibly, to other details, such as the -making of cuttings, or layers, the carrying of tender plants through the -winter, the satisfactory growing of vegetables, and so forth; operations -which ought to be approached in the largest and most enlightened spirit, -and never for a moment made the subject of mere petty self-satisfaction, -or of a narrow and arrogant self-laudation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span></p> - -<p>This point being thoroughly settled, I now proceed to draw out a list of -plants grown successfully from seed by ourselves during the last three -years; premising that this is only our <i>first</i> list, chiefly of -rock-plant seedlings, and that I shall have another, much longer, and -<i>much</i> more important one to draw up when the right time comes!</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr valign="top"><td> -Alyssum alpestre.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> montanum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> saxatile.<br /> -Anemone Blanda.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> Japonica.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> fulgens.<br /> -Aquilegia alpina.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> cœrulea.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> canadensis.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> Jaeschkaui.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> vulgaris.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> vulgaris var.<br /> grandiflora -alba.<br /> -Arenaria montana.<br /> -Antirrhinum (various).<br /> -Armeria Laucheana.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> vulgaris.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> vulgaris var.<br /> rosea.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> vulgaris var.<br /> alba.<br /> -Aster alpinus.<br /> -Aubrietia deltoides.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> Frœbelli.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> Leichtlini.<br /> -Campanula Carpatica.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> garganica.<br /> -Campanula pumila.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> turbinata.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> rotundifolia.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> rotundifolia var.<br /> alba.<br /> -Cerastium tomentosum.<br /> -Cheiranthus alpinus.<br /> -Dianthus alpinus.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> cæsius.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> cruentus.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> deltoides.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> deltoides var.<br /> albus.<br /> -Draba aizoides.<br /> - -Dryas octopetala.<br /> -Erinus alpinus.<br /> -Erysimum pumilum.<br /> -Erodium Manescavi.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> macradenium.<br /> -Geranium cinereum.<br /> - -<span class="ditto">”</span> sanguineum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> striatum.<br /> -Gentiana acaulis.<br /> - -<span class="ditto">”</span> verna.<br /> -</td> -<td> -Geum montanum.<br /> -Gypsophilla prostrata.<br /> -Helianthemum (various).<br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span> -Heuchera sanguinea.<br /> -Ionopsidium acaule (annual).<br /> -Linaria alpina.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> anticaria.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> cymbalaria.<br /> -Linum alpinum.<br /> -Lychnis alpina.<br /> -Myosotis alpestris.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> azorica.<br /> -Meconopsis cambrica.<br /> -Ononis rotundifolia.<br /> -Oxalis floribunda.<br /> - -Phlox amœna ... cuttings easier<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> setacea ... cuttings easier<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> subulata ... cuttings easier.<br /> -Potentilla nepalenses.<br /> -Papaver alpinum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> nudicaule.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> <span class="ditto">”</span> var. miniatum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> pilosum.<br /> -Primula Cashmeriana.<br /> -Primula cortusoides.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> denticulata.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> japonica.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> rosea (self-sown).<br /> -Ramondia pyrenaica.<br /> -Ranunculus montanus.<br /> -Saponaria ocymoides.<br /> - -<span class="ditto">”</span> ocymoides var.<br /> -splendens.<br /> -Saxifraga (various; division -easier).<br /> -Silene acaulis.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> alpestris.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> Schafta.<br /> -Statice maritima.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> <span class="ditto">”</span> var.<br /> carnea.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> <span class="ditto">”</span> var.<br /> alba.<br /> -Thymus (various; division -again easier).<br /> -Tunica saxifraga.<br /> -Veronica prostrata.<br /> -Vesicaria utriculata.<br /> -</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>From this list I have carefully omitted all our defeats. Victors I -observe, invariably do so!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 25, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE gardener seems to pass amongst his kinsfolk and acquaintance for a -rather feeble, but more or less meditative sort of man. His trade is -held, I perceive, to be productive of some of the milder forms of -philosophy. Like the angler he enjoys a rather supercilious -consideration on that account from his more violently active brethren.</p> - -<p>“You are such a patient fellow,” they say. “You don’t care how long you -stay pottering over one small spot. Such quiet ways of going on would -never do for <i>us</i>!”</p> - -<p>This may be the case, but I cannot say that I have personally observed, -either in myself, or other gardeners, any tendency to exhibit more -placidity over the cares and crosses of a garden, than over any of the -other cares and crosses of existence. As for philosophy, a certain sort -of cheap moralising a garden is certainly rather productive of. It -sprouts unheeded along the walks, and may be extracted with greater -facility than most of the weeds. That “life is short”; that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span> “flesh is -grass”; that man groweth up in the spring time, and is cut down in the -autumn—such innocent and obvious sprouts of morality as these may -certainly be gathered in a good many of its neglected corners. With -regard to all the larger and more vital growths of philosophy, I am -afraid that they require to be successfully sought for upon wider and -more strenuous battlefields.</p> - -<p>Lessons of course may be gathered in a garden, as in most other places. -For the owner, the most wholesome of these is perhaps that he never -really is its owner at all. His garden possesses him—many of us know -only too well what it is to be possessed by a garden—but he never, in -any true sense of the word, possesses it. He remains one of its -appanages, like its rakes or its watering-pots; a trifle more permanent, -perhaps, than an annual, but with no claim assuredly to call himself a -perennial.</p> - -<p>In no garden is this fact more startlingly the case than in those that -we have, as we fatuously call it, “made” ourselves. For the owners of -such a garden, the precariousness of their tenure is the first thing, I -think, that is forced upon their attention. And the reason is simple. In -older ones, the reign of the primitive has, to a greater or less extent, -ceased, and the reign of the artificial has become the rule. The Wild -still flourishes in them, but it has become a mere pariah, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span> vegetable -outcast. Chickweed on the walks, nettles in the shrubbery, daisies in -the lawn. “What does this mean? Who gave you leave to be here? Away with -you at once, intruders that you are!” that is the habitual standpoint. -Now in a new garden, especially a garden that has been won out of the -adjacent woodlands, the sense of intrusion is felt—ought to be felt—to -be all the other way. It is the so-called owners who are here the -trespassers; the unwarrantable intruders; the squatters of a few -months’, at most of a few years’, standing. The bracken, the -honeysuckles, the briers, the birds—these are the established -proprietors; it is they that can show all the documents of original -possession. We may have to eject them, but at least it should be done -respectfully; with such compensation for disturbance as would be -adjudged in any properly constituted agrarian court in the Universe.</p> - -<p>Only yesterday these reflections were forced upon my mind as I found -myself, for the third time engaged in a life and death struggle with the -bracken, which has once more invaded our newly made flower borders, and -threatens to gather their whole contents bodily into its capacious -grasp. This is, and always must be, a peculiarly humiliating sort of -struggle to be engaged in, and not the less so if one remains -temporarily the victor. In the first place, one is deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span> conscious of -the vandalism of trying to get rid of an object immeasurably more -beautiful than any of the plants one thrusts it aside for. In the second -place, there is a sense of absurdity and futility, which is strongly -upon one all the time. Mrs. Partington, in her efforts at sweeping back -the Atlantic Ocean with her broom, was hardly a more conspicuous -instance of misplaced energy than such attempts to suppress and control -the exuberant green waves, the abounding vitality, of our own -magnificent, indomitable bracken.</p> - -<p>Even where humiliating struggles like these have ceased to be necessary, -how slight an excrescence this whole business that we call ownership -really is; how strong, how deeply rooted the state of things which it -has momentarily superseded. Let the so-called owner relax his -self-assertiveness for ever so short a period; let him and his myrmidons -depart for a while upon their travels, and how swiftly the whole fabric -rushes remorselessly back to its original condition. And why not? What -can be more absolutely to be expected? Nor need we even stop at the -garden, the farm, the house, or any similar chattel. Even ourselves, -sophisticated little creatures though we be, in how many ways we remain -the accessories, rather than the masters, of our environment? For a -time, especially in towns, we manage to conceal this truth from -ourselves. We pretend that we have remodelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span> matters to our liking; -that Nature has become our follower; that our law, not hers, runs -through the planet; that we set the tune, and that she merely plays it.</p> - -<p>Oh rash, and hurrying ignorance! Put the holder of so untenable a -doctrine alone, for ever so short a time, especially in the winter, in -the solitary depths of the country, and how soon a perception of his or -her own utter transitoriness will begin to break through the thinly -formed crust of the new, and the superimposed. Let him lift his garden -latch, and step out beyond it into the open country. Let him saunter -alone in the woods after dusk. Let him walk across the solitary, -blackened heather. Let him look down upon the floods, lace-making over -the lowlands. Let him—without taking so much trouble as this—merely -lean out of his window after dusk, amid the thickening shadows, and he -must be of a remarkably unimpressionable turn of mind if the sense of -his own shadowiness, his own inherent transitoriness, is not the -clearest, strongest, and most convincing of all his sensations.</p> - -<p>Thus vanity provides its own solution, and the little inflated soul is -driven into puncturing its own proudly swelling balloon. We -discover—sometimes with no little dismay—that it is not alone in our -flower-beds that the wild and the tame, the temporary and the permanent, -the real and the artificial, meet, jostle, and rub<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span> shoulders together. -Sir Primitive is a remarkably difficult person to escape from. His blood -still courses unheeded through our own veins, and he is as much a part -of ourselves as he is a part of the most sophisticated of our plants or -our animals. We may imagine that we have left him behind us, and -outgrown his teachings, and the very next day something will occur to -show us that he is at our elbows all the time, as strong, as fresh, and -as absolutely unaffected by any little modern innovations as he ever -was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 26, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Y</span>ET, although undoubtedly our ancestor, Sir Primitive stands a good way -back on the family tree, and other influences have grown up since his -time to disturb his teachings. The fear of becoming too tidy, for -instance, does not at first sight seem to be a very reasonable fear. It -has not been imputed to many people as a failing, especially to those -who happen to have been born to the westward of St. George’s Channel! -Nevertheless there are moments when a wild passion for tidiness, a -perfect thirst and craving for order, seems to sweep across the soul -like a wave; when everything else that one habitually cares for is flung -back, and overwhelmed before it, even as the hosts of Pharaoh were flung -back, and overwhelmed before the cold, subduing waters of the Red Sea.</p> - -<p>We are all the children of our age; there is no getting over that fact; -heirs of a hardly won civilisation, let us call ourselves Wild -Wilfulness, or any other law-defying name, as much as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span> we please. -Yearning to show that our spirits are above all trammels, that we are as -free as the birds in the air, we nevertheless all sit in identical -armchairs, eat the food the cooks provide us, and in most other respects -exhibit about as much originality as so many stair-rods.</p> - -<p>It is only necessary to consider what happens every day of the week in -the garden to perceive that this is the case. We have adopted the most -independent line possible; we have vowed that <i>our</i> gardens shall be -natural ones, or nothing. We adore flowery wildernesses, we declare. We -want our plants to grow as Nature intended them to do, and not as the -hireling gardener does. We intend to put a limit to the eternal -bolstering up of our soil with all sorts of extraneous elements; above -all we will have nothing to say to the clipping of our shrubs into -unreal shapes, nor yet to the planting of our bulbs, and other flowering -plants into lines, squares, and parallelograms, but all shall be a -melting and a blending of one harmonious form into another; every -detail, as far as the eye can reach, being subordinated to the larger -and more important spirit of the landscape as a whole.</p> - -<p>So we say! And yet, after the flag of freedom has been thus -ostentatiously raised, what happens? As often as not we find ourselves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span> -by the logic of facts, and by the realities of the situation, forced -slowly to retreat, as other and equally eminent strategists have been -forced before us. A flowery wilderness is delightful, but unless its -owner is content with the flowers that grow in it by nature, or a few, -very cautious additions, his flowery wilderness is apt after a time to -become a wilderness, minus the flowers. Then perhaps a reaction sets in. -A sense of failure gradually overtakes the too ardent amateur. The reins -of authority drop more and more listlessly from his hands; until at last -he lets them fall altogether, and, with a smile of kindly pity, the -momentarily dispossessed professional once more resumes full, and -henceforth undivided sway.</p> - -<p>From so humiliating a finale may all the kindly divinities that watch -over gardens deliver ourselves! Nevertheless there have been moments -when such a fate has seemed to draw near, and even to look one in the -eyes. Only three days ago I was engaged in that breathless struggle with -the bracken. For the last two, aided by Cuttle and his assistant, I have -been fighting ankle-deep against a perfect forest of couch-grass, which -had practically overwhelmed the whole of our nursery-garden, helped -rather than hindered by the fence, with which we had innocently hoped to -keep back, not alone rabbits, but every other trespasser.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<p>Worse than the conduct of the couch-grass, because of a certain personal -element in it, has been the conduct of the rose-campion. Now I have been -exceedingly kind to that rose-campion. Again and again I have intervened -to rescue it, when it was on the point of being rooted out, and -consigned to the dust-heap. Only last spring I carried its roots by -hundreds with my own hands, and re-established them in a special -reservation ground, where they might spread unmolested over a good -half-acre or so of copse. What has been the result? They have indeed -clothed their allotted space, but, not content with this, they have -burst like a horde of Ojibeway Indians, or some such aborigines, out of -their reservation, across the frontiers of civilisation, sending out -myriads of seedlings ahead of them, like a flight of skirmishers, and -are now nearly as numerous collectively, and far more luxuriant -individually, in the nursery, than they are in the copse itself!</p> - -<p>Incidents like these wound one, and are more trying for that reason to -the amateur gardener than to the professional one, who probably regards -them as only to be expected. I am far from saying that they constitute a -sufficient reason for surrender, but they certainly seem to need the aid -of a higher quality than mere secular doggedness, to enable one to -grapple with them as one ought. It is moreover such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span> occurrences as -these that produce that extraordinary thirst for order, that very -unlooked-for passion for tidiness, which I just now noted. After a day -or two passed in such struggles as these one begins to understand the -pride of the colonist in pure, speckless Ugliness; in beautifully clean, -naked earth, varied by straight lines of split-wood fences, or the like. -I have not as yet reached that point myself, and am glad to feel that I -can still tolerate Nature. All the same a sort of nurseryman’s attitude -towards everything tainted with wildness is fast gaining upon me, and -unless I can check both it, and this overweening love of tidiness while -there is time, I plainly foresee that there will shortly be nothing else -left!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">September 29, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“F</span>OUNTAINS; they are a great beauty and refreshment, but pools mar all, -and make the garden unwholesome, full of flies and frogs.”</p> - -<p>For two persons who have just been at some pains to establish a pool in -their grounds, this is a hard saying! That the judgment has much to -support it, apart from the weight of its utterer, I cannot deny. At the -same time a better case can, I think, be made out for the culprits than -may appear at first sight. Fountains in a copse, be they never so -limpid, never so sparkling, would be stamped with an unendurable stamp -of artificiality. Pools on the other hand, though there are certainly -not many in these copses of ours, are at all events not inconceivable. -In the present case we flatter ourselves that the particular spot we -have selected for our pool was intended by Nature to contain one, and -nothing but the incurable aridity of these dry hillsides hindered her -from carrying out that intention. Where every drop of water<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span> has to be -watched over like hid treasure, it may be doubted whether the amount -that we can afford to have trickling through it in summer will suffice -to hinder the water in it from becoming yellow, brown, or green. That is -a point however which remains for future discovery. Our main -preoccupation at present rests with the planting of the edges of our -pool, especially with the clothing of the bank which, rising to the -north of it, will absorb most of the midday sun, and will require -therefore the most attention.</p> - -<p>In its present condition a good deal of that bank looks bare to -desperation, yet I strongly suspect that summer will prove it to have -the reverse fault of being crowded with a dense, and inextricably -entangled mass of vegetation. Fortunately half its present inhabitants, -being biennials, will depart after the first season, when, the prospect -clearing, the permanent inhabitants will stand forth confest and -visible.</p> - -<p>Omitting this temporary part of its furniture, I will jot the others -down as they stand, which will enable us to see what we have, and also -to form a better idea of what we still lack.</p> - -<p>First and foremost a kindly gift; two large clumps of Arundo donax, -easily supreme anywhere as pond-side decoration, the more so, as they -quickly attain to their full size. No other plant of the reedy order, -not even excepting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span> a bamboo, gives quite the same impression of -vigorous, of almost insolent energy as does this one. It adapts itself -moreover perfectly to our sandy soil, and so long as one sees that it -receives a reasonable amount of moisture, seems to ask for little else. -Next follow two or three plants of Arundinaria japonica, and below these -again Arundinaria, or Bambusa palmata, skirting the edge of the pond, -and passing on into the so-called bog. This last came from Kildare, -where it has established itself, and run practically wild along the edge -of a lake. Here it seems to do its growing more slowly, but the plants -are spreading, and I think promise fairly. Below the other bamboos, but -above palmata come two large plants of Astilbe rivularis, placed so that -their arching leaves will overhang their lower neighbours, and all but -touch the water. Next, turning the corner of the pond, come various -low-growing bushes. Berberis Darwini below, with the faithful -Aquifolium, and the taller stenophylla above, ending in a fringe of -bog-myrtle, and of Rodgersia podophylla, among which some Solomon’s seal -are now barely discernible. After these come a few plants of -Hemerocallis, both fulva and flava, which need continual dividing in the -borders, but seem to flower well, and give no further trouble so long as -they are within reach of an occasional splash. Acanthuses appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span> to be -in the same position, the difference between their growth in wet and dry -soil being extraordinary; indeed when one remembers how they abound in -Spain and Italy, one fails to understand the limp and desolated aspect -they see fit to assume here, under a very much more moderate -dispensation of drought.</p> - -<p>Next follows Funkia Sieboldi. Funkias are all meritorious plants, but -Sieboldi, to my mind, towers head and shoulders above the rest. Apart -from the beauty of the flower, its grey-green, almost iridescent foliage -is like no other leaf that grows, and when the two are combined the -result is High art, art at its best point. Such praise is, however, -merely impertinent. It is more pertinent to say that the whole genus, -but especially Sieboldi, belong to that very limited category of plants -that are at once fit for the most orthodox of beds or borders, while at -the same time they are free enough, and independent-looking enough, not -to seem ridiculous in a bit of pure “wildness” such as this little -pond-side purports to be. This is far from being a common virtue. One -only needs to run over such words as “Hollyhock,” “Begonia,” -“Pelargonium,” to perceive in a moment what would be intolerable outside -of a more or less stiff parterre. It is not so much a question of -beauty, as of fitness and adaptability, perhaps also of freedom from -certain set associations, which, having once rooted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span> themselves in our -minds, make it impossible for us ever to rearrange our impressions, and -recast them in a new form. This however is a digression. To go on with -my list.</p> - -<p>Upon the actual edge of the pond we are at this moment planting some two -dozen varieties of Iris Kæmpferi. These have recently come from Haarlem, -and being still new-comers, have their destiny ahead of them. The common -yellow iris, best and handsomest of all native, water-edge plants, had -only to be transplanted, as it was already flourishing close at hand. As -a successor to it comes Ranunculus Lingua, another indispensable native, -but one that requires sharp watching; its capabilities as a coloniser -being unlimited, the long, pink-tipped suckers pushing forward into the -water at a rate that would soon turn any limited space of it into a mere -jungle of triumphant buttercups.</p> - -<p>In the part of the bank which, sloping rather quickly away, inclines -towards the “glade,” come various low-growing shrubs, which carry the -line down to the region of heather, which in its turn brings it to the -level of the grass. The tallest of these,—rather too tall for the -place,—is Viburnum opulus, common beside many a Surrey pond, but not -nearly enough grown in gardens, as the best of amateur gardeners has -recently reminded us. Its cultivated relation, Viburnum plicatum, is -just beyond it, placed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span> there, not because there is the slightest -occasion for its being upon the water’s edge, simply because it happens -to be one of those plants that never seem quite happy unless they have -abundance of space to move about in, the long shoots, laden with -blossom, having a wonderful power of reaching out to distances that at -first sight seem to be quite beyond their grasp. Another plant of which -the same may be said is Hydrangea paniculata. So far ours have spent -their existence dully in tubs, the idea being that they required winter -protection. Judging by some that were experimented upon last winter this -seems to be a mistake, and I propose to try a few here, by way of -successors to the foregoing, with which their equally industrious sprays -seem to possess a sort of kinship.</p> - -<p>Our grassy “glade” being now all but reached the remaining corner of the -bank has been filled with various grass-leaved flowering plants, which -seemed to come in appropriately. Of these the largest is Libertia -formosa, green all the year round, and in summer bristling with white, -iris-like flowers, and, by way of plant-fellow to it, Sisyrinchium -Bermudianum (Plague upon these polysyllabic dog-latinists!), one of the -friendliest of little plants that ever pined for a decent English name. -Put it where one will—on a bank, in a bog, in a flower-bed—it seems -equally happy and appropriate; always compact, yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span> increasing as -rapidly as any weed; above all continually in flower, even, so I noticed -last winter, in the middle of frost and snow, and when its leaves were -so brittle that they snapped when they were touched, like any icicle.</p> - -<p>My list seems to be already stretching to a tolerable length, yet there -are plenty of things that have not yet found their way into it. Here is -Bocconia cordata, for instance, impossible to do without in such a spot. -Here are the spider-worts, both blue and white. Here are various -spiræas, chiefly low-growing ones, such as “Anthony Waterer” and -palmata, the latter only happy in a more or less damp place. In the -peat-filled hollow beyond quite a little crowd of claimants rise up for -notice. A good many of these are now only satisfactory in the -retrospect. Of such are Primula japonica, and Primula rosea, -sorry-looking tufts of brown shreds, with no new leaves as yet showing. -Cypripedium spectabile is in the same plight, but Hellonias bullata is -still green, Gentiana asclepiadea has a flower or two showing, Lobelia -cardinalis, both the older and newer varieties, look red and happy, and -Schizostylis coccinea promises fairly, though it never behaves with us -quite as it ought to do, and as I have known it behave in kindlier -soils.</p> - -<p>Turning to the region of mere dryness, three or four rough stone steps, -and a ridiculous little ridge, lead towards the azalea corner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span></p> - -<p>Here cistuses of various kinds have their home, and, being fairly -sheltered, do well, though several require remembering in the winter. I -find the same to be the case here with regard to the rosemaries, -especially the younger plants, as they grow older they seem to harden. -Lavenders fortunately are safe everywhere, in all weathers, and the same -may be said of Skimmia japonica and Fortunei, two of the most -satisfactory of small winter-flowering shrubs. These with a few tufts of -Andromeda floribunda, and a small jungle of alpine rhododendron, bring -us up to the azalea corner.</p> - -<p>All these plants, especially the more recently planted ones, will need -pretty constant looking after during the next year or so, but once that -crucial period of their existence is over, it is my hope—possibly only -my delusion—that they will learn so to arrange their affairs as merely -to require the sort of attention that is necessary to see that they do -not overcrowd one another, or—what is more serious—become invaded by -wild neighbours, rose-campions, and the like, swarming in upon them to -the point of suffocation. The safest way of avoiding this is undoubtedly -to cover the ground with low, carpeting growths, which will remain green -nearly all the year round, and at the same time not make too severe a -demand upon the soil. The number of such kindly little evergreens, or -semi-evergreens<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span> is a constant surprise when one comes to collect them, -and the fact that there should be so many speaks volumes for a climate -that we are none of us ever weary of abusing. Apart from absolute -rock-plants, nearly all of which are evergreen, there are a number of -others, which rarely or never lose their leaves, and whose presence -saves banks and hollows like these from the reproach of bareness, and -further takes away—certainly ought to take away—all excuses for -visitations from that Tool of the Destroyer, the pitchfork. Of such -plants none are better than certain campanulas, including our own -hairbells, both the blue and the white. Wood-sorrels again are excellent -in a shady place, or, for a sunnier one, there is their energetic cousin -Oxalis floribunda, in this soil the most undaunted of colonisers, -growing all the winter. “Creeping Jenny” again, and “Blue-eyed Mary,” -delightful things with delightful names, will cover as much space as -they are allowed to do. Of the more easily grown forget-me-nots there -are at least four kinds—palustris, for planting close to the water, or -in it; dissitiflora, happy all the summer, so long as it gets a little -shade; sylvatica and alpestris, growing anywhere, and everywhere. -Epimediums, again, are excellent, though apt to get a little rusty in -the winter. So is Tellina grandiflora, an unwisely named plant, since -its strength lies, not in its flowers, but its leaves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span> Thymes, too, are -always available; likewise potentillas, erysimums, and veronicas, though -these last may seem to be trenching upon the rock-plant region. Then, if -we want larger growths, are there not all the megaseas, which may be -torn in pieces two or three times a year, if we like? Of low-growing -shrubs, such as Euonymus radicans, the various creeping cotoneasters, -the savin, Gaultheria shallon, and others, there is no lack. Yet -another, and one of the best of them all, Cornus canadensis, a true -shrub, and an evergreen one, although no larger than a wild -wood-strawberry.</p> - -<p>But I find myself growing breathless, and the list of such kindly -“carpeters” is in reality only begun. Flinging down woodruffs, wild -pansies, foam-flowers, sedums, mossy saxifrages, waldsteinias, and -periwinkles, as one might out of a basket, I will only now delay to find -room for a few rock-pinks, particularly for these four—cæsius, -cruentus, atro-rubens, and deltoides,—all of which may be sown -broadcast in the spring, and all of which, especially the last, may be -trusted to hold their own against any but the biggest and most ferocious -of natives.</p> - -<p>We have been honest caterers for our clients, as far as preparation -went, and my hope, I may say my ideal, is that they will henceforward be -content with receiving merely surface nourishment from time to time, and -will neither look for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span> or need that eternal process of renewal, and as a -consequence of disorganisation, which is the bane, though I am willing -to admit the unavoidable bane, of nearly every flower-bed and border.</p> - -<p>Ideals are odd things, and this one of mine seems, even as I write it -down, about as ridiculous and puny an ideal as any forlorn idealist was -ever driven into making a boast of! Such as it is, however, I cling to -it tenaciously. After all what does it mean? Written out a little large -it means repose of mind, and a freedom from the strain of change; it -even means a certain sense of finality, and that at a very sensitive -spot in one’s small environment.</p> - -<p>To a greater or less extent we all sigh for finality. Nobody has ever -attained to it, that I have heard of, and not many people would perhaps -relish it if they could do so. None the less it remains, something -haunting; a dimly descried presence, to us vaguely desirable. To sit at -ease under their own vines; to be at rest in their own shaded places, -has from the earliest days flattered the imaginations of men, busy and -idle ones alike. Dawdlers in sunny places, and haunters of gardens like -ourselves are naturally assigned to the second of these categories. -Since we have to support the reproach of idleness, let us at least then -take heed that we secure the comfort of it. If Leisure is an -acquaintance of ours he is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span> acquaintance of so few people nowadays, -that we had better make the most of him. Now fuss the good man detests, -and change, merely for change’s sake, is undoubtedly one of the very -worst forms of fuss. Like every other pursuit and following, -horticulture no doubt has its battlefields, and those who go out upon -them must expect charge and countercharge, rapid assault and varying -vicissitude, like other heroes upon other battlefields. For me such -combats, I am free to confess, have not even a vicarious charm; Peace -being the only deity to whom I would willingly raise even the smallest -of garden altars. With other out-of-door conditions we all aver that it -is their stability, their adorable unchangeableness, which lends them in -our eyes their most persistent charm. Why then are we not to look for -the same charm in our gardens, which after all come nearest home? That -it is a charm easy of attainment I were loth to asseverate, but that -seems hardly a reason for not endeavouring to attain to it. It is in -this direction at all events that my own private plottings and plannings -propose to turn. If I must moil and delve; if I must plant, dig, and -contrive now, it is with the fixed and fond determination of before long -sitting resolutely down, and doing absolutely nothing!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">October 27, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HO dare forecast even his nearest future?</p> - -<p>These last four weeks have been so charged with anxiety—not only, or -even chiefly, war anxieties—that I have not made so much as a single -entry in this diary. In fact there has been nothing to record. The poor -little garden; its flowers; its weeds; the copse surrounding it; the -entire <i>mise-en-scène</i>, with all the quips and jests which in sunnier -hours it gives rise to, seems to have vanished bodily. It is as though -the whole thing, erstwhile not without its own little importance, had -dwindled to the size of one of those infinitesimal specks, which one -sometimes sees in feverish dreams; specks so dim and small, so well-nigh -invisible, that one wonders how in the first place one ever discovered -them, and why, having done so, one should take the trouble of trying to -keep them in sight. That being the case it is as well that I am leaving -home to-morrow for several weeks, and, since I shall be chiefly in -London, have a good excuse for leaving the garden diary,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span> like the -garden itself, behind me. Possibly, by the time I return to them, the -old, now submerged, landmarks may have risen once more to the surface, -or I may have grown a little better used to this changed landscape; -seeing that we all have to get used to every variety of landscape; every -admixture of weather; every cruel, blinding storm; every rain-washed -shore, or bitter, wreck-strewn sea, which meets us in this very odd -journey that we call our lives.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Christmas-day, 1899</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE was a slight sprinkling of snow this morning, yet the garden looks -exceedingly black. Save for a scarce discernible white line here and -there, everything in it seems stiff, and hard, and black as iron; -crumpled iron leaves against an iron floor. Black is the livery, not -alone of sorrow, but of dismay, so that the garden does very well just -now to wear it. There are moments in the individual life, moments, so it -appears, even in an entire nation’s life, when the ordinary scheme of -things seems to dissolve and change; when all the familiar landmarks for -the time being melt away, and disappear under our eyes.</p> - -<p>Standing here, staring blankly out of the window, I feel myself for the -moment a sort of embodiment of all the other, vacant-eyed starers out of -windows, up and down over the face of the country this Christmas -morning. How many of them there must be! How many must be staring down -at the dull ground, and telling themselves they will<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span> never care to walk -in, or to look at their gardens again. It may not be an actual garden, -but at least it will be a figurative one; some special plot of -happiness; some quarter-acre of habitual enjoyment. I hope, indeed I -feel sure, that in the great majority of cases they will sooner or later -enjoy it again. Father Time is at bottom a kindly creature, kindlier -than when in trouble we are inclined to believe him to be. For the -moment however the idea seems unrealisable, and would scarcely be -welcome if it were realised.</p> - -<p>For hardly-pressed humanity there is, I believe, only one really -satisfactory way of dealing with misfortune, which is—to refuse to -believe in it! That is, I find, the method that our excellent Cuttle in -the garden has adopted with regard to most of the recent events in South -Africa. Anything exceptionally disagreeable, especially anything that -has to do with the surrender of Englishmen, no matter under what -circumstances, he simply declines to believe in. It is not that he is -ignorant. He reads his paper diligently; he knows everything that is in -it, but he refuses to accept more of the contents than he considers -proper. When, a few weeks ago, the first of our Natal mishaps occurred, -and the number of English prisoners captured was posted up in the -village hall, Cuttle informed me the next morning that he had seen it, -but that there wasn’t a word of truth in it! I demurred, but he stuck to -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span> guns steadily. It was the same last Monday, when I saw him for the -first time after our two most recent misfortunes, that of the Modder and -the Tugela.</p> - -<p>“This is bad news, Cuttle,” I said, as we met outside the greenhouse.</p> - -<p>“Well ma’am, they do try to make it out to be baddish, but I wouldn’t -believe it, if I was you.”</p> - -<p>“But it is in all the papers, Cuttle.”</p> - -<p>“Very likely it is ma’am, but what of that? I don’t hold with none of -those papers. They must be a-stuffing themselves out with something.”</p> - -<p>“But I’m afraid the generals admit it themselves.”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me ma’am, but that’s just where you’re making a great mistake. -We don’t know nothing about what the generals admit. All we know is that -the papers <i>say</i> they admit it, which is a very different story. Mark my -words, you’ll find that it’ll turn out to be some of their muddlings. -Just you mark my words for it, that’s how it is.”</p> - -<p>I said meekly “I hope so, Cuttle,” and walked away, for really I had not -the heart to try and shake his incredulity. Not that I imagine I could -have done so had I tried. That good, homespun garment of British pride -in which he had wrapped himself was proof against any assaults that I -could have brought to bear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span> upon it. I wish with all my heart that he -would lend us each a piece of it. We want it badly. Pray heaven and all -its saints that we may none of us ever need it much worse than we do -this Christmas-day, 1899!</p> - -<p class="cbdot">. . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Christmas-day, 4 p.m.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="c"><span class="letra">S</span>INCE luncheon I have been to see a neighbour, in the vague hope that -some fresh war news might have arrived this morning. There was none of -course, and I walked home again between banks of withered bracken and -trailing bramble, under the big tree-hollies, glistening all over their -surfaces with a thousand reminders of Christmas, and of its gifts. -England is so big, and old, and sensible that she does not generally -care about Christmas presents, but there is one present that, I take it, -she would dearly like to have to-day. Shiploads of holly, forests of -mistletoe are hers for the asking, but that one little leaf of victor’s -laurel that she wants so badly, that she would so gladly pin upon that -broad breast of hers, this, it seems, is denied her. It may come -to-morrow. It <i>must</i>, we all, not alone Cuttle, feel convinced, come -before long, but it will not come in time for her Christmas-box.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span></p> - -<p>What an odd convention it is, when one thinks of it, that habit of -embodying a country in an individual! Considered seriously the whole -contention is absurd. To talk of a nation as a person is to talk sheer -nonsense. If one handles the idea a little it tumbles to pieces in one’s -fingers. The fiction of unity resolves itself into a mere vortex of -atoms, all moving in different ways, and moreover with a different -general drift in each successive generation. As a matter of fact I doubt -whether Englishmen, who are nothing if not practical, ever do think of -their own country as an individual, unless one of them happens to be -called upon to design a coin or a cartoon. The whole idea is extraneous, -a survival from classical days, and the lumbering absurdities which are -now and then dragged about the streets only go to prove how far from the -genius of the people such representations really are.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is because I am not English that I find myself falling so -readily into the trick. There was a time,—not a very recent one—when I -thought of England habitually in that light, and in the most truculent -fashion possible. In my eyes she stood visibly out as the Great Bully, -the Supreme Tyrant, red with the blood of Ireland and Irish heroes. It -was always <i>she</i> and <i>her</i> then; indeed it was only by keeping up the -fiction of an incarnate Saxondom that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span> indignation could be retained at -the proper boiling point. To turn from the past to the present was to -spoil the whole effect. In place of War, Famine, Massacre, one only got -dull political controversies, or equally dull agrarian disturbances. For -the Raleighs, the Sydneys, the Straffords, the Cromwells,—vast -impressive figures, large and lurid—only a group of rather harassed -gentlemen, “well-meaning English officials,” painfully endeavouring to -steer their way so as to offend everyone as little as possible. Yes, I -had quite a respectable capacity for hatred in those days, and -England—that historic England of which I knew absolutely -nothing—enjoyed the greater part of it. Especially, I remember, that I -used to gloat over the notion of some day or other a great national -HUMILIATION befalling her—a Sedan, a Moscow—I hardly knew what; -retribution at all events in some very visible and dramatic form. With -what glee I used to picture her standing helplessly before the nations; -without a friend or an ally to turn to; naked and ashamed; crushed -bleeding to the earth, as she had so often crushed Ireland; a mark for -every wagging head——</p> - -<p>Well, well, thus we play the fool, and the spirits of the wise sit in -the clouds and mock us! Here am I walking home along an English lane, -and almost wringing my hands in despair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span> because such a very mild and -colourless version of those old cherished dreams has befallen mine -ancient enemy!</p> - -<p class="cbdot">. . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Christmas-day, 6 p.m.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> FORGOT to record quite an unlooked-for little pleasure which befell me -on my way home this afternoon; one of those little incidents which are -nothing in themselves, yet which mean much to us, and never more so than -when life is going ill.</p> - -<p>I had got as far as the grassy entrance to our copse when a sudden -dazzling gleam of sunlight shot across it, sweeping over the fields -beyond, and away up to the top of the downs. Though the day had been -fairly fine for the time of year, the expectation of so dramatic a -finale to it had never for a moment crossed my mind, and I stood gazing -about me almost as if something had happened; feeling in fact as if -something desirable and unlooked for <i>had</i> happened.</p> - -<p>The yellow oak scrub—withered but not leafless—glowed with a sudden -russet splendour. Upon the little garden wall the terra-cotta pots shone -with a momentary reminiscence of that Italy where they were born and -baked. The air seemed to tingle; the tall birches glistened, one sheen -of feathery silver up to their tiniest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span> towering twigs. It was a kindly -thought of whichever divinity sent that most unexpected and satisfactory -beam to cheer this particular day. It did not last long of course, and -the gloom of a winter’s night has followed quickly. For all that -Christmas 1899 will never seem quite so dark, never so absolutely -despairing in the retrospect, as it would have done without that last -benevolent gleam at eventide.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">January 3, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE satisfactions of intercourse are apt to be overrated, yet there are -times when they are certainly not without their uses. Living for the -moment alone—if anyone can be said to be alone who possesses a few good -neighbours, and one kind dog—I find myself in an oddly dualistic -condition of mind. In bodily presence I am here at H——, engaged in -sundry important avocations. I am path making; copse cutting; plant -protecting; I am even bricks-and-mortar superintending in a small way. -To my own private consciousness I am really engaged in quite another set -of preoccupations, and a very long way from these green downs, and -rustling oak copses of ours. The experience does not pretend to be -particularly original, seeing that a large number of other people’s -experience would probably just now bear it out. Solitude however -emphasises these sort of odd dualities, and endows them with an air of -greater distinction. Are mortals better and wiser, or worse and more -foolish when they are alone?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span></p> - -<p>The wisdom of the ages has hitherto declined to answer that question, a -fact which probably proves its wisdom. Better or not, one thing is at -least certain, and that is that they are extremely different. “Men -descend to meet,” says Emerson, and he may be right. I am inclined -myself however to think that that profundity, that peculiar mental -greatness of which, like others, I am perfectly conscious when I am -alone, is less a solid than a gaseous greatness; a sort of exaltation, -dependent for the most part upon the fact of there being no one to -contradict me. We are all of us at all times microcosms, but never are -we so completely microcosms as when we are quite by ourselves. Then we -seem to swell into a perfectly multitudinous host, all the members of -which exhibit a singular unanimity, and moreover a touching desire to -endorse our own views, however often these may contradict one another!</p> - -<p>Like many other honest-minded civilians, my thoughts have of late been -considerably taken up with schemes of amateur strategy. The plans of -campaign that I have formulated in the course of the last two months -would have puzzled Von Moltke, and might even have gone far to surprise -Napoleon! If I have not forwarded any of them to our Generals in South -Africa it has been mainly because I felt that it might be kinder to -allow them to go on in their own way without any assistance of mine. I -heard lately<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span> of someone, by the way, who actually had telegraphed out -her recommendations to Sir Redvers Buller. As the story reached me the -telegram took this form: “Please try to relieve Ladysmith.” I hope for -the credit of human nature that the tale is true, but if so there is a -simple innocence about this form of admonition of which I fear that I -should have been personally quite incapable. My own ideas, my own forms -of suggestion, are entirely different. They are large, nay grandiose, -and moreover they are extremely intricate. As I walk about over these -lanes and downs I see strategical possibilities in all directions, which -cause me to thrill over the magnitude of my own conceptions.</p> - -<p>Towards evening, especially, the sense of what might be,—of what, for -aught anyone can say to the contrary, still may be,—rises almost -palpably; a beckoning ghostly phantom of the Great Coming Invasion. -Dorking—that scene of crushing British disaster—is not far off; were I -to clamber up the opposite ridge I should be looking down on it. -Moreover, between one landscape and another the difference becomes much -less when all detail is reduced to one vast blur. I have a friendly -knoll upon which I sometimes take my stand towards sunset hour, and from -which I have of late conjured up Biggars-bergs, inaccessible and -kopje-covered as heart could desire. It is true that the enemy holding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span> -them is absolutely invisible, but then so he probably would be in any -case. Evening has moreover in my experience an odd power of loosening -the tie of the actual. The mind seems to be less fixed to its shell than -in the earlier, and more garish hours of the day. As the shadows -lengthen stronger and stronger becomes the impression that the world is -after all but a small place, and that the scenes that one is thinking of -are nearly, if not quite, as close as those that one is actually looking -at. Thought flits over the wave-crests between this and South Africa -more lightly than one of Mother Carey’s chickens, and alights dry-shod -upon the veldt. One is amongst them. One is standing in the midst of -them. One can see, literally all but see, that tattered, sunburnt, -rather dilapidated-looking host—friends, cousins, kinsfolk; countrymen -and fellow-subjects at all events. How odd you all look, dear friends, -and yet how familiar! Big English frames, shrewd Scotch faces, tender, -devil-may-care Irish hearts. Surely one knows you? Surely you are very -near to us, disguise yourselves as you may? The setting may be new, the -remoteness considerable, but neither setting nor remoteness can hinder -one from feeling at home in the midst of you!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">January 6, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“B</span>ULLETS—The air was a sieve of them.—They beat upon the boulders like -a million hammers. They tore the turf like a harrow!”</p> - -<p>These three lines came out of a recent number of the <i>Daily Mail</i>, and -they describe Elandslaagte. Is it, I wonder, because Literature is so -much more familiar to me than War that I seem to require the aid of the -one in order to bring home to me the reality of the other? These three -lines are certainly literature, literature of the impressionist kind, -which, if not the best in the abstract, is at any rate the best for such -a purpose. Trying to put oneself into the position of such a bystander -as the writer of them, I am able to fancy that if the bullets came thick -enough they really <i>might</i> seem to tear the turf like a harrow. In what -way exactly the air could be said to be a sieve of them, I am not clear, -yet the phrase seems to live, and therefore<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span> to carry its own -justification. As it happens I was out yesterday in a rather -exceptionally imposing hail-storm. It was so dry that there was no -occasion to hurry, and I stood still for a while to study effects. The -stones, as they pattered and rattled round me, might—danger apart—have -quite served as a suggestion of the other sort of rattling and -pattering. Looking at them dispassionately I inquired of myself, “Would -one run?” and Truth—there being no one else present—promptly replied, -“Madly!” So, save for the grace of acquired training, I take it would -nearly everybody. My hail bullets seemed to be in a prodigious hurry, -and were being prodigally, if not very scientifically, directed by -marksmen concealed somewhere above Leith hill. They hissed, they danced, -they ricochetted off the trees, they bespattered the ground in all -directions in a very businesslike and realistic fashion. There was a -good deal of snow still lying unmelted in corners, and into that snow -the new-comers as they fell cut deep little pits, and disappeared from -sight in an instant. Elsewhere they drove in white flocks over the -ground, hardly melting at all. They were not quite so large as carrots, -as someone assured me that he had once seen hailstones, but they were -certainly as large as fair-sized gooseberries. Through such a furious -hail—only appropriately black—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span>the famous Bagarrah cavalry rode to -their deaths last September year. Through such a hail, as thick, as -fierce, as brutally indifferent, who that one knows, that one cares for, -may not be riding or walking to-day?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">January 8, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E have been enveloped all this morning in a cloud of smoke, not exactly -battlesmoke, but nearly as thick, perhaps, in these days of smokeless -powder, rather thicker. Our indefatigable Cuttle has decreed that we -must at all costs get rid of those mountains of garden rubbish, which -seem to be for ever accumulating. Hence this smoke! Never in my life did -I see such volumes! They rolled in blackish blue columns all about our -leafless copse, till towards the afternoon, a wind getting up, they were -swept finally westward, across the downs, somewhere in the direction of -Guildford.</p> - -<p>Personally I like the smell, acrid though it undoubtedly is. The pile -itself is moreover the nearest approach one ever gets in these -degenerate days to a bonfire, for which I still retain the most -infantile affection, and which never seems to be so familiar, or so -endearing, as upon the afternoon of a winter’s day. Who can explain -those incredibly remote, yet at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span> same time perfectly definite -feelings of association, of which we are all at times more or less -aware? Why should certain perfectly commonplace things awaken dreams, -reminiscences, suggestions; whereas others, every bit equally qualified -to do so, find us blank, and indifferent? Of all such aids to impersonal -memory, commend me to an out-of-door fire! The wild, keen smell of it. -The red eye of flame, blinking at one out of the heap. The sleepy rolls -of smoke, tumbling about, and making one’s eyes water. The sudden -“crick, crick, crackle” of a snapping twig, travelling sharply through -the frosty air. All these separately, or the whole combined, bring with -them trains of association that have been accumulating very much longer, -or I am much mistaken, than the course of any one single lifetime. -Reminiscences, who can tell, of that remote day when the human hearth -was for the most part not an indoor, but an out-of-door one?</p> - -<p>A friend and neighbour of ours has recently improved upon such casual -burnings by having what may be called a permanent bonfire in her -grounds, and I wonder more people who love their gardens, and spend -whole winters in the country, do not adopt the plan. In one respect it -is certainly an inferior bonfire, for its main constituents are, not -leaves and sticks, but anthracite coal. To make amends, it burns merrily -away night and day, only needing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span> be replenished, I am assured, once -in twenty-four hours. Her garden lies in the heart of a big pinewood, -and the fire has its home in an open lodge or gazebo, supported by larch -poles, without door or window, but made possible to sit in in cold -weather, by being match-boarded upon two sides, the south and south-east -sides alone being widely open. Until one has actually tried, it is -difficult to believe how comfortable one can be in such a spot even on a -very frosty evening, both feet extended to the blaze, and a rug tucked -round one to keep off stray draughts. As daylight wanes the red glow -increases, lighting up the big pine trunks, and awakening in one’s mind -vagrant suggestions of camp fires, and forest settlements, while at -other times it has the practical advantage of making many garden -operations possible which, without such a speedy refuge to fly to, would -in this chill-evoking climate of ours scarce be practicable.</p> - -<p>It is odd what minute deviations from the everyday stir the mind, and -help it to shake off that crust of routine, which it ought to be the aim -of all of us to get rid of. In these days too, one is thankful to -anything that gives a stir to existence, apart from the weary -newspapers. It is, I think, one of the few merits of winter that spots, -at other times tame to flatness, seem in fierce, or exceptionally cold<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span> -weather to revert to an older, and a wilder condition. Snow admittedly -recreates everything; our most familiar paths and shrubberies, nay our -very stable runnels, growing quite arctic and hyperborean-looking under -its disguise. Apart from snow, the same impression is produced by any -really strong atmospheric variation. Crackling grass, and glittering -ice-bound trees, awaken one set of suggestions. Roaring winds, a -drenched earth, and inky clouds tumbling wildly over the sky, arouse -quite others. Even objects inside the garden, plants that have been -perhaps put there by one’s own hands; clumps say, of bamboos and reedy -grasses—Arundo donax or the like—assume suddenly new, and slightly -savage aspects when one sees them sweeping to and fro, or buckling like -so many fishing rods under the lash of a sudden tempest. The commonplace -is not really unescapable, though it often seems as though it were. -There are wider, freer notes, which only need awakening to stir, and -thrill us with their presence. The imagination leaps to meet them, and -feels them to be its right. For we are all heirs to a large inheritance, -though we are apt, as a rule, to be forgetful of the fact.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">January 10, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>WO kindly days in a desperately grim winter have had the effect of -reawakening in one’s mind half-forgotten thrillings; thrillings after -long grass, and green shadows; after a thousand eye-caressing tints; -after the pure, delicious life and companionship of flowers. There are -times when all this seems rather to pain than to please. When the -persistency of such perishable things appears but an added wrong, but an -additional unkindness. Why should these last, and other, and higher -ones, <i>not</i> last? we demand; one of those questions which, seeing that -they can never be answered, it were as well, perhaps, that they should -remain permanently unasked.</p> - -<p>Walking briskly along the lanes this morning, with a determination to -think only of what lay immediately below my eyes, I have been struck -afresh, as often before, by the capabilities of beauty possessed even by -the poorest plots of ground; plots which, far from having been -intentionally beautified, have been stripped, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span> the contrary, for -utilitarian reasons of such beauty as Nature had originally endowed them -with. Yet, under the influence of a little kindly sunshine, how they -still gleam, those poor plots; how the few green things left in them -manage to prink themselves out, and to respond genially to that genial -greeting! “And is it not slightly discreditable,” I reflected, “that we, -who call ourselves gardeners, and have deliberately taken in hand -similar, often much better plots, specially with an eye to beautifying -them, should again and again completely fail in doing so; should again -and again spend thought, time, money, and the sweat of the brow—chiefly -of other people’s brows—and all that they should, as often as not, be -rather worse at the end than at the beginning?”</p> - -<p>The truth is that this business of “beautifying,” into which many of us -have recklessly plunged, is a very much more difficult and a very much -more delicate operation than we are prepared to admit. To the truly -discerning, the truly nature-loving eye, the smallest scrap of -plant-producing ground, the homeliest corner of earth—“long heath, -brown furze, anything"—has potentialities of beauty and interest which -even the best gardener rarely develops as they might, and ought to be -developed. It is not merely that individually our powers are weak, our -taste poor, our ignorance great, our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span> imagination defective, but that -over and above all this we have in most cases not the faintest idea of -what we are aiming at. With no clear vision of what we propose -ultimately to produce, how in the name of reason can we hope to produce -it, or anything else worth having?</p> - -<p>The cause of the mischance in nine cases out of ten lies in the fact -that we attempt too much. Our original combination may have been good, -but we want to make it still better. Our gold gets overgilt; our lilies -are painted till they almost cease to be lilies at all, and the result -is failure all along the line. This sounds the reverse of encouraging, -but I am not sure but what it is in some respects better that it should -be so. I suspect that all gardeners—professionals and amateurs, experts -and gropers,—are just now rather in a state of flux and indecision. Two -chief schools hold the field, and are in some respects mutually -destructive of one another. There is the school which avows itself the -faithful, not to say the servile, follower and imitator of Nature, and -there is the school that proposes to itself to improve upon her. The -tendency of the first is to develop a good deal of picturesque disorder, -a pleasant, rather easy-going sense of repose, and possibly some want of -definite form and colour. The tendency of the second, or rather of its -members,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span> is to regard the garden as a battle-ground; colour, size, -brilliancy, height, as so many tests of their own personal victory, and -every plant, species and hybrid alike, as objects for them to shape and -manipulate at their own good pleasure.</p> - -<p>Will these two divergent schools ultimately combine into one harmonious -whole? Will the over-strenuous science of the second strengthen and -reform the airy, somewhat weed-encouraging grace of the first? Will the -aspiration after beauty of the one, in time relax the utilitarian -tension of the other? These are questions which must be left to be -resolved in the still unplumbed future. Possibly the gardener of the -twenty-first or twenty-second century may be able to reply to them!</p> - -<p>Pending that desirable, but still rather remote, contingency, I have -left the lanes, and returned homeward, and am now looking down at our -own somewhat chaotic little garden, with its small brown beds, each -edged with a neat white frost-frill. Poor little garden! I have felt so -oblivious of it of late that a certain compunction comes over me as I -look at it. After all, gratitude for such good things as have come in -one’s way is an undoubted part of decent living, and the most practical -way of showing that gratitude is to make the best of them. Well, the -year is still young; there will be time enough for fulfilling that, and -every other small social obligation in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span> the course of it. Eleven and a -half months! What unknown things have you got hidden away? What secrets, -as yet unguessed at by any of us, do you keep concealed behind those -picturesque, and friendly-sounding names of yours?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">January 20, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE wind this morning was excruciatingly cold, with a hungry whistle, -that belied the pale sunrays, which were doing their best to redeem the -situation. On such a morning the good gardener’s thoughts, even before -going out, fly to the younger and weaklier amongst his plants, and his -imagination towards devising new shelters, and, if possible, more -efficient ones. Creepers are, as a rule, easily protected; either there -is a wall, against which mats can be laid, or, at worst, some post that -they can be fastened to. It is shrubs in the open that present the -greatest difficulty; nightcaps of sacking, or tents of matting not -adding to the picturesqueness even of a winter garden.</p> - -<p>Our more recently planted rhododendrons look anything but happy, and I -have just been begging Cuttle to bestow a good shovelful of nourishment -about the roots of each of them. It is not protection that they need, -for they are hardy enough, but they sicken in this thin, dry soil,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span> -which seems to reach them through their two-foot blanket of peat.</p> - -<p>Even when well grown and long established, rhododendrons hardly seem to -me to be quite the ideal thing for these rustling oak copses of ours. We -plant them, partly for the sake of their colour in its season, partly -because we need evergreens, and the common ponticum is one of the best -of evergreens, but they seem to me to remain exotics, and not altogether -happy ones. There are two distinct varieties of scenery with both of -which rhododendrons consort magnificently. One is heavy, boggy ground, -deep, dark, and oozy, under large trees, into the recesses of which they -can settle, spreading out in all directions, re-rooting themselves as -they choose in the black earth; their flowers catching the divided -sunrays, and turning every hollow place into a pool of colour. Another, -and a yet more ideal place is a steep hillside, provided that it is -furnished with boulders, and provided that the said boulders are not of -limestone. There is one such hillside above the Bay of Dublin which I -find it difficult to believe might not be able to hold its own, even -though confronted with any similar extent of ground amongst the -Himalayas themselves. It begins as a ravine, rising out of a rather thin -wood. As one mounts the ravine opens, and the trees fall back. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span> -boulders, with which the slopes are covered, rise higher and higher, and -larger and larger, till they tower into the air over one’s head, perfect -monoliths. In and out, above, behind, and between them grow the -rhododendrons, in their flowering season an absolute feast of colour, -the sort of thing that in a cultivated age pilgrimages will be formed to -venerate. To see them in such a place is to get a new impression of the -possibilities of heroic gardening. One’s eyes are caught, one’s whole -mind and spirit is swept away upon a tide of colour; the grey micaceous -granite of the ravine, the heather looking down over its top, the long -blue river of sky, even the sea and its ships, seeming to be merely so -many adjuncts and accessories of the central picture.</p> - -<p>Such conditions are not to be found every day in the week, or in -everybody’s back garden. We have to work out our own redemption, each of -us as we best can, with such materials as the Fates have lent us. -Happily, as regards natural conditions, here in West Surrey, the -garden-lover, whatever other difficulties he may have to contend with, -has much to be grateful for. Thanks to its blessed unproductiveness, the -harrow has literally in many cases never passed over its soil; its very -weeds being mostly those of Nature’s own introduction, not imported -ones. Her handiwork is still plainly visible on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span> every side. She looks -up at him out of the bracken with an aspect not very different from what -she wore at the Prime, and if he wishes to spoil her—well, he has to do -it for himself! This to many excellent gardeners would seem a poor -compensation for a sadly unproductive soil, and a deplorable lack of -summer moisture. There are others, however, to whom a certain sense of -indwelling peace, a certain feeling of underlying harmony, are the first -of all requirements. Now both of these are more easily <i>found</i> than -made.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">February 5, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">N</span>OT to devote an indefinite number of hours to the reading of war news; -to eschew the luxury of idle hands, less on account of Dr. Watts’ -reasons against it, as on account of more personal ones, which have -taught me to reprobate the practice. Here are a couple of respectable -resolutions for a bitterly cold February morning. “Books, and work, and -healthful play”! Could a more commendable little programme be invented? -or one that might be followed with greater advantage by many of us who -only exhibit our superiority by laughing at it?</p> - -<p>Into which of the two latter categories gardening is to be ranged I am -not quite clear; it depends, I should say, upon the number of -rose-campions, “Snaking Tommys” and the like, that are to be found in -the garden in question. Winter is supposed to be a time of year which -gives comparatively little scope to the energies of the amateur -gardener. If so, then in this respect, if in no other, I am in luck’s -way this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span> winter, for there is abundance to be done here; work moreover -which must either be attended to now, or else not done at all. With such -weather as we have of late had there is no margin either for dawdling. -To-day seems to be an off day with the frost fiend’s gang, and we must -try, therefore, to push our own work forward before they are back upon -us in renewed strength. By the look of the sky, and the general feeling -of things, it is evident that they are only just round the corner, and -collecting themselves for a fresh assault. As I crossed the open end of -the “glade” just now the wind met me with an edge, cruel and cutting as -spite, or hatred. A few aconites and snowdrops are pushing out their -flower-tips, but it is a mere bit of gallant bravado upon their part. By -night the stars, seen through any uncurtained window, seem to wink at -one derisively, and winter is still at the very top of its strength.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">February 7, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“A</span>T the very top of its strength!” Cold as it has been of late, I hardly -expected to find no garden left when I got up to-day! So it is however. -Late last night everything seemed normal. This morning our little Dutch -garden has vanished utterly; swept out of existence as though it had -never existed. From centre to margin—beds, borders, walks, red walls, -everything—the entire little depression has been covered with a uniform -white blanket, effacing it completely, and restoring the landscape to -what it was before man, woman, or measuring tapes arrived to trouble it. -For the plants this new state of things is an improvement, but how about -our work? Behold us suddenly reduced to a state of deadlock; all our -various little activities brought to an absolute standstill. The paths -that were being cut through the copse; the ground that was being got -ready for grass-sowing; the flower-beds that had to be clipped into the -right shape; the heather that was being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span> brought from a distant common, -where it could be cut discreetly; the entire bustle of the garden has -been brought to a condition of arrest. Into the middle of our fussy -little rhythm Nature has dropped her own imperious full-stop. Against -that full-stop there is no appeal. In vain one protests that one is -really in a great hurry; that unless these flower-beds are made, unless -yonder piece of ground is got ready for grass-sowing, March will be upon -us, and close at its heels, April; that the spring is coming on, and -that we <i>must</i> get our work done. To this remonstrance Nature merely -opens her eyes with a mildly sarcastic air, and replies, “Must you?” It -is the case of the old woman of the nursery tale over again, who <i>had</i> -to get her pig over the stile in order to give her old man his supper. -In that case she did, after many repulses, find a complacent beast, I -think, who undertook the task. The right spring was touched; the spell -broken, and the whole state of deadlock dissolved at once. How we are to -obtain so desirable a dissolution I have yet to learn. I see no spring -to touch; no bird, beast, or element that could be appealed to with the -slightest hope of success. The sky, iron-grey, with vicious, inky -streaks across it, does not seem promising; neither does the wind, which -keeps to its beloved north-east. The earth is invisible, consequently is -for the moment out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span> of reckoning; while as for the birds and beasts, -they are much more disposed to turn to us for help, than to make any -friendly propositions the other way.</p> - -<p>It may be mere vanity upon my part, but it always seems to me that small -birds recognise their heavy, wingless, two-legged kinsfolk with less -difficulty during this sort of weather than at any other time of the -year. The fact that one bribes them to such recognition by vulgar doles -of breadcrumbs may have something to say to the matter, but I fancy that -I read a distinctly kindlier expression in their eyes. They glance at us -with an air of comparative condescension. They perceive that we share -their own helplessness; that we are not so very different from -themselves, only bigger and stupider. For instance, I have been publicly -snubbed this whole winter by the tomtits. Under the eye and to the -knowledge of the entire garden I set up a large post, hung over with -cocoa-nuts for their convenience. Some of these cocoa-nuts were sawn -into slices, others, more artfully, into rings, and I pleased myself by -believing that they would sit and swing in them, as they pecked an -unfamiliar, but not unpalatable meal. Will it be believed that not one -tomtit has deigned to touch those cocoa-nuts? They have hopped to and -fro on the boughs almost within peck of them, yet never so much as tried -to ascertain whether they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span> eatable or not. They preferred, in fact, -not to do so; in <i>their</i> family, they practically sent me word, they -never ate victuals that had not been selected by themselves; other -people might do so, and they had heard that sparrows were less -particular, but it had never been <i>their</i> custom. I felt—as anyone -would feel under the circumstances! To-day for the first time, thanks to -the friendly connivance of the snow, this fastidiousness has broken -down. With elation I perceive my disdainful blue neighbours, not only -pecking at, but actually sitting and swinging in the long-despised brown -rings. I am trying to bear my triumph meekly, and am helped towards -doing so by reminding myself of the well-known fact that in times of -stress and famine social distinctions are apt to break down. I shall -have to wait till the weather relaxes to see whether this amiability is -anything more than a truce, born of the hour of trouble, and not -intended to last beyond it.</p> - -<p>We are apt to talk as if the hyperborean conditions were no concern of -ours, yet, as Alphonse Karr long ago remarked, we have only to sit still -to find that these, and most other extremes of climate have come round -to us. It was the tropical or sub-tropical regions of the globe that not -long ago were good enough to send us specimens of their weather, as -enterprising trades-people enclose samples of their goods in envelopes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span></p> - -<p>There were many days last summer—to be accurate, I believe, there were -forty-three—when it was by no means necessary to go to the Sahara in -order to ascertain what a condition of almost unendurable drought could -be like. For the present I feel that these two samples will suffice me. -I cannot, unfortunately, return them, since I do not know their sender’s -address, but I feel under no obligation to charter either camels or -whale-boats, in order to go and make their acquaintance upon a larger -scale.</p> - -<p>As for the mere ferocity and killing powers of Nature we are not without -a taste of her capacity even in that respect. Apart from the wild -creatures, which have to look out for themselves, she exacts in weather -like this a pretty stiff list of victims from the old, the weakly, and -the very young. My energetic chow Mongo insisted upon my taking him for -a late run through the snow this afternoon, and, as we stood for a -moment near the stile, there came up a melancholy little chorus of -bleatings from some sheepfold in the valley below us. I peered over into -the white darkness, but could see nothing; Mongo licked his lips, and I -earnestly trust that he was not thinking of mutton. It may be mere -weakness on my part, but I have always felt glad that in my various -communings with the good green earth I have stopped short at the garden, -the wood, the bog, the hillside, and have never once<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span> stepped into the -paddock or the farmyard. In reading lately Mr. Rider Haggard’s <i>Farmer’s -Year</i>, I found my pleasure a good deal interfered with by the eternal -and the detestable apparition of the butcher! Whenever the small lambs, -that frisked so delicately, were beginning to grow plump; whenever -certain Irish bullocks, whose vicissitudes one followed, were pronounced -to be not improving as they ought; even when the old milch cow, who had -given so much good milk, and had brought so many calves into the world, -began to flag—always there was that abominable apparition in a smeared -apron waiting for them close at hand, or peering in sinister fashion -from round a corner. No, whatever other functionary I might be willing -to share my pursuits with, assuredly I could never consent to share them -with Mr. Bones! The objection may be merely sentimental, but so are most -of our likings and dislikings merely sentimental. As for these green -clients of ours, it is true that they do die pretty frequently upon our -hands, and the fact is, no doubt, very distressing, the more so as in -nine cases out of ten we are aware that it is entirely our own fault. In -their case there are at least no heartrending cries or groans, heard or -unheard. They go to their own place in peace, wafted as it were by slow -music towards the gentlest of dissolutions. While as for ourselves, if -we are their murderers, well, we manage to hold up our heads,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span> and take -particular care never to allude to the subject. On the contrary, we put -on an air of extra cheerfulness, and make haste to plant something -else!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">February 10, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HAT resolution about the war and its newspapers I still feel to have -been the right one. Unfortunately, like many excellent resolutions, it -has only one drawback, which is that it is impossible to keep to it! The -situation has grown too strained; it clutches at one like a demon; it -rides one all day like some waking nightmare. In vain I assure myself -that the proper attitude for all non-combatants is one of absolute -patience. That it becomes us just now to study patience, as we might -study one of the fine arts; to learn, that is to say, either to go about -our own concerns, or else to wait till we are told—as we might be at -the end of an operation—“All over!” “All well!” This, I have no doubt, -is the proper and patriotic attitude, only how is it to be attained? or -who is sufficient for such placidity? It is not so many days since I -opened my paper at eight o’clock in the morning, and the message -heliographed by Sir George White to Sir Redvers Buller<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span> sprang to meet -my eye. “Very hard pressed” and immediately below it the comment—“Here -the light failed”!</p> - -<p>“Here the light failed!” That seems indeed to be the summary of the -whole situation. One question at least we are all forced to ask, if not -with our lips, at least inwardly. What of Ladysmith? Will it; can it now -be reached? and if not what is the alternative? Such thoughts are -gadflies, and would drive the tamest mad. Restlessness gets possession -of one. The thirst for news, more news, ever more, and more, becomes a -possession; one that is no sooner slaked than it revives afresh. My -particular garden boy has been turned into a mere newspaper boy, and -spends his whole days running downhill to the station, on the bare -chance of another paper having come in, or of someone having seen -someone, who may possibly know something.</p> - -<p>Has it often happened I wonder in the history of a country that this -sort of external and public news—the news of the street and of the -newspaper—becomes to each individual his own absolutely private news; -news that for the moment seems to supersede even the acutest personal -grief; news that makes the tears start, the pulses throb, the heart, at -apprehension of what may be going to happen, literally stand still from -fear? The thought of Ladysmith, it is no exaggeration<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span> to say, amounts -to an agony. One feels it in one’s very bones. Fear of what its fate may -be is the last thought at night, and one awakens to remember it with a -sensation of despair which would be ridiculous were it not so real.</p> - -<p>For the odd part of it is that not a single creature near and dear to me -is shut up within those walls. My interest in it is therefore a purely -external one, the interest of a citizen, nothing more. If we—myself, -and others in the like case—feel it thus acutely, how must the -situation stand to-day, to-morrow, all these pitiless, interminable -days, to some?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">February 12, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> HAD occasion to go to Guildford yesterday despite the weather, and met -in the train our eminent horticultural acquaintance, Mr. R. P. We have -always a good deal to say to one another on the subject of our -respective gardens, although his is a long-established and renowned one, -ours such a callow young thing that it is hardly fit as yet to be called -a garden at all. On this occasion, seeing that he was coming from -London, my first remark was not a horticultural one.</p> - -<p>“Is there anything fresh?” I asked. “News seems so often to come in just -after the morning papers are out.”</p> - -<p>“Fresh? Oh, you mean about the war? No, I think not. Everybody seems to -be pretty sick over the whole business. I saw Sir F. J. the day before -yesterday, and he was very much in the dumps about it. He says the -Tommies out there don’t like it one bit. That they have got their tails -regularly between their legs, and I’m sure <i>I</i> don’t wonder.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span></p> - -<p>“How dare he!—I mean I don’t believe a word of that!” I exclaimed. -“Anything else I am willing to believe, but not that. We have got our -tails between our legs here at home if you like; I am quite ready to -admit that. But they! Never!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know. I only tell you what I hear. They have had a -baddish time, you must remember. Stormberg and all that!—quite enough -to give anyone the jumps, <i>I</i> should say. Of course it has been kept out -of the papers. In the papers the Tommies always figure as heroes. Is -Anemone Blanda in flower with you yet?"—this with a sudden rise of -animation.</p> - -<p>“Anemone Blanda?” I repeated, feeling slightly confused by the rapidity -of the transition. “Yes. At least no. I think not—I haven’t looked -lately.”</p> - -<p>“It is with me! Sixteen tufts in full flower—beauties! I shelter them a -bit of course, but only to save them from getting knocked about. You -never saw such a colour as they are! Yours were the pale blue ones, -weren’t they? I know there’s a lot of that sort in the trade that are -sold as Anemone Blanda, but they’re not the right Blanda at all. Mine -are as blue as, oh, as blue as—blue paint.”</p> - -<p>“We have numbers of bulbs at present in flower,” I said severely. -“Scillas and chinodoxas,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> and daffodils, and tulips, and Iris Alata, and -many others.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, potted bulbs. They’re poor sort of things generally, don’t you -think? Some people, I believe, like them though.”</p> - -<p>“We have Cyclamen Coum in flower out of doors,” I added; garden vanity, -or more probably deflected ill-humour, arousing in me a sudden spirit of -violent horticultural rivalry.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you have, have you?"—this in a tone of somewhat enhanced respect. -“Don’t you shelter it at all?”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least!” I replied contemptuously. “We grow it out in the -copse; on the stones; in all directions. It is a perfect weed with us. -No weather seems to make the slightest difference.”</p> - -<p>I am really surprised that I did not assert that we had Orchids and -Bougainvillæas growing out of doors in the snow! It is probable that I -should have done so in another five minutes, for irritation sometimes -takes the oddest forms. Luckily for my veracity our roads just then -diverged; my horticultural acquaintance getting out at the next station, -and I continuing on my way to Guildford.</p> - -<p>I don’t think I have ever in my life felt more ruffled, more thoroughly -exasperated than I was by that most uncalled-for remark about the -Tommies. Had they been all individually my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span> sons or my nephews I doubt -if I could have felt more insulted! I adore my garden, and yield to no -one in my estimation of its supreme importance as a topic; still there -are moments when even horticulture must learn to bow its head; when the -reputation of one’s Flag rises to a higher place in one’s estimation -than even the reputation of one’s flower-beds. “Anemone Blanda!” I -repeated several times to myself in the course of the afternoon, and -each time with a stronger feeling of exasperation. “<i>Anemone Blanda</i>, -indeed!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">February 13, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>F what lies beyond the next few weeks could be suddenly laid open to -us, what should we see? It is, I am aware, rank cowardice upon my part, -but if by merely ruffling over the blank pages of this diary which I -hold in my hand I could in an instant find out, I know that I should -refuse to do so. The same feeling has beset me before now, but hitherto -always with regard to personal matters; never, so far as I can remember, -with regard to public ones. Three weeks! It is not a very long time. -Only a few more crocuses and scillas will be out in our little Dutch -garden; only a few more oaks and chestnuts cut in the copse, yet within -that time the fate of Ladysmith must be decided. Should help fail to -reach it—and it may well prove impossible—what shall we see? what will -the world see? what will our various enemies see? Only two alternatives -appear to be open: an unbelievable surrender, and an only too easily -believable slaughter. That last of course is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> central thought, the -unendurable one; the vision that hangs before one’s eyes day and night. -Death upon those iron hills; death without the possibility of -accomplishing anything; death under the most unendurable of conditions; -shot helplessly, like the furred or the feathered beasts of a <i>battue</i>. -I write it down deliberately, in the hope of thereby getting rid of it, -for it haunts one unendurably. With that perversity, which makes us all -at times our own most ingenious torturer, my mind revolves continually -around the disaster before it comes, and fills up every detail with the -most diabolical distinctness. “Fall of Ladysmith! Fall of Ladysmith! -Destruction of the garrison!” It seems to reverberate along the roads; -it presents itself upon every village hoarding, as a friend of mine saw -it several times this winter upon those of the Paris boulevards. Before -I open my paper in the morning it seems to be hidden under the folds, -ready like an asp to spring out and poison me. At night I fall asleep to -the thought of it, and in my dreams it performs wild and Weirtz-like -antics, projecting itself in and out of them with all that monstrous -reduplication which the besetting idea has a way of achieving for -itself, when the brain that originated it is nominally asleep, and at -peace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">London, February 16, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">G</span>OD be thanked! God be thanked! one of them, at least, is safe. -Kimberley has been relieved, and the others, assuredly the others will -follow? This leap from a midnight of gloom to a midday of joy has been -almost too great; life, even for the most placid, has become too -breathless, too crowded; let me pause a moment and recapitulate. I came -to London upon Saint Valentine’s day, the 14th; S. S. being on her way -south; circumstances delayed her a day, and in that day all this -happened. We had gone to see a friend; she left me to take a turn in the -Park; in a few minutes she returned breathlessly; she had met a -park-keeper and he had told her the news. Five minutes more we were both -in the park; had caught the same inspired park-keeper, and had fallen -upon him simultaneously.</p> - -<p>“Is it true? How do you know? Who told you?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span></p> - -<p>“Quite true ma’am. Quite true ladies. You’ll find it written up at the -War Office.”</p> - -<p>“But how? Where did they get in from? The enemy were right across; -so——”</p> - -<p>“Well ladies, as I understand it were like this. General French was sent -north, and he fetched a big circuit as it were so. And——”</p> - -<p>With our umbrellas we drew a hasty but effectual scheme of attack upon -the park gravel, then hurried away from our gold-braided informant in -the direction of Pall Mall.</p> - -<p>Oddly enough St. James’s Palace did not appear to be in the least -irradiated by the intelligence! its grim old face remained as -unresponsive, and as dirty as usual. Everything else however had caught -the glamour. It shone upon the cabs, or at any rate upon their cabbies; -it lit up the sea of mud; it seemed to float along the pavements scoured -by a recent shower. Men were coming out of the clubs in groups, talking -loudly; everyone talked loudly; not an acquaintance was in sight, yet -they seemed to be all acquaintances; more than acquaintances, friends, -dear friends; we looked benignantly at them, and they looked benignantly -back at us. In London; in St. James’ Street! Tall or short, stiff or -pompous, young or old, it was all one; they were brothers; brothers in a -common joy, brothers in a common relief from an all but maddening dread. -To smile for no reason in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span> some perfectly decorous stranger’s face -seemed to be the most usual, the most natural behaviour. Safe! Safe! It -was a chime, one which needed no joy bells to make it sound louder. -Surely for us at least it was worth the strain, worth the long suspense, -the almost hopeless anxiety for this? And Ladysmith? and Mafeking? The -turn has come; the tide has changed! We shall shortly hear the same news -of them. We shall be rejoicing over both of them to-morrow!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Surrey, February 26, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE is a little tapestry fire-screen in my sitting-room here, which -has been disturbing me quite seriously all this winter. It represents a -group of Boers—when the tapestry was made I take it the word was spelt -<i>boors</i>—of various ages and sexes, but all equally convulsed with -laughter. The central figure is a big, square-jawed, good-natured -looking fellow, who holds aloft in his hands a tiny, red-coated toy -manikin, which he is causing to perform ridiculous antics for the -amusement of a solid infant of two or three years old, who is trying to -reach it. At a table close by an old man sits eating, in a suit of what -appears to be greasy grey corduroys. He also grins with satisfaction at -the performance. So does a woman—presumably the mother of the solid -infant—who looks back laughingly from a doorway, over the dish which -she carries in her hands. Other Boers, or boors, are to be seen in the -background, all equally<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span> convulsed by the ludicrous figure cut by little -Red-coat; all distorting jaws—wide enough by nature—into grimaces -expressive of appreciation at his ridiculous position.</p> - -<p>Since the original of this piece of tapestry was painted over three -hundred years ago by a painter named Teniers, it is not at all likely -that it was meant to represent our Boers of to-day, nor that the -ridiculous little manikin in the red coat could be meant for an -unfortunate <i>Rooinek</i>! In spite of that fact I have been unable for -months to endure to look at this side of my harmless little fire-screen. -Every morning on entering my sitting-room my first act has been to push -it up through its sliding groove, until only a pair of prodigiously -stout calves, and one infant’s shoe remain to be seen. To-day—and I -write the fact down as a sign of changed times—my fire-screen remains -untouched! More than this, I have found a malignant satisfaction in -sitting down before it, and, as I warmed my feet—damp with gardening -operations—surveying the row of grinning faces, with the little red -manikin still performing his degrading antics in their midst.</p> - -<p>“Laugh away, my friends!” I remarked. “Laugh away! Make the most of your -time. Don’t disturb yourselves pray on my account. The unfortunate -<i>Rooinek</i> is no doubt, as you say, a very ridiculous and helpless sort -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span> creature. At the same time don’t be too sure that he may not make a -sudden leap yet out of your fingers! Stranger things have happened.”</p> - -<p>So many caricaturists, friendly and unfriendly, have made capital out of -this struggle of ours that I rather wonder none of them seem to have hit -upon this familiar Teniers. That accuracy that pertains to all genius is -plainly visible, moreover, as one looks at it, for the -portraits—evidently they are portraits—might be those of any group of -our worthy enemies to-day. As for the old fellow at the table, it might -be Oom Paul himself in proper person; the same air of somewhat -sanctimonious rectitude; the same broad fleshy nose, the same protruding -chin, the same semicircular sweep of grizzled beard. It sets one -reflecting upon the persistency of national types. Centuries rise, and -grow, and fade away; wars are made and cease again, but probably few -things in this fluctuating world change so little, or with such a -snail-like slowness, as the few broad lines upon which the -characteristics of any given race have once got themselves legibly -inscribed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 1, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>URELY we need no satirist to point out the ironies of life, for they -are for ever with us! Here is the latest in my own experience:—</p> - -<p>After all my arrangements, my care about telegrams, my determination not -to be defrauded of even half an hour’s satisfaction, I have heard at -last of the relief of Ladysmith from a child by the roadside; from a -child? nay but from a baby, a smudgy-faced cottage infant, that could -barely walk, and certainly was quite unable to talk! It happened in this -wise. I was hurrying along the lane on my way to take the train for -Godalming, having waited till the last minute in hopes of a telegram -which never came. My morning papers had told me nothing, or nothing -beyond vague surmises, which I was quite competent to provide for -myself; consequently I was famishing for more substantial fare. I had -nearly reached the village, and was hurrying round the last corner. -Suddenly out of one of the cottage doors came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span> this creature, dragging -after it a stick with something red tied to it, which I entirely failed -to distinguish as having been even intended for a flag. Either it -stumbled, or from sheer force of circumstances simply sat down in the -middle of the road, right in front of me. I was delayed an instant, and -in that instant out flew its mother, and plucked it to its feet again, -with a sound maternal smack.</p> - -<p>“There ain’t no sense in yer being run over, is there, ye little fule, -not if Ladysmith <i>is</i> relieved!”</p> - -<p>“Ladysmith!” I was upon the two of them in an instant, and had seized -the bigger one by the arm, though she was not an acquaintance of mine.</p> - -<p>“What did you say? <i>Is</i> Ladysmith relieved?”</p> - -<p>“Lor bless you ma’am, don’t you know? Why hours and hours ago! <i>We</i> -heard of it a little afore eleven we did!”</p> - -<p>“But are you certain? Is there no mistake this time?”</p> - -<p>“Mistake? Bless you, no ma’am, there ain’t no mistake! Why it were stuck -up at the office by Mr. Smith hisself, just gone quarter to the hour. I -was a-coming along with my husband’s second breakfast, for he’s working -now for Mr. Bellew at the Mills. So as I was passing close to the office -‘Whatever is all this about,’ thinks I, for there was eight or ten -people<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> a-standin’ there, and a-readin’ somethink. And with that I -sees——”</p> - -<p>I too had seen something! A flag—unmistakably a Union Jack—hanging -near the Church, I had overlooked it in my hurry. At sight of that, -excitement, combined with the fear of missing my train, overcame my -politeness, and I flew down the lane in the direction of the station.</p> - -<p>The train was caught, but only by the narrowest margin. I sprang into a -carriage, all but shaking hands as I did so with an absolutely unknown -old gentleman, who was its only other occupant. Everyone knows the -shrinking, the more than maidenly dread of the solitary travelling <i>he</i>, -for the unknown travelling <i>she</i>, however harmless the latter may look. -On this occasion public interest overcame even that terror. As a river -bursts through its banks, so my old gentleman burst into a torrent of -repressed information. He had just come from London; he had witnessed -the scene at the Mansion House; he described to me the Lord Mayor coming -to the window with a telegram in his hands; he dilated upon the crowds, -the cheering, the flags, the block in the streets; above all upon the -central fact of the situation, which was that he had himself been -thereby made twenty minutes late at his board, or meeting, whatever it -was. “For the first time<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> in twenty-five years!—the very first time! -They couldn’t make out <i>what</i> had happened to me; thought I must have -been run over!” he assured me several times between Guildford and -Godalming.</p> - -<p>Well, well, it has come at last! All is right, all is well, and we may -go back to our own little concerns; our housekeepings, and our -marketings, our weedings, and our seed-sowing, with lighter; let us -hope, perhaps also, with a trifle gratefuller hearts?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 3, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>UR good old Cuttle is leaving us; will be gone by this time next week, -and I feel more sorry than seems quite reasonable! To-day, when we began -talking the matter over together, a suspicious huskiness in my voice -warned me that I should do well to get away from the subject before my -character for propriety was quite lost!</p> - -<p>It is better I know for many reasons that he should leave. He cannot, -indeed will not, undertake sole charge of both flower and kitchen -garden, and to have anyone over him in either department is not to be -dreamed of. Moreover his own home is four miles away, all up and down a -long crooked lane, and a walk like that after a hard day’s work would be -enough to try anyone half his age. Under ordinary circumstances the -departure of a man who, though he has been with us now nearly three -years, came at first as a mere jobber, would be a small affair on either -side. Our poor old Cuttle is however so identified with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span> the very -existence of this little possession of ours that to lose him seems like -losing a piece, and moreover a considerable piece of it. If the pegs and -the marking-tapes have been our contributions, all the solid work, the -earth turning and delving, the trenching, the grass-sowing, the cutting -down of trees, above all the interminable pitchfork operations, have -been his, and his satellite’s. Surely then he has a right to regard -himself as its creator? Our good, old, kindly, argumentative Cuttle! The -familiar little nooks and corners, cultivated, wild, half wild, will -hardly seem so entirely themselves; hardly so intimately familiar, -without your friendly face!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 5, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>LLAH be praised for a leisurely life! I have been visiting A. R. D., -whose days are filled with large and various activities; whose -responsibilities are great; whose hours of work are long; of leisure few -and scanty. I admire such indomitable workers, with an admiration which -increases with every year I live, but I envy them, Oh ye gods, not at -all!</p> - -<p>“Cling to the peace of obscurity; they shall be happy that love thee.” -Where, I wonder, have I acquired that rather ignominious injunction? -There is a seventeenth-century flavour about it which makes it sound -respectable, yet at bottom I suppose it is merely a counsel of laziness. -Work, far from the curse, is the alleviation of the curse; of that I am -as convinced as anybody. At the same time a good deal of the work that -goes on around one seems to be rather the product of the unasked -volition of the worker, than of any violent external necessity. -Obscurity and laziness moreover are far from interchangeable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span> terms, -seeing that the majority of the hard-workers of the world are, and as a -necessity always will be, obscure. It is only in our little fussy -artistic or literary coteries that the two ideas have attained to a sort -of accidental connection. Personally I have a relish, I might almost say -a passion for obscurity. The retort is of course easy, and I am able to -reply to myself that the alternative has never been pressed upon my -attention with any very urgent insistence. That is true, but does not -really affect the matter. Honestly, I do regard obscurity as a blessing, -apart from such satisfactions it may provide for laziness. For what does -it mean? It means that you belong to yourself; that you have your years, -your days, hours, and minutes undisposed of, unbargained for, unwatched, -and unwished for by anybody. It means that you are free to go in and out -without witnesses; free as the grass, free rather as the birds of the -air. Further, I am inclined to think that only Obscurity can properly -and heartily enjoy his sunsets, moon-rises, spring mornings, running -streams, first flowers, and all the rest of the good cheap joys that lie -about his path. The known and admired person is expected to make capital -out of such matters, and he probably does so too, poor fellow! Yet upon -the untrammelled enjoyment of such things how much, not only of the -satisfaction, but of the peace of life depends?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> As was said by -one—who, by the way, was very far himself from being an -Obscurity—“Nothing startles me beyond the moment. A setting sun will -always set me to rights, and if a sparrow comes hopping to my window, I -can take part in its existence, and pick about the gravel.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 7, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> SENTIMENTALIST sleeps in nearly everyone, whether he is aware of the -fact or not; just as we are all potential poets or lovers, though some -of us undoubtedly under rather a deep disguise. My particular vein of -sentiment has lately taken the form of linking together sundry small -spots here with others far away, upon the other side of St. George’s -boisterous channel. Thus I have a Burren corner, a West Galway corner, a -Kerry corner, a Kildare corner, even a green memento or two of the great -lost forest of Ossory, of which only a few shadowy remnants survive to a -remote, but happily not an indifferent generation.</p> - -<p>That pleasure is to be found in such childishness might at first sight -seem incredible. Since it is so, there is no use, however, in refusing -to recognise it oneself. Take the Burren, for instance. Burren the wild, -the remote, the austere, the solitary; to the few who know it a region -absolutely unique, with its cyclopean<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> terraces sloping slowly to the -waves, that moan and mutter eternally around their bases. To represent -the Burren—even the Burren plants—by three or four tiers of stones, -which are not even limestones, might well seem even to oneself the very -acme of absurdity. I refuse however to be ashamed of it, and if my Dryas -octopetala and my Helianthemum canum, my Potentilla fruticosa, and my -Cystopteris fragilis would but accept such hospitality as I can offer -them; would but pretend that fragments of lime rubbish are slabs of -limestone, I should be content, and ask no more of them.</p> - -<p>Some are kindly enough, but others are hopelessly supercilious, and I am -at my wits’ end how to cater for them. If distinguished visitors would -only condescend to mention their wants plainly, how gladly, I have often -thought, would one hasten to satisfy them. When they merely look -disgusted, and, after sulking hopelessly for some months, die upon one’s -hands, what is an unfortunate host or hostess to do? Here is -Helianthemum canum, for instance, which for the last nine months I have -been keeping from dying, as it were by main force. Up to now I have in a -measure succeeded, and have even occasionally flattered myself that it -was beginning to resign itself. I know perfectly well however that it -has in reality made up its mind upon the subject, and that one of these<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> -mornings I shall hurry out to my “Burren” corner, only to find -Helianthemum canum looking black but satisfied, having just succeeded in -dying triumphantly on my hands!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 8, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE pace at which some plants, no matter how discouraging the weather, -manage to swell out their tissues, and to spring aloft under one’s very -eyes, is an unfailing marvel, and in this unpropitious soil the marvel -seems all the greater. So many quite common plants decline to live in it -in its natural state, that one’s gratitude goes out all the more to the -few that are willing to put up with us as we are. Foremost amongst such -obliging vegetables stand the mulleins, and foremost amongst the -mulleins stands that really noble person, Verbascum olympicum. If it has -a fault it is that it is <i>too</i> good-natured, and <i>too</i> vigorous. Not -only does it attain to its robust proportions at a rate that takes one’s -breath away, but further it increases so rapidly, and with such a -reckless prodigality, as threatens to people the whole neighbourhood -with its descendants. Seeing that each of such descendants requires as -much space for its development as does its parent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> the perplexed -gardener wonders at times how he is to dispose of his too obliging -property, and ends by being not a little embarrassed by his own wealth.</p> - -<p>There was one day last summer, when, returning home after a short -absence, and going into the garden, I was not a little startled to -discover what a congregation of the giants we had unwittingly been -entertaining. A giant may of course be highly ornamental, and a giant -that is eight feet high, and of a bright canary-yellow throughout the -greater part of that length, is almost bound to be so. There were—I -took the trouble to count them—one hundred and eleven such giants at -that moment all in flower together in the garden. Now considering that -the proportions of that garden are not those of Kew or Versailles, there -is no denying that one hundred and eleven bright yellow giants, all -occupying it at the same time, affected the mind with a certain sense of -surplusage! They stood in rows along the grassy paths; they shouldered -one another, and everything else out of any place they had been allowed -to spring up in; they appeared unexpectedly in out-of-the-way corners of -the copse, where the elderly oak-scrub found itself reduced to the -position of a mere underling at the feet of these aspiring biennials. To -come suddenly round a corner<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span> was to receive an impression of being -surrounded by a crowd of gigantic, lemon-coated attendants, all standing -respectfully at attention, an experience naturally rather trying to mere -modest humanity.</p> - -<p>There is another equally large and complacent biennial, which, on -account perhaps of that very complacence, I find myself constantly -treating with the scantiest civility. It has not I think quite the solid -strength and impressive bearing of the great mullein, but as regards -height, is often even more gigantesque. This is the large variety of -Œnothera biennis, familiar to most people as Œnothera Lamarckiana, -but possessing no English name that I am aware of beyond the generic, -and not very descriptive one of “Evening primrose.” There are a good -many varieties of evening primroses in gardens, both perennials and -biennials, and a few true species, of which missouriensis, otherwise -macrocarpa, is undoubtedly one of the best. Lamarckiana on the other -hand is hardly a subject for the garden proper. As a tenant of steep -banks, of rough borders; of all sorts of half, or three-quarter wild -places, it has in this soil no competitor, or only finds such -competitors in the two biggest of the mulleins.</p> - -<p>I have been trying this year the experiment of planting it along both -sides of the green<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> walk that crosses the upper part of our copse. -Whether it will endure the amount of shade that it will find there -remains to be seen. It is a sun-lover by nature, like most of its tribe, -but its growth is so redundant that a little curtailment of it will do -it no great harm. Though less spreading, it requires almost more room -than the verbascums, for, if the space it covers is less, it is a true -biennial, never failing in my experience to flower the year after it is -sown. With Verbascum olympicum this is not so. There are some here at -this moment that were sown three years ago, and have not yet flowered. -They will do so no doubt this year, and with that event the cycle of -their existence ends. The worst is that the gap they leave when they die -is large; moreover, as in the case of foxgloves, the black stump is both -an ugly object in itself, and a difficult one to get rid of. When are we -to possess a really good perennial foxglove I wonder? There is a -perennial <i>yellow</i> one, but it is a poor thing, hardly worthy of its -name. Perennial verbascums are also few in number, most of the family -showing a more or less aloe-like fashion of flowering. In their case one -is able to console oneself. The imagination grows a trifle giddy in fact -at the thought of every mullein one has seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span> spring from seed remaining -as a permanent possession; always equally towering, and equally -clamorous of space and sunlight. Many-acred would be the garden that -could support them all!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 19, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>OME way back in this diary I was unwise enough to inveigh against that -“pleasant herb called Vanity,” especially in its relation to gardens. A -greater error I now feel there could not be, and I am convinced that if -we only took care to cultivate a sufficient supply of it, it would not -only be a satisfaction in itself, but an immense stimulus to the -successful cultivation of all other desirable plants.</p> - -<p>This is not, I am aware, the general view. The general idea being that -the herb in question is a mere weed, one that will not only grow -everywhere, and at all seasons, but that grows the most luxuriantly upon -the poorest soil. Now this is certainly not the case. What amount of it -is grown in other gardens I cannot say, no report—or only a very -indirect one—being forwarded to any of the regular gardening -periodicals. That there are poor varieties of it I am willing to admit, -but a really good “strain” is always worth securing, if it can be done -legitimately,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> and so I am sure every successful gardener would be the -first to say. So convinced do I feel of its value that there are many -succulent, and quite wholesome vegetables, that I would gladly see -thrown away in order to make room for more of it!</p> - -<p>That admirable essayist, and, from his own account, horticulturist also, -Sir Thomas Browne, evidently grew a good deal of it in <i>his</i> garden, -though with the odd humour that prevails amongst its cultivators, he -imagined that he had very little, in fact none at all. Here is the -<i>Religio Medici</i>, so I have only to turn to his panegyric of it, a -panegyric all the more satisfactory because he apparently intended it to -be the reverse. Perhaps though, as Mr. Pepys would say, “That was in -mirth.”</p> - -<p>“I thank God amongst those millions of vices I do inherit and hold from -Adam, I have escaped this one.” [Millions of vices! now may heaven help -thee, Sir Thomas! however one must remember that he was a rhetorician.] -“Those petty acquisitions, and reputed perfections, that advance and -elevate the conceits of other men, add no feather unto mine. I have seen -a grammarian tower and plume himself over a single line in Horace, and -show more pride in the construction of one ode, than the Author in the -composure of the whole book. For my own part, besides the jargon and -patois of several provinces, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span> understand no less than six languages; -yet I protest I have no higher conceit of myself than had our fathers -before the confusion of Babel, when there was but one language in the -world, and none to boast himself either linguist or critick. I have not -only seen several countries, beheld the nature of their climes, the -chorography of their provinces, topography of their cities, but -understand their several laws, customs, and policies; yet cannot all -this persuade the dullness of my spirit unto such an opinion of myself -as I behold in nimbler and conceited heads, that never looked a degree -beyond their nests. I know the names, and somewhat more, of all the -constellations in my horizon; yet I have seen a prating mariner, that -could only name the Pointers, and the North star, out-talk me, and -conceit himself a whole sphere above me. I know most of the plants of my -country, and of those about me, yet....”</p> - -<p>Nay Sir Thomas, dear Sir Thomas, let me not follow thee longer in this -vein, else might one of the devoutest of thy followers lose some share -of that devoutness! I hastily ruffle thy pages over, feeling certain -before long of coming upon thee in a worthier one.</p> - -<p class="cbdot">. . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>I have been longer over my search than I expected, having set my heart -upon finding one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span> particular passage, which I failed to do, a fact -hardly to be wondered at, since, as it turned out, there was no copy of -<i>The Garden of Cyrus</i> in the house. I have found it however, at last, -safely hidden, like a sprig of myrtle, in the tight embrace of an -ancient notebook.</p> - -<p>“But the quincunx of heaven runs low, and ’tis time to close the first -parts of knowledge. We are unwilling to spin out our awaking thoughts -into the phantasms of sleep, which often continueth precogitations, -making cables, and cobwebs, and wildernesses of handsome graves. Beside -Hippocrates hath spoke so little, and the oneirocritical (!) masters -have left such frigid interpretations from plants, that there is little -encouragement to dream of Paradise itself. Nor will the sweetest -delights of gardens afford much comfort in sleep; wherein the dullness -of that sense shakes hands with delectable odours; and, though in the -bed of Cleopatra, can hardly with any delight raise up the ghost of a -rose.</p> - -<p>“Night, which Pagan theology could make the daughter of Chaos, affords -no advantage to the description of order, although no lower than that -mass can we derive its genealogy. All things began in order, so shall -they end, and so shall they begin again; according to the Ordainer of -order, and of the mystical mathematicks of the city of heaven.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span></p> - -<p>“Though Somnus in Homer be sent to rouse up Agamemnon, I find no such -effects in these drowsy approaches of sleep. To keep our eyes open -longer were but to act our Antipodes. The huntsmen are up in America, -and they are already past their first sleep in Persia. But who can be -drowsy at that hour which freed us from everlasting sleep? or have -slumbering thoughts at that time when sleep itself must end, and, as -some conjecture, all shall awake again?”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Most melodious of rhetoricians, and most whimsical of prose-poets, I bid -you a good-night. For by a coincidence which you would be the first to -appreciate, twelve o’clock is striking even as I copy your last line, -and I light a bedroom candle with the sound of those dim -prognostications, and thunderous conjectures of yours still ringing -sonorously about my ears. They do not alarm me, however; nay I would -gladly carry them with me past the ivory gate. For, as you yourself -say——</p> - -<p>“Happy are they that go to bed with grand music like Pythagoras, or have -ways to compose the fantastical spirit, whose unruly wanderings take off -inward sleep, filling our heads with St. Anthony’s visions, or the -dreams of Lipara, in the sober chambers of rest.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 20, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>ROM the defence of Vanity, to the defence of England! “Attend to your -transitions, my boy,” is said to have been the reply of a veteran -orator, when pressed by a junior for some axiom that would sum up the -whole art of oratory in a sentence. Literature also, like oratory, has -to attend to her transitions, else dire confusion, and the just -indignation of her readers, is the result. The diarist stands upon a -slightly different footing. If there is such a being as a literary -libertine, or harmless law-breaker, he perhaps is entitled to the name. -His pages are filled up according to no settled plan, and with an eye to -no particular convention. He claims to be free as the wind upon the -tree-tops, free as all our unwritten moods, which are rarely quite the -same for many consecutive hours. Such at least, is the claim of this -particular diarist. To-day, for instance, leaving the garden, and all -that relates to it, to take care of themselves, he has wandered away -upon the theme, of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> things in the world, of <i>Invasion</i>, moved -thereto, partly by the desire which assails us at all times, of dilating -upon what one knows least, partly by the equally inborn desire of -running counter to conventions upon which one has been brought up, and -which have been instilled into one’s mind ever since one could walk -unaided.</p> - -<p>That the difference between soldiers and civilians is an absolute -difference, clear as glass, hard as adamant, is one of those -conventions. Until the other day I never remember hearing it so much as -questioned. Yet how does that fact now stand in the face of all that we -have been hearing, seeing, reading about, during the last five months? -If one thing more than another has been brought home to us by this -present struggle it is that under modern conditions a civilian—without -the slightest pretensions to be anything else, so long only as he is a -good marksman—is not only as valuable, but under many circumstances, -far <i>more</i> valuable than the average soldier, who as a rule can just -shoot, and nothing more, who has all the finer parts of his art still to -learn, and is not at all likely to learn it when he has no more -leisurely target to practise upon than the living man.</p> - -<p>It is upon the strength of this revolution that I have been indulging -this morning in a private Invasion of my own, specially designed for the -exaltation of the rifle-shooting civilian, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span> whose doings I take a -natural interest. Plans of Invasion are always rather fascinating, -whatever the realities are likely to be. On this occasion I have only -allowed myself a very small and cheap Invasion, just enough to put our -rifle-shooting civilian standing in it and asking how he is to behave -himself. It is not coming off in the orthodox place, which I take to be -nearly opposite the bathing sands of Boulogne, but upon quite a new -theatre, namely upon the shores of Dublin Bay. My invaders are probably -French, but may be anything else, it does not in the least matter. -Whoever they are they have succeeded in evading the Channel Fleet, have -run the gauntlet of the forts—no impossible feat—and have disembarked -some forty or fifty thousand strong somewhere between the Bailey of -Howth and the foot of Bray Head.</p> - -<p>As for their purpose in landing, so far as my information extends, it is -simply to do as much damage as can be conveniently accomplished within a -given time. If the defending fleet remains entangled elsewhere, and they -can be reinforced, so much the better. In any case France can afford to -lose some twenty or thirty thousand recruits in a good cause. Moreover -he would be a poor sort of Frenchman who for the sake of burning, -harassing, shooting, raiding, racking, ruining, and generally running -amuck, amongst British possessions, would not run the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> risk of capture, -and the, not after all, very uncomfortable, entertainment of a prisoner -of war. Here, then, stands our military position; and now comes the -question of what in such a case, are the rights and duties of the -ordinary, peaceable but rifle-shooting civilian?</p> - -<p>First let me clear the ground for myself a little. In the course of -certain profound researches upon the whole art and practice of war as -laid down in the <i>Débâcle</i>, <i>La Guerre et la Paix</i>, and other recondite -manuals, I have learnt that in the case of invasion the barrier between -civilians and professional soldiers is even stricter and more menacing -than at other times. The soldier, let his capacity or incapacity be what -it may, is entitled in case of capture to honourable treatment. He may -be nearly starved to death, if provisions run short, as the French -soldier-prisoners were after Sedan. He may be shot out of hand, if he -endeavours to escape, but with these trifling exceptions he is a person -having definite rights and a definite status; a person the cold-blooded -slaughter of whom would stamp the perpetrator of such a deed as a brute, -no gentleman, and a man generally to be avoided, even by his own side. -Turning now to the position of a civilian during invasion, I learn, by -studying the same authorities, that he is an individual without rights -of any kind should he attempt—no matter upon what provocation—to touch -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span> weapon in war time. Although the weapon in question be his own -familiar rifle or fowling-piece; although the spot he proposes to defend -with it is his own hearth, with his own wife and daughters standing -beside it, he is liable—legally and honourably liable, for that is the -whole point—to be led away from that hearth, settled comfortably with -his back against the nearest wall, and then and there uncomplainingly -shot, his wife and the rest of his family looking on. This I am assured, -or used to be assured, is the whole law and the gospel, as the law and -the gospel is laid down for military purposes; a law the carrying out of -which is not only permitted, but is the bounden duty of every honourable -soldier and Christian officer. In no other way, so I have always been -told, could the protection of the civil population be guaranteed during -invasion. If a man, merely because the property destroyed is his own, -were free to pot—we call it nowadays to snipe—at the destroyer of that -property, what in such a case would become, one was asked, of the poor -defenceless soldiery?</p> - -<p>So much for the old rule, now for its modern application. Bearing all -this in mind, I look away to South Africa, and what do I see? I see a -crowd of fighting men, upon hardly one of whom—our own regulars and -militia of course excepted—can I succeed in discovering any of the -recognisable marks of a soldier. Here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span> there one or two such may be -discerned, but the bulk are purely and avowedly civilian. They have -walked out of their shops, their farms, their offices, their -counting-houses, their clubs, or wherever else they come from, precisely -as we see them. They can shoot, or they think so; they can ride—more or -less—but in spite of these accomplishments they are no more soldiers -than is the diarist who dips this eminently civilian pen into this -utterly unmilitary inkpot. If the German commanders of 1870 refused to -see in the <i>francs tireurs</i> anything but unrecognisable freebooters; if -Napoleon declined to accord the Tyrolese marksmen and their heroic -leader decent treatment, mainly on the grounds that the latter was an -innkeeper, what would either of them have said to the bulk of those -fighting upon both sides to-day in South Africa?</p> - -<p>All this, however, is merely preliminary. Our invasion is no problematic -peril this time, but a peril that has actually arrived. They have -<i>come</i>, the aggressors! they are already standing upon our sacred shore! -the question now is what are we to do with them? Can there be any doubt -upon that subject? Up, arm yourselves, and away! high and low, young and -old, brave and the reverse—women first, as befits their daring! Up, and -at the villains! Let them not carry their purpose an inch further. Let -not one of them return to boast of where he has been!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span> Yet hark! what -sound is that? Surely it is not the luncheon bell? How <i>exceedingly</i> -inconvenient! Well, our invasion must be postponed for the moment. After -all, as Peter Plymley wrote to his brother Abraham, “It is three -centuries since an English pig has fallen in a fair battle upon English -ground”; so, though this particular struggle is coming off not on -English but Irish ground, it is not likely to be all over before this -afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 20, 1900. 3 p.m.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HAT interruption disposed of, we now return to our Invasion. Owing, -perhaps, to the dilatory nature of our proceedings, the invaders have -already left the coast, and pushed their way some distance inland, the -result being that matters are beginning to look exceedingly -uncomfortable for the unfortunate invaded. The regular army in Ireland -happens to be at an exceptionally low ebb. It has been heavily drawn on -lately to fill up vacancies at the seat of war, no one in authority -having of course dreamt of anything so improbable as a sudden incursion -into Dublin Bay. The Commander-in-Chief is reported to be half dead with -work and worry at the Royal Hospital. His subordinates are behaving like -heroes. The “Polis"—otherwise the Royal Irish Constabulary—are doing -soldiers’ work, and doing it a good deal better than most soldiers. -Dublin is believed to be for the moment safe, but the condition of the -country immediately south of it is critical to a degree. No one seems to -be certain what the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> opinion of the bulk of the people really is. -Invaders, especially French ones, are historically dear to their hearts, -but the thing has been sprung upon them this time with rather -uncomfortable rapidity, and there is something extremely sickening, so -everybody admits, about the smell of burning roofs.</p> - -<p>Immediately upon landing, the enemy established their headquarters, with -no little strategical discretion, in a naturally defensible position -upon the Wicklow Hills, from which point they are cheerfully engaged in -sending out raiding parties over the whole of the adjacent country. The -portion of Kildare nearest Wicklow has already been overrun, and most of -its villages burnt, despite their nearness to the Curragh; Naas and -Sallins are reported as likely to be the next assailed. The suddenness -of the catastrophe has strained the military resources almost to -breaking point, and the soldiers are forced to be kept together, not -only to defend the approaches to the metropolis, but also in the hope of -being able to bring on a general engagement in some more hopeful -position than against the fortified camp in Wicklow. The result is that, -beyond a limited number of constabulary, the general in command of the -district is unable to spare a man for the protection of the smaller -places.</p> - -<p>Before that harassed and overdriven officer there suddenly appears—the -Civilian! How<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span> many, or how few, is a detail. Few or many they are all -civilians, undiluted, country-bred civilians, good shots and good -riders; men of varying ages, but all with a more or less intimate -knowledge of the local conditions. They are—but generalities are so -unsatisfactory—let me take one of them, and suppose myself to be him, -and I can be multiplied afterwards as required. Here I am; big and -strong, level-headed and resolute; no boy—far from it—but sound in -health and vigorous, a local magnate in a small way, fairly good at most -sports, rather more than fairly good at rifle-shooting; a familiar -figure formerly at Wimbledon, more recently at Bisley. Nothing can be -further from my intentions than to obtrude my services; I wish that -clearly to be understood. At the same time if I can be of any use under -the circumstances, you had better say so!</p> - -<p>With South Africa fresh in all our minds, can there be any question as -to the answer? What more desirable material could unfortunate, -under-manned commander have, or desire? As to what he could do with me -there are plenty of answers ready. He might place me in certain chosen -positions, rifle and field-glass beside me, and desire me to pick off -certain of the enemy’s officers, who are known to be surveying the -country. He might fill a country house or two with me and others like -me, and so prepare<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> pleasant little surprises for those who expected to -find them vacant. He might do many things, only—and this is the point I -am trying to arrive at—would he venture to do any of them? If such a -man as I am representing myself to be were liable to be treated as the -Germans in 1870 treated French fighting civilians, including women, and -as the French would no doubt have treated German ones, in such a case it -is hard to see how any responsible commander dare run such a risk, -however great his need, or our willingness to serve. Risks are of course -of the essence of war, but there are risks and risks. No one proposes to -hunt with the hounds, and then run with the hares; to fight while -fighting is reasonably safe, and afterwards slip hurriedly back into -mufti; to play a soldier’s part, yet claim the immunities of civilians. -Let the risks be no worse than those which any soldier runs, and our -faithful civilian is satisfied, and asks no more. There are, however, -risks which it is hardly proper, hardly I may say decent, for any -self-respecting man to run. That our typical civilian would be really -liable in these days to be shot in cold blood, most people would find a -difficulty in conceiving, yet how does he stand officially? above all, -how does he stand internationally? Have the risks of so monstrous, so -utterly abhorrent a contingency, been once and for ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span> removed? and if -so, since when? This is the point that one would like extremely to have -authoritatively cleared up, seeing that the number of civilians, capable -at a pinch of defending their own homes, possibly even their own fields -and parishes, seem likely as the years go on to increase. Organised, or -unorganised, the straight-shooting civilian has arrived, and he proposes -to stay. He is still, however, an entirely new factor in the body -politic, and, like other new-comers, he requires therefore to be neatly -adjusted to the rest. That under no circumstances he could be of any -use, few, I take it, would be bold enough to assert. These are hardly -days when any possibly useful national asset can be left with safety -upon the shelf. Let our sturdy civilian be able, in case of capture, to -claim the same amount of amenity that is accorded in all decent warfare -to the captured soldier, in that case I should say—speaking, of course, -merely as a fool—that the more of him we had the better and the more -comfortable for all of us.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 26, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> VIEW, a brand-new view, and in a garden supposed to be viewless! That -our best point as regards scenery lies in the direction of the Dorking -downs, is I think beyond question. The worst of it is that lying as they -do nearly due north of us, the more of them we show the more the wind -catches at our plants. Openings upon this side have, consequently, to be -thought out with care, and executed only after long deliberation.</p> - -<p>This time I think we are safe. A space of copse, ending in a fence, over -which in summer tree-lupins and everlasting peas tumble together in -friendly confusion, has been cleared. What was lately solid copse, -fifteen to twenty feet high, has sunk to a mere russet-coloured growth, -just bracken height, no more; three feet to four feet, that is to say, -rising occasionally to five. This makes a broadish space, in which -bracken and bramble, stunted elder, seedling birch, two or three low -thorns, and some wild guelder-roses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span> sprout together. Past this, -sweeping up from the region of the larches, comes our new grass walk, -eleven feet wide, consequently a walk of pride to people who have -hitherto subsisted upon two-foot tracks! With a fine easy curve it turns -away to the south, making for the gate which divides the garden from the -copse. That turn being shared by the new opening, will I think ensure -that no new rush of cold air can come tearing in upon the flower-beds. -But for this no hatchet or billhook would have been conducted to the -spot by me. Our new little view is—<i>pace</i> our neighbour’s opinions—a -remarkably nice little view, but did it display Alps or Andes, in place -of the despised Dorking downs, the right-minded gardener would in the -latter case hesitate; might even feel in the end that it would be too -dearly purchased.</p> - -<p>Now for the next question, and a serious one. Are we to allow ourselves -to make any garden use of this new clearing or not? This touches upon -the larger question of meddling generally. To meddle, or not to meddle? -Is it permissible—as regards what lies outside the strict garden -boundaries—to interfere, or ought we to leave the whole matter to -Nature, in other words to Chance?</p> - -<p>To lay down the law dogmatically upon this point would be to lay it down -for every garden in Great Britain, or all not girded by kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> -gardens, or ploughed fields. Such a prospect, though enticing, might -take some little time to carry out. Confining oneself for the moment to -the immediate case, one finds that like most other cases, political, or -horticultural, it is mainly one of compromise. Were our copse beginning -to dwindle perilously, then, with a politician of the last generation, I -should exclaim “<i>Can’t</i> you leave it alone?” Seeing that, though we have -been chopping assiduously ever since we came, two-thirds of our space is -still covered with uninvaded copse, the case seems to me to be a fair -one for experiment.</p> - -<p>That being decided upon, what to experiment with becomes the next -question, and here aspect is clearly the ruling factor. That no early -morning sun will reach the place even in summer is certain. Four -respectable oaks, of quite a gentlemanly girth, stand along the fence, -and forbid it. They are not near enough for their roots to do much -damage, but the firstlings of the sun’s rays they will certainly keep to -themselves. This being so, there is a limit clearly as to what will -answer. All things considered, especially with regard to the fact that -the brambles could hardly be dislodged without a wrench which would -disorganise everything, I am inclined to give my vote for more brambles, -only this time civilised ones. There are plenty fortunately to choose -from. There is, for instance, Rubus odoratus, showing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> a vigour, and a -turn for colonisation hardly to be exceeded by the very wildest of wild -brambles. There is the cut-leafed bramble; there is the bramble of the -Nootka Sound; there is the whitewashed bramble; there is the -salmon-berry; the cloudberry; the bramble of the Rocky Mountains, and -others, all of which I already in fancy see tossing themselves up and -down the bracken, and over their wilder brethren, in one delicious froth -of white or rose-coloured blossom.</p> - -<p>Another, and a yet more fascinating vision, sweeping over the field of -my mind, has for a moment given it pause. What of a jungle, not of -brambles, but of roses? None of your trim standards, of course, but some -of the freer kinds—Rosa alba, Rosa lucida, Rosa brunonis, with some -Ayrshires, some Dundee ramblers, and one commanding thicket of the -biggest of the Polyanthas? It is a heady vision, and as a portion of the -natural “wildness” might intoxicate the brain of Lord Bacon himself. In -gardening it does not do, however, to be too easily intoxicated. We have -to keep a sober head; we have to look at the matter from all its points -of view; there is the question of aspect, already touched upon; there is -the question of soil; above all there is the question of -fertilisation—dear, delicate word! No, we must not allow ourselves to -be carried off our feet by any vision, however roseate. We have always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> -been a pair of sober horticulturists, and we will continue to be so -still. Our rose-jungle must wait. It is only postponed: we will have it -yet, and in a better place. Even if we never <i>did</i> have it, even if the -postponement had to be an eternal one, is it not, one sometimes asks -oneself, the gardens that never have been planted—“whose flowers ne’er -fed the bee”; whose dusky scented walks no foot has ever trod, that -yield the deepest, the most unqualified enjoyment? “Heard melodies are -sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” What then of unseen gardens? What -wealth of blossoms! what a flood of sunshine, which yet never scorches! -what green and translucent groves, which at the same time are never -damp! what order, without the faintest touch of formality! what -wildness, what heavenly entanglements, without so much as an approach to -confusion! But I perceive that I am again wandering out of the domain of -horticulture, into a much less attainable region, and it may be as well, -therefore, to pause.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 28, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>AD we embarked upon a little stone house, instead of a little red-brick -one, should we, I wonder, have had the energy to bestow upon ourselves a -small flagged and stonewalled garden as an adjunct to it? I doubt it. -For one thing flagged gardens are, I imagine, costly affairs. Moreover I -have never myself seen a new one that appealed to me as quite -satisfactory. An old, grey-walled, and grey-flagged garden, as part of -an old, grey farmhouse, or manor, is one of the most ideal possessions -that the heart of man could sigh after. Like most other ideal -possessions, to have it, it is, unfortunately, necessary as a rule to -have been born to it.</p> - -<p>Be this as it may, I have never ceased to rejoice that we had the energy -to embark at once upon our little red-brick garden. The comfort of -knowing that there is always one spot sure to be clean, sure to be dry, -sure to be a satisfaction to step into, even in such weather<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span> as we have -of late been afflicted with, is a boon that can hardly be overrated. As -a mere matter of appearance, the red-brick garden seems to be at least -as “natural” an appanage of the red-brick house as the little grey-stone -garden of the grey-stone one. Both require a certain amount of thought -and contrivance, especially as regards proportion, but once this is -attained, they soon learn to wear that inevitable aspect, which in -garden making, as in all the other arts, great and small, is the first, -and surely the least dispensable of all requirements?</p> - -<p>That the grey-stone garden is on the whole the higher species of the two -I admit. At the same time the red-brick one has this great advantage -over its stony brother that it is essentially a winter’s day garden, -whereas the stone one may, and in bad weather does, look grim, to the -point of being almost forbidding. In both gardens some amount of -hindrance is apt to arise with regard to the laying down of the walks. -Flagging is a costly process, and where the walks are very narrow, the -laying down of stone flags must be a matter of some difficulty. The same -applies, though not quite to the same extent, to the red-brick garden. -That it ought to be tiled, just as the other ought to be flagged, I feel -sure. At the same time good, red gravel, or even bricks, broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> fine, -mixed with sand, and rolled, answers fairly. Another question arises in -the matter of vases. Terra-cotta ones of the right design are not easily -come by in this country, and, when come by, they often cost more than if -imported direct from Italy. These, however, are details, while the -question of what to plant in such gardens is still more obviously an -open one. That the more of glaucous, grey-blue tints—such as that found -in the foliage of carnations—we have the better, is I think certain, -while if small bushes are wanted, lavender will provide the same shade. -Where both walls and walks are of red brick, blue, white and violet seem -to be the right prevailing colours; reds and yellows only to be admitted -slowly, and with precaution. All this, however, savours of dogmatism!</p> - -<p>The supreme moment for such little plots is of course their spring-bulb -time. Most people call them Dutch gardens, and whether common in Holland -or not, the tulip undoubtedly seems born to flourish in them. When the -tulips are over, plenty of other things come on however to take their -places. Pansies, for instance, never look better than in such gardens, -whether as a carpet for tea-roses, or in beds by themselves. The smaller -campanulas, especially the white hairbells, the small double daisies, -and a host of other things of the same sort, answer perfectly, while, if -we want to stretch out our bulb season all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span> we can, sparaxis, ixias, -bobartias, the early white gladioli, and others, are all ready to hand, -followed by the various lesser irises, winding up, at perhaps their best -point, with xiphium and xiphioides.</p> - -<p>The one indispensable point—here again dogmatism appears!—is that such -gardens should be so close to the house as to keep up the idea of being -merely an adjunct, or flowery courtyard to it. With this idea in our -minds anything like distance is fatal. You must be free to step into -your garden from your door, or with no more interval than two or three -steps, or the breadth of a gravel walk. Garden fanatics as many of us -already are, and—as life increases in strenuousness—more and more will -yearly become, it is our interest obviously to spin out our playtime all -we can. Now nothing so helps us towards this, or so effectually -counteracts our Arch-enemy, as to have some little settled place so -cunningly contrived that even <i>his</i> malignity, backed by its worst -agents—sleet, hail, fierce winds, cutting rains,—fails to reduce it to -a condition of mere despairing sloppiness; mere forlorn, and -death-suggesting desolation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">March 29, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HO would believe in being seriously tormented by a plague of oaks? Such -nevertheless has been our lot for the last few weeks. As plagues go they -are certainly better than locusts, not to speak of others that we read -of in the Bible. For all that we find them quite troublesome enough. -Although so young that they were only dropped from the parent bough last -autumn, they already cling to the ground with all the tenacity of their -ancestors; the most exasperated pull causing considerable fatigue to the -puller, but producing no effect whatever upon the youthful athlete. Many -of them are in the engaging condition of being still attached to their -natal acorn, which, acting as a sort of grappling iron, effectually -hinders their being drawn up, even through the soft soil of our -flower-borders. Last year was a most bountiful one for acorns, and every -sty in the neighbourhood revelled in plenty. Since<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span> we do not ourselves -keep pigs, we hope that another season we may be less blessed!</p> - -<p>Biologists have a theory—they would call it a law—which they call the -law of “Multiplication in Geometrical Progression.” By that law the -plants of any region would, under favouring conditions, increase from a -hundred to a thousandfold every year. Happily for people who wish to -walk about they never really do anything of the sort; on the contrary, -the population of any given district, apart from man’s interference, -remains for the most part all but stationary. Until a parent is -considerate enough to die, and make way for it, every green child that -is born is bound to die in its infancy. These little oaks of ours are an -excellent example of that fact, as well as of the summary fashion with -which Nature is in the habit of wielding her maternal sceptre. They are, -as anyone can see, as hale and as vigorous as could be desired; hearts -of oak, every one of them, and they know it. Not an oaklet amongst them -but sees itself in nightly visions as an umbrageous giant, lifting high -in air a mighty trunk, and spreading out branches that all the fowls of -the air could lodge upon with comfort. Alas, for so much prospective -dignity! Every one of these youthful monarchs is doomed to an early -death, and it is merely a question of what stage of immaturity he will -be called upon to perish at!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span></p> - -<p>There is yet another biological dictum which these deluded young -sovereigns may serve to illustrate. Before Darwin, or any other -expositor, laid it down in prose, it had been already laid down in -unforgettable verse—thus:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“No being on this earthly ball<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Is like another, all and all.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Nothing certainly on this earthly ball can be truer. Never two living -beings came into the world precisely alike, and these baby oaks differ -each of them in some imperceptible fashion from its baby brother. Here -is a handful plucked at random out of the flower-beds that will prove -it. In this one that I hold in my fingers, it is easy to see that the -future giant would have been a somewhat thick-set, and stunted colossus. -This one again has already a tendency to self-division, and would -probably have ended by becoming forked. Yet again this one would, if it -had been spared—appropriate phrase—have grown up to be the very ideal -of oaks; a glory of the woods; star-proof; sun-proof; magnificent in its -life, and in its death destined to be converted into the very -straightest and most wind-defying of masts. This last, by the way, is -not a loss that we need delay to weep over, seeing that long before it -could have reached maturity, masts will in all probability have gone to -join the other relics of the past; even yachts<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> being converted probably -by that time into little electrical monsters, with ingenious -arrangements for enabling them to become submarine ones, whenever the -wars of that date threaten to interfere with the comfort of their -owners.</p> - -<p>Poor baby oaks! They gave me a great deal of trouble to pull up, and -now, with that inopportune remorse, sometimes ascribed to murderers, I -am disposed to grow quite pitiful over them. They have been so spoilt, -moreover, in the process, that they are not even worth putting into a -flower-vase. Imagine having been potentially capable of serving as the -tutelary deity, the beloved shade, the <i>rendezvous</i> of all the lovers of -a parish for possibly half a dozen generations, and being found actually -unfit to fill a bow-pot for an hour! Could poet or pessimist hit upon -instance of malicious destiny more dramatically or tragically complete?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">April 2, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>T last we are in April. The winter corner is turned, and a new era -entered upon. But April this year is an incongruous sort of an April, -though the incongruity is possibly only in one’s own fancy. We are apt -to fashion our notions of the becoming, and to expect Nature to conform -to them. A desperately dry April it certainly is. The days are hard, and -cold, parched, and nipping; at night the wind howls, but with no -accompaniment of desirable drops. The garden cries to the sky for rain, -but no rain falls upon it, yet the only days I have spent in London were -days of unceasing downpour. Such favouring of the Metropolis at the -expense of the country is manifestly unjust.</p> - -<p>April is such a lovely word, that it ought also to be always a lovely -thing. If one imagines it—or rather her—as she might appear to us in -dreams, or an allegory, we should deck her out of course in the -tenderest green. Floating gossamers would hover around her; small pink -buds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span> would bend down to kiss her small pink feet. So encompassed she -would come to meet us along the wood paths, a vision of grace and -maidenly beauty; the traditional smile on her lips, the equally -traditional tear in her eye. She would look up in our faces with an -appealing glance, and then begin suddenly to weep, she herself knew not -why. A maiden with the most maidenly of dreams, enclosing a whole -enchanted world of visionary hopes, fears, delights, anticipations, -which it would be the dull business of Experience to dissipate as the -year rolled on.</p> - -<p>But April, as she presents herself before us this year, is not that sort -of maiden at all. She is a remarkably uncompromising sort of young -woman, with hardly any visible green about her costume. She does not -care for the colour apparently, but prefers drabs, and greys, and -browns. As for tears she is not nearly as much given to them as we could -desire. She thinks poorly of them evidently, and considers them out of -date. Her smiles too are doled out in the same penurious fashion as her -tears. She gives us what no doubt she considers our due of both, but -nothing to spare. Her impulses are all dull, decorous, mechanical; as -for her feet, far from being bare, they are clad in warm winter shoes -and stockings, which indeed they have every reason to be.</p> - -<p>Doubtless I am old-fashioned, but I cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span> admire such sedate damsels. -Give me a little more spontaneity; a little more youthful impetuosity -and dash—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Robes loosely flowing, hair as free;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Such sweet neglect more taketh me.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>To drop metaphor, which has a tendency to drop itself, we are in despair -over this dryness, and as a consequence have had to resort already to -the aid of our watering-pots. Now in April the watering-pot ought in my -opinion to be still reposing in its tool shed, with the early spider -weaving his first web across its spout. So strongly is this impressed -upon my mind that I feel as if there were something illicit, something I -might almost go so far as to call unprincipled, in resorting to its -assistance thus prematurely. After all though, a gardener’s first -virtue, I reflect, is to save his plants, and unless we promptly take -some step of the kind, ours for a surety will for the most part die.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">April 11, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE advantage we have secured out of our dry April. Ever since our -arrival we have wanted an additional water-stand for the garden, but -various causes, chiefly I think dislike to making any more inroads upon -the bracken, have hindered us from setting one up. When it comes to -dragging watering-pots several hundred yards while the year is still -only three months old, imagination pictures what fatigues will be ours -in July and August. A new stand accordingly has been established, and an -ugly scar the laying of it has made through the copse. Now however that -part of the business is done; the grass sods, carefully laid on one -side, are back in their places again, and one must only hope that the -bracken, safely curled away underground, knows little or nothing about -the transaction.</p> - -<p>As its practical outcome we have, rising out of the ground, a short -stiff pipe of lead, which has been more or less dexterously hidden away<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span> -in the heart of one of our stunted oaks. I am ashamed to confess the -intense, the childish satisfaction I found this morning in turning our -new tap for the first time, and seeing the water gush out in one free -bound, as if glad of its escape; looking as clear too, as if newly come -from the heart of a glacier, or upon its way to the edge of some -Atlantic cliff, there to be caught by the wind, as I have often seen it -caught, and sent back high overhead, in one dancing, rainbow-coloured -feather of light.</p> - -<p>“Take you at your commonest, at your ugliest, and what a lovely thing -you are!” I thought, as I let the tap run for a few minutes, and stood -to watch the water beginning to create little rills and runnels for -itself, and to feed the dry copse, the dead leaves, brambles, withered -bracken, everything within reach, with the first full rush of its -benevolence.</p> - -<p>I do not know that I am more given than other people to proclaiming -aloud that I have too many blessings; that Nature has been too generous, -and too bountiful in her benefits on my behalf. Now and then however it -has occurred to me to ask myself what I—or, for that matter, other -people—have done to deserve this free unstinted gift of clear, pure -water. In and out of our houses; through our pipes and conduits; into -all our tubs and washhand basins, it flows and flows continually, and we -take it as an absolute matter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span> of course that it should do so, rarely -even taking the trouble to say “Thank you.”</p> - -<p>By way of commentary upon the above reflection I have just taken up a -newspaper from the table, and this is what has met my eye. It is an -extract apparently out of a letter home.</p> - -<p>“We found some water at last near Stinkfontein"—suggestive name—“but -the place was very shallow, and the mud black and deep. We could not get -the horses to look at it, but the men drank it greedily, and drank it -too at the only place where they could reach it, which was where the -hoofs had churned it into a blackish liquor, thick as soup.”</p> - -<p>Poor Tommy! Yet there are people who declare that you are not fond of -water! Evidently this is another of those libels of which you have been -too long the subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">April 17, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE west wind this morning had a rolling sonorousness which sent my -thoughts flying, swift as light, across all the little intervening -ridges, over the plains, over the villages, across endless housetops, -through multitudinous suburbs, over the big, ugly, stately town; out -again, over fresh sweeps of more or less encumbered green fields, -hedgerows, lanes, roads; past meadows and orchards, redolent of -centuries of care; past brickfields and coalfields, redolent only of -defiling greed; over a fretful space of sea; across more fields, less -enclosed, less cultivated, but certainly not less green. On and on -breathlessly, until I stood—free of all encumbrances, free of any -thought of luggage, conveyance, or the need of a roof to shelter -under—upon a very familiar spot, close to the tumbling breast of the -Atlantic.</p> - -<p>The clearness, or lack of clearness, with which certain familiar spots -rise before the eye is one of the minor mysteries of life; mysteries -which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span> like many larger ones we are never likely to clear up entirely to -our satisfaction. There are moments in my experience when such a spot as -this that I am thinking of, is in a sense <i>more</i> vivid to me away from -it than if I were standing there in person; when every tuft of bog -myrtle becomes clearly visible; every yard of “drift” or of “boulder -clay” shows in its entirety; the very stones fallen from them, and lying -like small cannon-balls upon the beach, being all able to be counted. -The waves toss; the clouds roll wearily; the seaweed rises and falls, as -it naturally would. No scene in a cinematograph could by any possibility -be clearer.</p> - -<p>This is the vivid condition. An hour later one tries to conjure up the -same familiar scene, and not a detail will rise to one’s bidding. Not a -leaf, not a stone, not a wave will become manifest. Clearness is gone. A -dull, blurred impression is all that remains. The landscape as a whole -may be there, but its details are lost. That living, -multitudinous-tinted foreground has vanished as though it had never -existed.</p> - -<p>It must have been the scent of the bog plants which conferred that -momentary impression upon me this morning. That scents “open the wards -of memory with a key” we all know. They do more, for they sweep away for -the moment those films which ordinarily cover the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span> mental eye, so that -during that moment we really do see. Of all scents commend me for this -awakening quality to the boggy ones. They alone in my experience are -really transformatory. For the brief time that their aroma is in one’s -nostrils one actually <i>is</i> in the place that they recall.</p> - -<p>It is a proof of the demoralising effect of ownership that one of my -first impulses nowadays is a desire to transfer the plants that I see, -sometimes that I merely remember, from where they are to where I happen -to want them. Yet, when one thinks of it, what an outrage! Why should -one desire to do anything of the sort? Conceive the contrast, the -downfall; the roominess, the elemental breadth, the cool, rain-saturated -comfort of the one setting; the cramped limitation, the unpalatable -dryness of the other. Not that I would for worlds disparage our own -faithful coppice; to do so would be to show myself the merest of -ingrates. Was I not an alien, and did it not befriend me? Was I not -roofless, and did it not offer its soil for us to lift a roof over? -Still, when one tries to place the one scene beside the other the -contrast becomes farcical. The very wind—the cold, unsentimental -wind—must be sensible of such a difference. How much more then a -root-extending, acutely sensitive, living thing!</p> - -<p>I have a profound affection for bog plants,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span> which I hope some of them -respond to, for they thrive fairly. Others are exceedingly difficult to -establish, and rarely look anything but starved and homesick. Amongst -these are the butterworts. Why the translation should so particularly -affect them I have yet to learn, but the fact is unmistakable. Not all -the water of all our taps, not all the peat of all our hillsides will -persuade them to be contented. In vain I have wooed them with the -wettest spots I could find; in vain erected poor semblances of tussocks -for their benefit; have puddled the peat till it seemed impossible that -any creature unprovided with eyes could distinguish it from a bit of -real bog. No, die they will, and die they hitherto always have.</p> - -<p>The sundews, on the other hand, are much less hard to please. Indeed, -considering that at least one species grows wild within a few miles of -us, it would be the height of affectation were they to refuse to -tolerate us. I find myself falling into the habit of thinking that I am -inhabiting here a region of eternal thirstiness, devoid of the materials -of sustaining any vegetable more requiring in the matter of water than a -gaillardia. Yet, when one considers the matter seriously, England is not -precisely the Great Sahara! There are brown streams, purling brooks, -dripping wells, rushy meadows, even puddles and bog-holes, to be found a -good deal nearer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span> this spot than the Atlantic. We are purblind -citizens all of us; apt to dogmatise largely upon an uncommonly small -substratum of knowledge. Like the moles and the blindworms we know -remarkably well the few inches that we can actually feel and touch; but -with regard to what John Locke calls “the rest of the vast expansum,” -that we give up to fog and practical non-existence, thereby saving -ourselves from the trouble of knowing anything about it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">April 18, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Y</span>ET even dull, and quite unfeathered bipeds have their glimmerings now -and then of sense, and of instinct. There are hours in which the great -Mother befriends them, as she does the rest of her two-legged, -four-legged, or many-legged offspring. That she should continue to do so -is I think amiable, and rather surprising on her part, when one -considers how they disobey and deride her; how they sit day after day in -stuffy rooms, eating dinners of many courses; hardly ever getting up to -see the sun rise, or doing any of the other things she directs, and -which her better-behaved scholars invariably do.</p> - -<p>In spite of this, when the right winds blow, when the spring is afoot, -and the leaves are beginning to bud, she allows the old visions to -return to them. She brings back the old voices from the old haunts, to -whisper once more in their ears, so that for the moment they forget the -years that the locust has eaten, and their own incredible stupidities, -and all that has been, and time rolls<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> itself up like a scroll, and they -are once again in very deed, though but for a little while, as they once -were.</p> - -<p>There is a spot in a hill-wood barely a mile from this door, to which I -have been a good many times this spring, and which each time I go gives -me a curiously homely feeling. Ireland seems to breathe in it, even West -Ireland, though I can hardly say why, the only apparent reason being the -rather unpatriotic one that the fir trees, of which the wood consists, -have been sadly neglected. It covers an unusually steep bit of hillside, -and below expands into a tangle of brakes and brambles, circling about a -hollow place, which in my mind’s eye I conceive to be a boggy pool, -though, were I to clamber down to it, I should probably find it to be -dust-dry. Far and near not a roof is within sight, else were that -illusion for a certainty lost. Moreover, the only bit of distance -visible seems to be houseless also, and in these grey, rather -despondent-looking spring days wears just a touch of that wistful -indefiniteness, the lack of which, one is apt to assert, amongst many -beauties, to be England’s most conspicuous blemish.</p> - -<p>Until the last great summons comes for us, we can never, happily, -entirely lose what has once formed a part of our little mental -patrimony. We may deliberately discard it, or, what oftener happens, it -may get unintentionally overlaid with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span> other matters, so that it appears -to be gone, but a little search, or some happy accident, brings it -flying swiftly back, and the pleasure of that repossession is so great -that it seems almost worth while that the thing should have been -temporarily mislaid.</p> - -<p>Of all such inalienable possessions the love of out-of-door life is -surely the most inalienable? And is it not profoundly natural that it -should be so? For this race, to which one belongs, was after all born -under an open sky, even though every individual of which it is composed -may have been born to-day under roofs. We do not any longer require the -comfort of sheltering boughs, nor yet to nestle at night in moss-lined -hollows, but the thought of such places still lurks in our blood, and -the life of out-of-doors remains as much a part of the natural -inheritance of a man, as it is a part of the inheritance of a fox, or of -a wood-pigeon, or of a tiger moth.</p> - -<p>Back, back—like the touch of half-forgotten greetings—comes a flood of -remembrances to the heart. Back flows the old stream along its old -channels. No longer tearing along with a wild tumultuous rush, but still -sweeping by, full and clear, with a pleasant afternoon patter, and -showing many an unlooked-for nook, many a forgotten corner along its -banks, once we surrender ourselves frankly to its guidance. Back the -scenes return; ever back and back;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span> now vividly; now with a dream-like -vagueness; scenes, some of them, that we have ourselves known, others to -which we have only as it were a communal right. Waking hours under the -flickering shade of leaves; life as it was lived in a larger, freer -world; a world without walls or hedgerows; without sign-posts, or -notice-boards; a world without towns, or smoke; without dust, or crowds.</p> - -<p>It has been often debated, and not perhaps very profitably, which of two -types of men see deepest into that great arcanum of life which we -roughly call Nature. Is it the Man of Science, whose business it is to -chronicle what he sees and learns, but who must never travel half an -inch beyond his brief? who must cling to fact, as the samphire-picker -clings to his rope, and never for an instant relax his hold of it? Or is -it on the other hand the Singer, who is only too ready to toss all fact -to the winds, and to account it mere dust, and dregs and dross, so he -can awaken in himself, and pass on to others, some hint, some passing -impression, of what he would probably himself call the soul of things?</p> - -<p>Time was when the barrier between these two types was held to be an -absolutely impassable one. We call ours a prosaic age, but it is -certainly one of its better points, and a mitigation of that prose, that -those barriers hardly appear to us so absolutely impregnable as they -once<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span> were. If we have never seen a great scientist combined with a -great poet it is at least not inconceivable that the world may some day -behold such a combination. Even within the generation just over, and in -utilitarian England, there have been one or two men who have given us at -all events an inkling of so desirable a possibility.</p> - -<p>Given a mind that can feed on knowledge, without becoming surfeited by -it; a mind to which it has become so familiar that it has grown to be as -it were organic; a mind for which facts are no longer heavy, but light, -so that it can play with them, as an athlete plays with his iron balls, -and send them flying aloft, like birds through the air. Given such a -mind, so fed by knowledge, so constituted by nature, and it is not easy -to see limits to the realms of thought and of discovery, to the feats of -reconstruction, still more perhaps to the feats of reconciliation, which -may not, some day or other, be open to it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">April 26, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE reddening of our sundew patch has brought back to my mind various -sundew experiments, carried on long since, with all the zeal of youth -and enthusiasm. In this, as in every other walk of biology, the -investigators of those days, amateur and scientist alike, followed with -docility in the wake of their master. Darwin played the tune, and all -the rest of us, great and small, danced to his piping.</p> - -<p>To the best of my recollection my own investigations were chiefly -carried on standing stork fashion upon a tussock, surrounded by an inky -opacity, which threatened to draw the investigator downwards with a -clutch, more tenacious and formidable than that of any sundew. To the -faithful Irish botanist the poverty of the Flora of Ireland as compared -with that of Great Britain has always been a serious humiliation. In -this respect these Droseraceæ form an exception. Of the few British -species all, I think, are to be found upon the bogs of the West of -Ireland,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span> the largest of them—appropriately called anglica—being much -commoner in Ireland than elsewhere in these islands.</p> - -<p>A very slight acquaintance with their habits could hardly fail, I think, -to convince even the most sceptical that their roots are mainly employed -as anchors, and water-pipes, while for a supply of that nitrogen which -every plant requires they are chiefly, if not exclusively, dependent -upon insects. Of these the two lesser species would appear to content -themselves with the smallest of Diptera and Lepidoptera, whereas anglica -will occasionally tackle larger prey, and I have myself seen it with a -good-sized moth (a noctua) attached to and nearly covering the entire -disk, the long tentacle-like hairs being closely inflected over the -victim, whose struggles are soon put an end to, once the sticky -secretion exuding from the hairs closes above the trachea. When the leaf -re-opens nearly the whole of the insect (be it fly, moth or beetle) will -be found to have disappeared, even the wings being reduced to a few -glittering fragments. No animal substance in fact comes amiss; fragments -of bone, hide, meat-fibrine, and even, according to one authority, tooth -enamel, softening, and in time dissolving under the powerful solvent -secreted by the glands. Whether the Droseraceæ have the power of -attracting their prey, or must wait until chance sends it within their -clutches, seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> undecided. In the case of a little Portuguese relative, -one Drosophylum lusitanicum (growing, unlike other members of the -family, upon <i>dry</i> hills in the neighbourhood of Oporto) such a power -appears undoubtedly to exist, the people of the neighbourhood using it -as a flycatcher, and hanging it upon their walls for that express -purpose.</p> - -<p>This meat-eating habit or instinct (whichever we may agree to call it) -is shared to a greater or less extent by all the Droseraceæ, such as the -Venus’s fly-trap, the Byblis gigantea of Australia, and a small but -curious aquatic cousin, known to botanists by the formidable name of -Aldrovanda vesiculosa, whose tiny leaves have the power of shutting -vice-like over every unfortunate insect which approaches them, and which -thus finds itself enclosed in a floating prison. If eminently -characteristic of them, this carnivorousness is by no means confined -however to the sundews, and their allies. If anything the Pinguiculas, -for instance, rather exceed them in voracity. Few plants are at once so -beautiful, and so interesting from the problems to which their -distribution gives rise, as is the great Irish butterwort—Pinguicula -grandiflora. Unknown to England and Scotland; unknown to the whole north -of Europe; unknown even to the rest of Ireland; its viscid green -rosettes may be seen on most of the lowlands of Kerry, and upon many of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> bogs of south Cork. For nine months of the year that is all that -there is to see. In June a flower-stalk rises out of the centre of the -rosette, crowned with a pendulous bell of the most pellucid, the most -ethereal shade of violet. Happily for the susceptibilities of the -investigator this is not the flesh-eating portion of the plant, that -office being strictly confined to the leaves. Stooping down and -examining these leaves we find that, whereas some are flat, others are -slightly dog-eared along the edges. If further we unroll a few of the -dog-ears we discover the remains, not of one alone, but often of a dozen -unfortunate flies and midges, in all stages of assimilation; some -already half-digested, others still alive, and struggling to escape from -their glutinous prison. If further we place a fragment of bone, of meat, -or indeed of any nitrogenous substance, upon the edge of one of the -fully expanded leaves, we shall find that little by little the leaf -begins curling upwards, until the two edges approach, and then join. -Finally the morsel is lost to sight, becoming entirely immersed in its -bath of secretion, where it remains until all its nutritive parts are -absorbed.</p> - -<p>Viscous as the whole surface of the leaf is, it does not seem as if this -process of digestion was carried on with the same rapidity in the centre -as at the sides, and, as there are in this case no long hairs to act as -locomotive organs, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span> often happens that one may see flies and other -small insects lying partially dried up and useless in the centre of the -leaf. In one respect this viscidity appears at first sight to be -inconvenient, the entire surface of the leaf being often covered with -twigs, leaves, particles of boggy fibre, and such-like matters, which -the plant has apparently no power of getting rid of. In the end this may -prove however to be an advantage rather than otherwise, since it has -been ascertained that the Pinguiculas feed, not alone on animal, but -also on vegetable substances; the extreme stickiness of the leaves -causes them moreover to act as a chevaux-de-frise, thus hindering small -but industrious ants from making their way up the flower-stalks to the -corolla.</p> - -<p>Yet another little group of bog-plants, namely, the Utricularias, or -bladderworts, are meat eaters. In their case the fly-catching apparatus -is situated, not in the leaves, but in certain small attached -air-bladders, which are constructed almost exactly upon the principle of -an eel-trap, and which, if opened, may generally be found to contain -flies. Thus we see how discovery may be anticipated, and how one of -man’s most boasted attributes—that of the Destroyer—may be wrested -from him by a miserable little green bog-weed! Before the first Celtic -hunter flung spear at wolf or stag; before the Firbolgs, or the -Tuatha-da-Daanans<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span>—cunning workers and craftsmen—had set up any gins -or traps in the wilderness; before the first monk or abbot had arranged -ingeniously devised weirs, wherein the salmon—seemingly by -miracle—rang a bell to announce its own arrival; before any of these -things had been done, or thought of, little Utricularia minor and little -Utricularia intermedia had set up their own primitive green eel-traps in -the yet unvisited wastes of Iar-Connaught.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">May 5, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>EW events are more gratifying than to find oneself taken more seriously -by other people than by oneself, and I am pleased therefore to discover -that our palpably artificial little pond has been taken possession of by -a colony of frogs, which must have travelled some distance to make its -acquaintance, frog-haunted ponds or even ditches being by no means -abundant on these dry hillsides of ours.</p> - -<p>I have never myself met more than one species of frog in these islands. -Professor Bell, however, speaks of another, Rana Scotica, which he held -to be distinct, but the difference seems to be mainly one of size. It is -extremely difficult to persuade anyone who has noticed the multitudes of -frogs which swarm in Ireland that they were only introduced there -artificially, and as lately as the beginning of last century. Such, -nevertheless, is the fact, and the date of the event is, moreover, a -tolerably fixed one. It was a Dr. Gunthers, or Guithers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span> who, in the -year 1705, turned out a handful of spawn into a ditch near Trinity -College. For some years the frogs appear to have contented themselves -with the neighbourhood of that University, but sixteen years later, in -1721, they were found forty miles away, from which point they seem to -have rapidly extended themselves over the whole island. Incidentally the -fact is confirmed by a great, if hardly a zoological authority, namely, -Dean Swift. In his <i>Considerations about Maintaining the Poor</i>, which -appeared in the year 1726, in the course of thundering against certain -fire offices, which had the impertinence to be English, he declares that -“their marks upon our houses spread faster and further than a colony of -frogs.” The portent, therefore, it is plain, had reached his ears.</p> - -<p>Coincidences are attractive things, and it is satisfactory to discover -that as regards earlier times we are again able to fortify our mere lay -zoology upon the authority of an eminent ecclesiastic. This time it was -St. Donatus, bishop of Etruria, who, writing in the ninth century, -assured the world, upon his episcopal authority, that no frogs or toads -existed, or, moreover, could exist in Ireland. Three centuries later -Giraldus Cambrensis tells us, however, that in his time a frog was taken -alive near Waterford, and brought into court, Robert de la Poer being -then warden. “Whereat,” he says, “Duvenold,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span> King of Ossory, a man of -sense amongst his people, beat upon his head, and spake thus: ‘That -reptile is the bearer of doleful news to Ireland.’ ” Giraldus is careful, -however, to assure us that “no man will venture to suppose that this -reptile was ever born in Ireland, for the mud there does not, as in -other countries, contain the germs from which frogs are bred”; indeed, -in another part of the <i>Topographia Hibernica</i> we learn that frogs, -toads, and snakes, if accidentally brought to Ireland, on being cast -ashore, immediately “turning on their backs, do burst and die.” This -statement is corroborated by a still more illustrious authority, that of -the Venerable Bede, whom Giraldus quotes as follows: “No reptile is -found there” (in Ireland), “neither can any serpent live in it, for, -though oft carried there out of Britain, so soon as the ship draws near -the land, and <i>the scent of the air from off the shore reaches them</i>, -immediately they die.” So efficacious was the very dust of Ireland that -on “gardens or other places in foreign lands being sprinkled with it, -immediately all venomous reptiles are driven away.” So, too, with -fragments of the skins and bones of animals born and bred in Ireland; -indeed, parings from Irish manuscripts, and scraps of the leather with -which Irish books were bound, were amongst the accredited cures for -snakebite until well on in the Middle Ages. Of his own personal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span> -experience Giraldus relates to us how, upon a certain occasion, a thong -of Irish leather was, in his presence, drawn round a toad, and that, -“coming to the thong, the animal fell backward as if stunned. It then -tried the opposite side of the circle, but, meeting the thong all round, -it shrank from it as if it were pestiferous. At last, digging a hole -with its feet in the centre of the circle, it disappeared in the -presence of much people.”</p> - -<p>Our frogs and toads are not likely at present to become an affliction to -us. Should they ever do so I must certainly send for some Irish leather, -or, failing that, for a pinch of Irish dust, and try its effect upon -them. An influence that has been vouched for by such a variety of -authorities ought to retain something of its ancient potency. Scientific -experiments in any case are always interesting!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">May 8, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">R</span>ETURNING to our pond this morning to see whether the water-lilies -propose flowering this season, I find that the frogs have been -depositing spawn along its edges, so that the thongs of Irish leather -may become necessary sooner than I expected!</p> - -<p>All the same I am delighted to see the frog-spawn, for I have an -affection for tadpoles. Youthful associations cluster pretty thickly -around them, but apart from such a merely sentimental attachment, there -is a satisfaction, I may say a zoologic thrill, about this transition of -a water-living and water-breathing animal into an air-breathing one; a -transition going on, moreover, not at some remote, and more or less -dubious geologic age, but under one’s very eyes, even, as in this case, -in the middle of one’s own decorous, shaven lawn.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to remember that frogs breathe air as much as we do -ourselves. Unlike ourselves, and their other zoologic betters, they do -so, however, not by alternate contractions and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span> dilations of the chest, -Nature not having provided them with ribs, but by the doubtless more -archaic process of swallowing air. Not only would a frog die if kept too -long under water, but—seeing that it can only swallow air by shutting -its mouth—were that mouth kept forcibly open it would equally die, and -from the same cause, namely, want of breath. Tadpoles, on the other -hand, are strictly water-breathers, and until they have shed their -gills, have no more need to go to the surface to breathe than a fish -has. That, by the way is not an absolutely accurate illustration, seeing -that certain fishes <i>do</i> need to go to the surface for air. The famous -Anabas, or “climbing perch” of India, is such an air-breathing fish, the -air reaching it by means of cavities on either side of its gills, and if -prevented from reaching the surface, and renewing the supply, it would -“drown like a dog,” or so the scientists assert. Such cases, however, -can hardly be called normal. Fishes that can live comfortably for days -out of the water, that can nest in a bush, and travel across a -particularly dry country, are not likely to be met with in zoologic -rambles about this parish.</p> - -<p>Returning to our Irish frogs, it is an odd fact, especially considering -their recent introduction, that in addition to swarming over the -lowlands, and in every place dear to frogs, they have learnt to climb -long distances up hill, and to establish<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> themselves in ponds separated -widely from any others, often not even fed by streams, and moreover -destitute of nearly all other animal inhabitants, with the exception of -certain minute molluscs, which are believed by zoologists to have -reached them upon the feet of wading birds, and that at such a remote -period of time that they have become what are practically new species.</p> - -<p>Many years ago, on reaching the top of Mweelrea, the leading mountain of -Connemara, I remember my surprise at finding swarms of young tadpoles -wriggling along the margin of a small pond, nearly upon the actual -summit. They were still in the engaging comma-like stage, before legs -had begun to dawn upon their consciousness, and seemed to have -remarkably little to eat, for the water was crystal clear. The pond was -one of that attractive kind known as <i>corries</i>, held by the geologists, -doubtless truly, to be of glacial origin; a delicious clean-cut oval; -pure rock, from marge to marge; gouged, as if by the chisel of Michael -Angelo, from the matrix in which it lay. But for the unmistakable -evidence of the tadpoles it would, to any reasonable imagination, have -suggested the bath of some mountain nymph very much sooner than -frog-spawn.</p> - -<p>We are all of us to-day evolutionists, if some of us still with a -certain amount of reservation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span> and to the evolutionist tadpoles must -always prove interesting acquaintances. They provide us with at least an -inkling as to the fashion in which your unadulterated water-breather may -have been converted into an air-breather, and by means of no process -more recondite than that of losing its gills. That such conversions do -take place, and under certain circumstances remain permanent, has been -proved in the well-known case of the axolotl, or Mexican gilled -salamander. As long ago as the year 1867, while conducting some -experiments at the Jardin des Plantes, M. Duméril startled the zoologic -world of Paris by communicating the fact that, out of a number of -axolotls kept in the collection there, about thirty had left the water, -and had assumed the form of what had hitherto been regarded as an -absolutely distinct genus of land salamander, known as amplystoma. This -discovery made at the time a prodigious stir, not so much on account of -a water-breathing creature losing its gills, and becoming an -air-breather, for that was a phenomenon which might be seen every -spring, and in most of the ditches round Paris, but because the axolotl -was known to breed, and that it therefore appeared to indicate the -exceedingly anomalous case of a larval form proving to be fertile.</p> - -<p>How the feat of transformation was to be actually witnessed was the next -problem, and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span> is pleasant to remember that it was through the energy -and perseverance of a woman naturalist, Fraulein Marie von Chauvin, that -the matter was finally cleared up. By continually damping the specimens -of axolotl kept by her on land, and assiduously feeding them, she was -able to preserve two out of five through the gradual process of -decreasing their gill-tufts, and tail-fins, changing their skins, and so -forth. Finally to her own and everyone’s triumph, the complete -amplystoma form was assumed, and the transformation was thereby -accomplished. The world has seen a fair number of miracles since it -began to run its course, and perhaps not the least difficult of those -miracles to receive with absolute credulity have been some of its -natural ones!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Mafeking-day, 1900</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T is the nineteenth of May. S. S. has returned, and the east wind which -has long been vexing our souls has departed for the moment, and a soft -caressing zephyr blows seductively. The garden, comforted by recent -showers, is smiling one broad smile from the red steps at the top of it -to the new pergola at the bottom. And now this morning comes the news of -the Relief of Mafeking. Joy for the victors; joy for the nation; joy for -everything and everybody. Flags flutter from all the posts; the dogs -strut about in new tricolor rosettes; “the air breaks into a mist with -bells.” All this is well, very well. Only; only. A few lines coming by -the same post, a single short note, and for one person that May sunshine -is blotted out as effectually as though the very orb itself had -perished. The garden with all its flowers; the copse surrounding it, new -clad in gala attire; the whole cheerful little picture has become -darkened; its atmosphere changed; its pleasant anticipations<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> turned -into a simple mockery. Even to-day’s news sounds thin and unreal, and -the tale of Mafeking is as it were the tale of some defence read of long -since in an ancient, a seldom-opened history, the actors and heroes of -which have long vanished and been forgotten. We are but poor, bedimmed -mirrors all of us, and what we reflect is rarely the real thing, more -often only some blurred and distorted image projected by our own sad -selves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">May 26, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HAT Nature is cruel is not to be denied; the evidences of that cruelty -are written out large and red in every woodland, under every hedgerow. -That she can be also unaccountably pitiful, or at all events take pains -to appear so, is fortunately equally true, and it is a truth that at -times comes very near to the heart. This morning at a very early hour -there was a tenderness, a kind of hovering serenity over everything, -that appealed to one like a benediction. The air itself seemed changed; -sanctified. The familiar little paths one walked along were like the -approaches to some as yet invisible Temple.</p> - -<p>There are certain pictures of Jean Francois Millet’s in which this -quality of sanctity is the first thing that strikes one, the more so -that the obviously religious element is conspicuously absent from them. -His “Angelus” has always seemed to me a poorer composition in this -respect than some others. When one sees a man<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span> standing with his hat off -in the middle of a field, in the company of a woman, who clasps her -hands, and looks down, one knows what one is expected to feel. When on -the other hand one sees only a childish-looking farm-drudge knitting, a -number of greedy sheep feeding, and a rough dog watching them, where, -one asks oneself in perplexity, does the religious element come in? That -it is to be found in the “Bergère” is however, unmistakable, and equally -unmistakably was it to be found in the copse this morning, though how it -got there, or who implanted it, I were rash were I to attempt to -explain.</p> - -<p>Assuredly man is by nature a devotional creature, however little of the -dogmatic may mingle with his devotions. He may avert his ear from the -church-going bell, he may refuse to label himself with the label of any -particular denomination, but it is only to be overtaken with awe in the -heart of a forest, and to fall on his knees, as it were, in some green -secluded spot of the wilderness. The sense of something benignant close -at hand, of some pitying eye surveying one, is so vivid at certain -moments of one’s life that it actually needs a rough conscious effort if -one would shake it off. Even the sense of the vastness of that arena -upon which our poor little drama is being played out, even this habitual -impression becomes less grimly crushing at such moments than usual. What -if<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> it is colossal, one says to oneself, and what if, as compared to it, -ourselves and our troubles are infinitesimal? what if they count no more -in the scheme of things than do the afflictions of a broken-legged -mouse, or of a crushed beetle? Very well; be it so. The mouse and the -beetle have, after all, each their allotted place in that scheme. Nay -for aught we know to the contrary, each may have its own incalculable -hour; each may be susceptible of the same profound, if intangible, -consolation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">June 2, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE revolving year has brought us back at last to June. Here is June, -and here are all the June flowers. If June were only always really June, -and if our hearts could always keep time to its weather, then were earth -paradise, and any remoter one might be relegated to the remotest of -Greek kalends. June however is by no means invariably June, while as for -our hearts they are like our eyes, which have a fashion of blinking -sometimes at the light, as those of owls are reported to do, preferring -their own shadowy places, and the night, which at least brings kindly -dreams. Yet are kindly dreams, it may be asked, really the kindliest, -seeing that we wake from them, and know that they are false? Are not -ugly dreams, are not even terrible ones, better, seeing that we wake -from them, and say to ourselves that matters, after all, are not quite -so bad as <i>that</i>? It is a question, and, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span> many questions, a good -deal easier asked than answered.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“If there were dreams to sell,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Pleasant, and sad as well,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And the crier rang his bell,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Which would you buy?”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>It is not the time, however, now for dreams, or for dream thoughts. It -is nine o’clock in the morning, and everybody ought therefore to be wide -awake and smiling. The garden at all events is performing its duty in -both these respects, and seems, moreover, to be making encouraging -little signals, like some humble but rather impatient suitor, who wishes -to observe that he has really been waiting a long time, and deserves a -little attention. Perhaps it does. Perhaps, seeing that it is there, and -that we are here, it ought not to fare worse at our hands than our own -dull bodies, which have to be clothed and fed, put to bed, and taken up -again, whatever the less material portion may be feeling at the time. -Here on my table I see is a list of some of our latest seedlings. They -are not alpines this time, only common border plants, with a sprinkling -of candidates for naturalisation, of which this copse can absorb almost -any amount, so long as they are of the right sort. It is not a long<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span> -list, and will not therefore take very long to transcribe.</p> - -<p>Here it is:-</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr valign="top"><td> -Adonis vernalis.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> pyrenaica.<br /> -Alströmeria aurantiaca.<br /> -Anchusa italica.<br /> -Anthemis tinctoria.<br /> -Aponogeton (self-sown).<br /> -Armeria cephalotes.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> <span class="ditto">”</span> alba.<br /> -Aster amellus.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> ericoides.<br /> -Campanula pyramidalis.<br /> -Catananche cærulea.<br /> -Commelina cælestis.<br /> -Chionodoxa sardensis.<br /> -Cimicifuga fœtida.<br /> -Chelone (Penstemon) barbata.<br /> -Clematis graveolens.<br /> -Cobæa scandens.<br /> -Convolvulus sylvatica.<br /> -Coreopsis lanceolata.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> tenuifolia.<br /> -Cistus laurifolius.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> formosus.<br /> -Cyclamen Coum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> europæum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> hederæfolium.<br /> -Cytisus scoparius.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> ” albus.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> Andreanus.<br /> -Cytisus præcox.<br /> - -Delphinium (various).<br /> -Dictamnus fraxinella.<br /> -Dipsacus laciniatus.<br /> - -Doronicum austriacum.<br /> - -<span class="ditto">”</span> plantaginum<br /></td><td> -<span class="ditto">”</span> excelsum.<br /> -Eccremocarpus scaber.<br /> -Echinops Ritro.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> ruthenicus.<br /> -Erigeron speciosus.<br /> -Eryngium amethystinum.<br /> - -<span class="ditto">”</span> Olivierianum.<br /> - -Onopordon arabicum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> illyricum.<br /> -Ferula tingitana.<br /> -Francoa appendiculata.<br /> -Gaillardia grandiflora.<br /> -Gypsophila paniculata.<br /> -Heuchera sanguinea.<br /> -Hypericum calycinum.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> olympicum.<br /> -Iberis corifolia.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> sempervirens.<br /> -Lathyrus latifolius grandiflorus.<br /> -Lilium tigrinum (from bulblets in axils).<br /> -Lupinus arboreus.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> polyphyllus.<br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> -Lupinus polyphyllus alba.<br /> -Lythrum salicaria superbum.<br /> -Libertia formosa.<br /> -Lobelia cardinalis.<br /> -Muscari armeniacum, slow.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> conicum, slow.<br /> -Meconopsis cambrica<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> nepalensis<br /> -Meconopsis Wallichi.<br /> -Mimulus cardinalis.<br /> -Myosotis dissitiflora.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> sylvatica.<br /> -<span class="ditto">”</span> palustris semperflorens.<br /> -</td></tr></table> - -<p>My list appears to be a longer one than I thought. I have as yet only -reached the N’s, yet my energies have quite come to an end for the -present. I will put off the remainder of it therefore for a day or two.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">June 8, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> HAD intended going doggedly on this morning with the list of our -seed-sowings, but another impulse has come, and the sowings must stand -over for the moment. Something in the look of to-day’s sky and earth—a -brand new earth after last night’s rain—has brought a new, and a most -unlooked-for wave of exhilaration to my mental shores, and the -visitation is just now too rare and comforting not to be met half way -with the keenest of hospitality.</p> - -<p>“Life is a flux of moods,” and to the fluctuations of those moods there -is assuredly no limit. If we are eternally surprised by our own -limitations, our own torpidity and dullness, there are also—and for -this heaven be thanked—some possibilities of surprise upon the other -side, and that for the oldest, the saddest, the least alert amongst us. -A hundred hours of intolerable dullness and stagnation pass over our -heads. Then comes the hundred and first, and lo! the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span> dull brain wakes, -and the deaf ear hears. A new perception of the unperceived relationship -of things; a new perception of the invisible splendours lying unnoticed -around us, becomes for the moment almost startlingly visible. Such hours -are the only really countable ones, the chief solace of existence, the -one clear reason, one is tempted to say, of our poor encumbered, stunted -little lives. For their sakes, if for no other reason, it were well -worth the trouble of being born, and of all the aches and ills that -belong to that very singular estate; worth our meeting gallantly, if -possible merrily, the thousand petty pinpricks, the slings and arrows of -outrageous fortune, the occasional alienation of those one loves best, -nay—if it must be so—even the fell assaults of Giant Despair and all -his abominable brood.</p> - -<p>For the suggestiveness of what lies about us is no mere fancy, but is -absolutely real; real as the light upon yonder tree-tops; real as the -sorrow in our hearts; real as the love that makes all things endurable; -real as the death which puts an end to pain. At this very moment, now -passing over my head, there is lying about me—close to my eyes, could I -but discern it—the materials alike of the loftiest poetry, and of the -most riddle-solving science. Disregarded and unheeded there they lie, -ready alike for the greatest singer in his happiest mood, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span> most -era-making of discoverers, nay, for aught I can tell to the contrary, -for the seer, the saint, and the prophet in their hours of highest, and -most God-inspired contemplation.</p> - -<p>For the raw materials of inspiration are eternally at hand, only -invisibly. They are as present here this morning as they ever were; -present in the earth and its green things; in the common face of day; in -the comings and goings of the clouds, and of men; in the changes of the -sky, and of our own poor lives. The light that is gilding yonder cumulus -is as capable of inspiring great thoughts here to-day in a Surrey copse, -as ever it was in Delphi, or in Argos, or in Jerusalem. It may awaken -just as resounding emotions, it may inspire just as great deeds to the -hearts of yonder passers-by in a dogcart, as it did to the Assailants of -Troy, or to the Seekers of the Golden Fleece. The constituents of all -greatness, of all poetry, heroism, and sanctity are for ever amongst us. -It is only the right recipients of them that are alas! so scanty.</p> - -<p>And yet, even though we are not quite the right recipients, it is well -for us that such gleams come. Who shall say that an existence which is -capable of being even thus temporarily lifted above itself is not for -that very reason a goodly and a desirable one? What proportion of -discomfort, what proportion even of sheer pain, of numbing weakness, of -crushing sorrow were not worth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> enduring so long as one knew—knew as a -matter of absolute certainty—that they would be now and again pierced -by gleams of such celestial potency? The hard thing, and the thing that -for all mortals will always be hardest to bear patiently, is—not the -uncertainty even—so much as the desperate transitoriness of such -visitations. Almost before we have time to see and to confer with them, -our enchanting visitors have spread out their gauzy wings, and have -vanished beyond recall. They are gone, but where they are gone to, or -when they will next revisit us we have not the faintest notion. Ariel -and Titania have disappeared into the abyss, but Caliban and Bottom on -the contrary remain permanently behind, and are continually at our -elbows. At this very moment, and while I am still thinking about it, the -light is shifting rapidly. The day has grown older; more crowded. A -thousand bloated nothings have sprung up like so many fungi in the path. -Shadows, slight, but impenetrable, have gathered over the foreground. My -own mood too has shifted, and what a while ago seemed so clear has grown -fainter and fainter, and seems to be upon the point of disappearing -altogether. The good little hour has passed!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">July 7, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NCE more the great outside tide of life has beaten down the little -barricades that one erects against it, and has come thundering in over -them in an avalanche, tossing them to right and left, as though they -were so many straws in its path! This week that has just ended has been -for millions—for all Europe, for the whole world in fact—stamped with -the impress of what one would fain still hope to be an incredible -horror. Personally this Pekin nightmare has centred itself for me in the -fact that E. B. was reported to be still there. Recently she was known -to have been there, and whether she had, or had not left seemed at first -impossible to ascertain. At last, though not until after days of -suspense, of uncertainty, of growing hopelessness, came the -telegram—“Safe at Hong Kong,” and the relief is greater than it is -easy, without exaggeration, to put into words.</p> - -<p>So great has been that relief that for me it has perceptibly altered the -whole situation, as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> suppose it was inevitable that it should do. -Nevertheless, the tragedy as a tragedy remains, and if anything seems to -be deepening daily. The newspapers certainly do nothing to minimise it; -perhaps they would say that it was hardly their province to do so! Such -headings, however, as “The Chinese Cawnpore!” “Last shots reserved for -the women!” “White children carried on spears!” seem to be rather more -than it is their absolute duty to offer to their readers! As regards -hope, no one appears to have any left, so that it seems mere optimism to -cherish any. A ray reached us two days ago from our neighbour S. B., who -had heard of a reassuring telegram from someone in Sir R. Hart’s -employment in Pekin. No such gleam, however, seems to have travelled -down to the murky depths of our newspapers, so that one can only fear -that there must be some mistake.</p> - -<p>It is with a sort of angry helplessness, mixed with an instinctive -feeling of self-defence, that one turns from such accumulated, such -carefully elaborated horrors, and tries to forget them in whatever -little pursuit happens to lie nearest to one’s hand. It is not -particularly creditable to one’s humanity that one should succeed in -doing so, and there is no denying that one’s attitude is essentially -that of a kitten, or other small Unreasonable, which runs after its -ball, though disaster may be hovering, or conflagration<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span> about to -involve, it and everyone else. Happily, we are made so, just as surely -as the kitten is so made. We catch at straws, and in nine cases out of -ten the straw saves us. Were it not for this same blessed prerogative of -being interested in trifles, what, one sometimes asks oneself, would -become of all our poor wits? or where on a journey so full of loss and -sorrow, shock and trouble, would they have got to before the final goal -is reached?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">July 14, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>ITH a mind full of China, and its abominations, I happened this -afternoon to take up <i>The Opium Eater</i>, and opened full upon the -passages describing the results of the Malay’s visit. What imagery to be -sure! What an amazing rhetorician! Certainly if all life were the -feverish dream, the half nightmare, one is tempted sometimes to call it, -no greater exponent of its terrors has ever existed than Thomas de -Quincey. Take this as a prelude.</p> - -<p>“The Malay has been a frightful enemy for months. I have been every -night, through his means, transported into Asiatic scenes. I know not -whether others share my feelings on this point, but I have often thought -that if I were compelled to forego England, and to live in China, and -among Chinese manners, and modes of life and scenery I should go mad. -The causes of my horror lie deep, and some of them must be common to -others. Southern Asia in general is the seat of awful images and -associations. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span> the cradle of the human race it would alone have a dim -and reverential feeling connected with it. But there are other -reasons.... The mere antiquity of Asiatic things, of their institutions, -histories, modes of faith, etc., is so impressive, that to me the vast -age of the race and name overpowers the sense of youth in the -individual. A young Chinese seems to me an antediluvian man renewed.... -It contributes much to these feelings that Southern Asia is and has been -for thousands of years, the part of the earth most swarming with human -life. The great <i>officina gentium</i>. Man is a weed in these regions. The -vast empires into which the enormous population of Asia has always been -cast, give a further sublimity to the feelings associated with all -Oriental names and images. In China, over and above what it has in -common with the rest of Southern Asia, I am terrified by the modes of -life, by the manners, and the barrier of utter abhorrence and want of -sympathy, placed between us by feelings deeper than I can analyse. I -could sooner live with lunatics, or brute animals.”</p> - -<p>Now for the dream proper.</p> - -<p>“Under the connecting feeling of tropical heat and vertical sunlights, I -brought together all creatures, birds, beasts, reptiles, all trees and -plants, usages and appearances, that are found in all tropical regions, -and assembled them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span> together in China, or Indostan. From kindred -feelings I soon brought Egypt and all her gods under the same law. I was -stared at, grinned at, hooted at, chattered at, by monkeys, by -paraquets, by cockatoos. I ran into pagodas; and was fixed for centuries -at the summit, or in secret rooms; I was the idol; I was the priest; I -was worshipped; I was sacrificed; I fled from the wrath of Brahma -through all the forests of Asia: Vishnu hated me; Seeva laid wait for -me. I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris; I had done a deed, they said, -which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was buried for a -thousand years in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow -chambers, at the heart of eternal pyramids. I was kissed with cancerous -kisses by crocodiles, and laid, confounded with all unutterable slimy -things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">July 28, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE last ten or twelve days have been different from any that I ever -remember before. Circumstances have made them so, yet it has seemed as -though there were something about themselves that has, as it were, -affected those circumstances. For one thing it has been extraordinarily -hot, so that we have been thankful for every breath of air that has -travelled to us across the downs. The new little water-lily pond has -been most kindly, and has contrived to produce an amazing illusion of -coolness, while the oaks in whose shadow it lies have provided us with -the reality of shade. We two have sat day after day for hours beside it, -and the minutes have slipped along, like bubbles upon some very slow -stream. There is a strange sense of unreality over everything; a sense -that everything is very near its end. The hours of a summer’s day, and -the years of a man’s life seem to be much the same thing, and the one -hardly longer than the other. The chimes from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span> the clock across the -valley are almost the only sounds that break in upon our stillness, for -the birds sing very little just now. It has been a most strange -fortnight; curiously unreal; extraordinarily dreamy and spectral-like. -One by one its days have slipped by, very, very slowly, yet now that -they are almost gone I say to myself—“How terribly swiftly!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">August 1, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE are times—surely we all know them—when the injustices of life, -of the individual destiny, seem more than can be silently endured. “Why -should this? and this? and this be?” we ask. “To what end such -superfluous happiness heaped upon one head, such equally uncalled-for -refusals of it consigned to another? What does it mean? or who is the -better for such unendurable partiality?”</p> - -<p>The question is the oldest of all questions, yet it is the question of -to-day, as it will be the question of to-morrow, and of many more -to-morrows. Job asked it about himself, as some of us ask it about those -whom we know to be infinitely better than ourselves. Moreover it is not -alone the apparent injustice of a life as a whole, but of the several -parts of it, that we murmur at. There are acts of courage, of silent -endurance, of unrecognised heroism, which only need to be performed in -some more conspicuous fashion, or upon a larger field, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span> awaken the -whole world to admiration. Yet they pass away unnoticed; oblivion -enshrouds them, and they are never so much as heard of.</p> - -<p>When such suppressions, such seeming injustices, occur at the beginning -of things, while the sun is still high, and Time seems a friendly -factor, one is able to reassure oneself. One says—“Wait a little -longer!” “The time will come!” When such illusion, however, is no longer -possible; when the sands have run out, or been scattered in mid-career; -what is one to say <i>then</i>? What faith, what philosophy, what stoicism, -or what mixture of all three, will enable one to accept it without -complaint?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">August 4, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>F the vicissitudes of this year there seem to be no end! After we have -mourned over these victims of Pekin as men mourn over those for whom -there is absolutely no hope; after we have enumerated their names, like -the names upon a death-roll, and all but held a national funeral service -in their memory; and after we have followed their last moments; gloried -in its heroism; wept over its tragedy; starved, sighed, bled, almost -died with them; lo, it appeareth now that none of them are dead at all! -Was ever an entire continent in the history of the world so mercilessly -defrauded before of its tears?</p> - -<p>I have no notion how they may feel about it themselves, but my -impression is that were I the responsible head of a daily newspaper I -should prefer to immure myself from society for the next few days! There -is a pile of such papers at this moment in my sanctum, which I have just -been turning over, and reading a few of the headlines with some little -inward entertainment. Not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span> that I pretend for a moment to have been one -whit wiser, or less lugubrious myself! Far from it. We have all been a -flight of ravens and screech-owls together, only that some of us have -screeched and flapped our wings a little more energetically, and in -rather a more public fashion than the rest!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">August 6, 1900.</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>EW of the minor experiences of life are, I think, more consoling than -to come across some small link in the chain of natural law, over the -right connections of which one has long groped blindly. Such a little -bit of good luck befell me only yesterday. In itself it was what one -calls the veriest trifle; simply a question as to the relationship of -certain obscure organisms, profoundly uninteresting to the world at -large. To myself it seemed, for a while at all events, to be of some -little consequence. It imparted—for fully ten minutes—an entirely new -impression of a vast, a peaceful, and a most orderly progress. It seemed -to open up vistas into the perfection, into the breadth, no less than -the complexity, of that great scheme of Life, of which we ourselves form -a part. It came as a sudden vision, as a conception of possibilities—I -hardly know what to call it—the vividness of which it would be -difficult without exaggeration to put into words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span></p> - -<p>For those who, like myself, are the mere irresponsible camp-followers of -science, the importance of any given solution seems often to be less in -what it actually teaches us, than in what it allows us indirectly to -guess at. The new fact may or may not be important, but the ideas that -it starts in our minds can hardly fail to be so. In the imaginative -realm there is literally no limit to the revelations to which the -tiniest of natural phenomena may not serve as an introduction. The fact -itself may be the minutest of facts; a mere pin-point, a scarce -perceptible chink of light, but it is a chink in the walls as it were of -a great cathedral of discovery, the doors of which may, for anything one -knows to the contrary, be thrown widely open to oneself, and to everyone -else to-morrow.</p> - -<p>This, if I am not misleading myself, is the real attractiveness of every -pursuit which has the elucidation of Nature for its end and aim; one -perhaps most felt, or at all events most enjoyed, by the more ignorant -of her votaries. Properly directed ignorance is in truth a most -desirable haze, and when some stray beam does traverse its obscurity, -how great is the illumination which follows! What may not be possible -where there is no dead-weight of fact to keep our feet upon the solid -earth; no panoply of unescapable knowledge to bid our pleasant fancies -nay?</p> - -<p>Even for those less comfortably unfettered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span> by circumstances, it must be -an alleviation surely of the prose of life that in this region of the -ideas no man can ever positively say what may not be in store for him. -However tame, however dull his foreground, there is always the chance of -something ahead; something that when it comes, will sweep his thoughts -away with it to the very verge of the horizon. There is never a day, -there is hardly an hour, in which some new idea may not be upon its -road. Now a really new idea for the time being remakes life. It is a -solvent which dissolves all old impressions, and rebuilds them anew. Men -live by ideas, as surely, almost as literally, as they live by bread, -and a world into which no new idea ever entered would be a dead world, -tenanted only by corpses.</p> - -<p>The strange thing is that we should any of us doubt this, or that in -those innermost citadels which we call our brains, we should really very -greatly care about anything else. Surely for people so oddly -circumstanced as ourselves the quest for ideas, ever larger, ever more -comprehensive ideas, is the only perfectly rational occupation? Stranded -upon the shores of the Unknown; rocked to and fro by all the winds of -mystery; ignorant of whence precisely we came, whither precisely we are -going; for people in so strange a position as this to be continually on -the quest for some new intimation, for some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span> further hint, or -indication, seems as natural as for shipwrecked sailors to be for ever -on the watch for sails.</p> - -<p>I remember—it is years since, yet the impression is as clear as though -it were yesterday—one who, during the vigils of a sleepless night, -slipped suddenly into a dream. And in that dream it seemed to the -dreamer as though he stood upon a narrow-topped hill, encompassed by all -the stars, and lifted high in air above the slumbering earth. And, -looking upwards, he was aware of a sky, immeasurably vaster and higher, -or so he thought, than he had ever observed any sky to be before. And, -still gazing into that vast sky, the dreamer perceived that it was -filled with what at first he took to be snowflakes. Looking more closely -he saw that, if snowflakes, then they were snowflakes lit up by all the -colours of the prism. And one of these snowflakes, just then slowly -descending, touched the dreamer’s head with a soft, but quite a sensible -impact. And as it touched him, lo, a new thought sprang up, alive, -full-fledged, wonderful, within his brain; a thought absolutely -unsuspected by him before; vast, formative, irresistible, like some new -law of Evolution, or of Gravitation. And, with it, light seemed to break -in upon him from every side at once, and a great joy, and a sense of -elasticity such as he had never known before. And a voice said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span>—“These -are the thoughts with which this earth of yours has been built up, and -all yonder other earths, of which this is one of the very least.” And -another voice said—“They are as the sands of the sea for multitude, and -of the secrets hidden in them, and of the wonder, and satisfaction, and -delight of those secrets there is no end.”</p> - -<p>Then that sleeper awoke, and, though the night was still long and dark, -the thought of his dream remained with him, and was like the song of a -thrush in his heart until the morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">August 10, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">L</span>IFE; Life the indomitable, the multifarious; Life, as it rises in the -scale, becoming conscious of itself—the thought of this recurs again -and again to one’s mind, and each time with a greater sense of power, -and of a sort of consolation. What limit need be assigned, one asks -oneself, to its capabilities, to the endless transformations, to the -possibilities, as yet unguessed at, which may have been destined for it -by its Inventor from the beginning of things? If the mere personal -consciousness, the precarious personal life, is rarely without an -element of discomfort, in this larger sense that personal life all but -disappears, and with the loss of it comes—not perhaps actual joy, that -could hardly be looked for—but at least a great exhilaration, an -extraordinary sense of width, of serenity, and of detachment.</p> - -<p>As the mind descends deeper and deeper into that serene abyss it seems -to shake itself free for the time being from all that confused, -battling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span> disturbing sea in which its daily lot is cast. As that -downward course continues, all that appertains to the surface becomes -more and more dreamlike, as it might to a diver, and the mind widens and -strengthens insensibly with each descending fathom. “Life” is indeed a -marvellous shibboleth; a spell that unlocks innumerable doors; a word of -varied and manifold meanings. Merely to write it down, merely to utter -it, seems to clear the atmosphere. Mental fogs of all kinds at that -touch roll up their dingy tents, and depart. An impression of -morning—fresh, imperishable morning—hovers around it; youth, health, -fecundity, vigour belong to it. All the winds of Spring—“driving sweet -buds, like flocks to feed in air"—rush after it, and fan it on its -course. The sense of the good green earth, and of all those good green -things that belong to it, pours in a stream of joy through even the -dreariest veins. “And if one little planet is able to show it in this -inexhaustible profusion, what of all the other planets?” one thinks. -“What of those countless other worlds, all belonging to the same great -plan; all built and upheld by the same architectonic hand; all strung, -as it were, upon one great string, and vibrating eternally to a single -immortal touch?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">August 18, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>TANDING, shortly after dusk yesterday evening, upon the edge of the -slope which drops suddenly into the valley enclosing our village and its -church, my ear was filled with a variety of sounds, all of them -familiar, yet none somehow quite recognisable; all with a certain -strangeness about them, born no doubt of the mist and of the oncoming -obscurity.</p> - -<p>Sounds which reach our ears after nightfall never seem to be quite the -same sounds as in the daytime, even though they may be produced by -exactly the same means. Commonplace in reality, they are never perfectly -commonplace in their effect. They awaken curious echoes. They bring back -odd, and half-vanished thoughts. They play the same rather uncanny -tricks with the brain as they doubtless did in the days of the -Patriarchs, or of the Shepherd Kings. The bark of a dog half a mile away -will conjure up visions of hunting scenes, swift and phantasmagoric as -the pageant of a dream. The sharp “click-clack” of a horse’s hoof; the -crunching of a waggon-wheel; most of all, perhaps, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span> thin, -lamentable, bleating of sheep floating up from the valley; all these set -vibrating fibres within us which have their roots as far back in the -history of the race as anything well can be. Our life of to-day, with -all its crowded impedimenta, tends at such moments to sink suddenly, and -to disappear. We realise—if only during the duration of a lightning -flash—that we are standing, not in the least upon any apex, merely upon -some small peak on one of the sides of the great organic mountain. That -we are looking at a scene which has witnessed the arrival of our race, -as of other races, upon it, and which will assuredly one day witness its -departure again. That all that we can discern is but, as it were, a few -front streaks upon the surface of an ocean, rolling on without bourne or -limit. And at that realisation the mind is apt to start, and to shiver -instinctively, as before some yawning gulf, opening unexpectedly below -the feet.</p> - -<p>Such little mental peaks afford, in truth, but a dizzy standing ground, -and are best, perhaps for that reason, not ascended too often. Just as -the trade of the astronomer is said to need a sound leaven of stolidity -before it can be safely embarked upon, so only a very strong head can -with safety peer long into a void, hardly less perturbing and -intoxicating than that into which it is his business to pry. Those -capricious little particles, upon which all our comfort depends,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span> -dislike it, and they are probably right in doing so. It is true that -what we call the Past, that which is entirely put away, and done with, -might seem to be a harmless enough subject of contemplation. So -conceivably it might be, were it not for the fact that in following it -one is apt to find oneself brought suddenly face to face with the other, -and the far more formidable brother; the one whose kingdom lies, not -behind us, but ahead. At those dim barriers all real advance is -inexorably stayed; into the recesses beyond them no secular lantern has -ever peered; while even our most authoritative, our most convinced -guides, can at best assure us as to its geography with hesitating, and -often curiously conflicting voices.</p> - -<p>To abstain from all attempts at peering into that obscurity is more -perhaps than can be asked of mortals. The less of such peerings we -indulge in, however, surely the better, because the saner, because, -also, the more trustful. Of all the cataracts of words, poured in verbal -Niagaras over this momentous topic, have there been many, I wonder, -wiser or truer than these of old Hooker? I write them down as they have -lodged in my memory; probably therefore quite incorrectly.</p> - -<p>“Rash were it for the feeble mind of man to wade far into the doings of -the Almighty. For though ’tis Joy to know Him, and Pride to make mention -of His name, yet our deepest Wisdom is to know that we know Him not, and -our truest Homage is our Silence.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">August 25, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>ROM gropings along unlit ways, and towards an undiscoverable goal, what -a pleasant experience it is to turn suddenly back to the well-trodden -paths of a near and a tried companionship! It is almost an exact -parallel to the sensations of the child who, having rushed out of its -home into the wild winter night, full of hollow reverberations, and -perturbing gleams, suddenly retreats, and finds itself once more beside -the hearth, with an absolutely new sense of its security, and wide-armed -delightfulness.</p> - -<p>Upon few topics has more ink been expended than upon this one of -friendship. As regards one point all the pens have I think been agreed, -and that is that diversity constitutes its soundest basis. If a truism, -this is at least one of those truisms that every day’s experience throws -into new relief. Friendship demands absolutely no conformity, but lives, -thrives, and has its being upon the most absolutely radical differences. -Friend and friend may differ by nearly everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span> that can -differentiate one human being from another. By the tenour of their -thoughts; by the circumstances of their lives; by the very texture of -their brains, their souls, their hearts, their entire natures. -Friendship makes light of such little discrepancies as these. Its roots -push down to a stratum where even the largest of them become mere -accidents, and at that serene depth they meet and lock securely under -them all.</p> - -<p>To say that such a tie is the great ameliorator of life, the soother of -its sorrows, the encourager of its brighter moments, is to say -ridiculously little. To say that it is one that we could hardly endure -to think of existing without, is to say almost less. The very notion of -such a deprivation produces a sort of vertigo; a species of mental -confusion, akin to the thought of losing identity itself. Worse, indeed, -for it is not merely the everyday, the vulgar self, that such a -loss—supposing it to be complete—would deprive one of. It is that -other, better, and more shining self, which only really exists inside -the enchanted walls of a loving, sympathetic friendship. Within those -fostering walls it grows, expands, and flourishes, but outside of them -it sickens, pines away, and dies.</p> - -<p>It is a very singular tie, when one reflects a little upon it; so close -often that no nearness of blood, no identity of name, could, so far as -one can see, make it any closer. It seems to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span> be antecedent, not alone -to itself, but to the whole social warp and woof, of which it is an -outcome. Just as the trees in one wood seem, to anyone who wanders often -in it, to have acquired a sort of identity, so two who have walked for -some time very closely together, though they may differ as widely as an -ash does from a pine, as an oak does from a hornbeam, acquire a sort of -similarity, due to the same sunshine having warmed, the same storms -having shaken and darkened both. It is well to speak a good word now and -then of a personage whom one habitually abuses, so let it be recorded in -favour of that odd compound of good and ill which we call our existence -that, if it has thwarted our desires, dwarfed our ambitions, nipped in -our joys, chilled back our aspirations, cut down our hopes, and not -infrequently wrung our hearts, at least——it has given us our -friends!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">September 4, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>URELY people live fast in these days, even the very slowest of them! I -find myself turning back of a morning to the thoughts of the Transvaal, -and of the struggle still going on there, with the oddest sense of -renewal; as of one trying to rekindle dead fires, or to reawaken some -set of well-nigh obliterated emotions. When did it begin, this war, -which seems to have been going on throughout the greater part of one’s -lifetime? which the newspapers have again and again announced to be just -over, but with which they nevertheless manage to fill several columns -every morning? It is perhaps a mere personal impression, due to closer -anxieties, but to myself the fears and perturbations of last spring seem -often almost incredibly remote. There are moments when they appear to be -as out of date for any practical purpose as the alarms that convulsed -our grandfathers and grandmothers two generations ago. <i>E pur si muove!</i> -It is still going on, this war of ours, and seems likely moreover, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span> -do so for a considerable time longer. Botha, De Wet, Delarey, with half -a dozen more guerrilla leaders, are swarming about, active as ants, and -at least as dangerous as hornets. We have got Pretoria, but we have -emphatically <i>not</i> got our new colonies, though both, I see, are now -officially annexed. That we shall get them some day or other, and that -the last of England’s big daughters will—in the course, say of the -coming century—become as friendly and tolerant of her as are the other -two, a good many people seem to expect. Possibly. The very moderate view -she takes of the motherly function will certainly be a help in that -direction. In these days grown-up daughters are not expected fortunately -to be deferential—especially, perhaps, to their mothers.</p> - -<p>The closing scenes of a war have a tendency to awaken in some -speculative minds thoughts of war as a whole; of the entire attitude of -man as a combative being. So long as the particular struggle we have -been watching remains at the acute stage, so long especially as the -faintest doubt exists as to its final result, such a merely academic -attitude is impossible. Pride; dignity; honour; fear of what may be; -anger, perhaps, at what has been; all these rush in a tide through even -the most tepid veins, and everything else is for the time being as -though it were not. When however the struggle is nearing its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span> end; when -the trumpets are beginning to sound the recall, and the fighting, even -if it still goes on, appears on both sides to be growing somewhat -perfunctory; then thoughts of what it all means, thoughts of War in the -abstract, make themselves felt, and in place of hanging breathlessly -over the newspapers, one wonders, as one saunters to and fro the garden, -whether this same instinct of combativeness really is an integral part -of man’s nature? Whether, in other words, it is an absolutely incurable -disease, congenital to the species, or merely a sort of youthful malady, -destined, like other youthful maladies, to pass away, as a very slowly -evolving race attains nearer and nearer to its full maturity?</p> - -<p>In a year when the roll and rumble of cannon have never ceased even for -a day; when the rattle of rifle-shot has seemed like something that had -become part of every brain; when all public life has centred round a -single point, and the most reticent of races has flung its reticence -utterly to the winds; in such a year so remote and speculative a fashion -of looking at the matter strikes even the speculator himself as somewhat -thin, and cold-blooded. “What right,” he turns round, and asks himself -hotly, “what right have you, or such as you, people who, far from taking -any part in the struggle, have kept out of even the very wind and whiff -of it! Who have chartered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span> no yachts, nursed no wounded, sung no war -songs, or even—lowest of all the efforts of patriotism—so much as -composed any! Who have remained at home the whole time; tending your own -gardens, culling your own fancies, and sorrowing over your own sorrows. -What right have such as you—idlers, cumberers, that you are!—so much -as to mention the word “war” at all?</p> - -<p>“Very true,” the other self answers submissively. And yet again, he -reflects, as he looks around him, is it not, after all, just such little -plots as these that the earthquake of battle has this year shaken the -most fiercely? Is it not such gardens as these—not this one perhaps, -but others almost identical; flowery places, where the robins peck -about, and where no hostile foot has ever trod—is it not against these -that the harshest blows have been struck, where the cruellest wounds -have been received? Quick, quick, as in a dream, fancy conjures up a -vision—a procession, rather—floating along upon the soft bands of -autumn sunshine; a procession of mothers, of sisters, of betrothed ones, -of wives. As each in turn passes by memory evokes the face, or the -faces, that belong to it; then turns to linger last and longest with the -mothers. Ah, those mothers! God’s pity, above all others, rest this year -with the mothers. For whom hope can never be anything again but a -delusive word; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> whom the future can hold <i>no</i> compensations; for -whom the very things that they love the best—their gardens; the walks -they pace along; the flowers that they stoop to pick—must henceforth -seem all bestreaked and shadowed over by the red, abhorrent shadow of -the battlefield. Truly the garden is a place of peace, but it may also -be a place of the most cruel, the most undeserved war, and the bullets -that have been speeding thousands of miles away, have too often found -their last, and their deadliest targets within its circle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">September 10, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE year has more than run its complete round since these loosely -connected jottings were begun, so that it is high time that they shut -the cover down upon themselves, and withdrew into a corner. -Diary-keeping, like knitting, like whittling, like any other of the -minor distractions, begins often with more or less effort, yet after a -time becomes, first a habit, finally almost a necessity. Entered upon -without any particular motive, it creates a place for itself, it fills a -void, it becomes a solace. The practice of the diarist varies, of -course, almost infinitely. It may mean merely that conscientious daily -record, to which alone the words “journal,” “diary,” “day-book” properly -belong, or it may enlarge its scope until it covers all those looser, -and necessarily more intermittent outpourings, in which most of us from -time to time indulge, whether for our weal or our woe depends largely -upon circumstances.</p> - -<p>One merit it certainly has. Few mediums of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span> thought are equally fluid; -few admit of greater variety; more diversity of mood; more ranging from -topic to topic. Possibly the most satisfactory of all its developments -is when it enables us to follow some well-beloved pursuit, keeping pace -with its minutest ramifications, losing ourselves, as it were, in its -existence, and thereby evading half those irritating points, half those -wounding asperities that belong to every human lot. Amongst such beloved -and healing pursuits that of gardening stands prominently forward. I -have been assured that there are superior persons by whom it is held in -exceedingly low repute; who regard it as a symptom, indeed, of mental -degeneration, and, as a resource, below stamp-collecting, and about on a -par with the acquisition of the idiot stitch. Were it my lot to be -acquainted with any such superior persons there is one punishment that I -must confess I should dearly love to bestow upon them; which is that -they should first desperately need the comfort of such a solace, and -afterwards—upon due probation and penitence—that they should come to -find it! Few ideas are more bigoted, more essentially narrow and -foolish, than this one about the elevating, or the non-elevating effect -of our pursuits. It is upon a par with the equally pestilent notion that -it is the narrowness of our lives, or the obscurity of our lots, that -keeps our swelling souls<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span> from greatness. Greatness, like genius, is -dependent upon no such trumpery circumstances, but is a self-existent -quality, not to be concealed though it were hidden under all the rocks -of Mount Ararat, or had every wave in the Atlantic piled upon its head. -Let us then assert, roundly assert, that no pursuit—certainly no -natural pursuit—can with any accuracy be called petty. It is, moreover, -the great advantage of all such out-of-door pursuits that they enable -their followers to confer with Nature at first hand, and not through any -intermediary. This is recognised in the case of what are called the -higher natural pursuits, but it is equally true of all. Like many other -potentates Nature has her unpleasant, even her very dangerous aspects, -but it is one of her best points that she is no respecter of persons. -She is an autocrat, and an autocrat in whose eyes all subjects stand -upon precisely the same level. At her court there is no superior, and no -inferior. Geologist, botanist, zoologist, horticulturist—beetle-hunter, -stone-breaker, weed-picker, crab-catcher—it matters not what we call -ourselves, or what others call us, so long as it is herself alone we -follow, she receives us all alike. Within those imperial and open-doored -halls of hers all rapidly find their own level; all may speak to her on -occasion face to face; all present their own credentials, and all are -accepted by her with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span> the same serene, the same absolutely indifferent -toleration.</p> - -<p>It is not even as if her greater secrets were reserved for the wiser and -the more erudite of her followers, and were withheld from those that -were less erudite, for the same partial revelations, the same profound -concealments, seem, so far as can be ascertained, to be allotted to all -alike. The Sphinx which looks up out of the heart of a toadflax or a -columbine is the same Sphinx that speaks out of the stilly night, out of -the clouds, out of the primæval rocks, out of the stars, and out of the -inviolable sea. “And this,” she possibly murmurs, “is my lesson which I -give to you. Cease to occupy yourself wholly with the shows of the -surface, the toys of to-day; things which come and go, which pass and -end in an hour. Look a little deeper. Follow any of these brown roots -down to where the motherly earth receives them, and the dews and the -rain nourish them, and all the complicated chemistry of my workshops -have been at work from the beginning to bring them to perfection. On and -on, deeper and deeper yet, towards that vaster laboratory across whose -threshold even I have never glanced. There, in that incredible -remoteness, thou and I; the small brown worm, and the goodly oak; the -old, worn-out worlds, and the new, as yet only half-born stars; all the -gay shows of this little green earth, and all the unknown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> things of the -immeasurable Cosmos, meet, and are on a level. There is neither larger -or smaller there, neither younger or older, neither wiser or more -foolish, neither less or more important. For out of it came that by -means of which all this that we see and know has come. There, once for -all, was uttered that spell of which this huge teeming universe is but -the outcome. There Life herself was born, and it may be therefore other -powers, greater and more wide-embracing than even Life herself. But of -what that spell consists, or what the name of it is, no bird, or beast, -or man, or possibly other creature, has hitherto so much as even begun -to guess.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span></p> - -<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">September 11, 1900</span></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>O one ends. Yet, even in the very act of ending, qualms arise. Thinking -of what lies under one’s hand, no longer as a sheaf of familiar -manuscript, but as a full-blown book, printed, bound, stitched, and a’ -the lave o’ it, misgivings awake, and are lively. Only yesterday I -sounded the praises of the diary, and I do so still; yet the manifest -destiny of every diary is to live a life of absolute seclusion, and, -when it has served its turn, to feed the fire. It is true that one may -murmur something to oneself about “subjective”; “subjective forms of -literature,” but the words ring hollow, and have little validity. In a -well-known passage Carlyle has described a visit which he paid to the -Sage of Highgate, whom he found sitting in his Dodona oak -grove—otherwise Mr. Gilman’s house and garden—“as a kind of Magus, -girt in mystery and enigma.” “I still recollect,” Carlyle says, “his -‘object,’ and ‘subject,’ and how he sang and snuffled them into<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span> -‘om-m-mject’ and ‘sum-m-mject,’ with a kind of solemn shake or quaver, -as he rolled along.” The diarist need not necessarily roll along, and -has no pretensions certainly to be called a sage, yet he too is apt now -and again to murmur “sum-m-mject,” “sum-m-mjective,” with a sound that -even in his own ears rather resembles that of some bumble-bee upon a -summer’s morning; extremely self-important, that is to say, but not -particularly lucid. It is true that so far as self-importance is -concerned he stands absolutely excused, seeing that egotism is his -profession. To cease to be egotistic is to cease to be a diarist -altogether. This is as clear as it is satisfactory, but it can hardly be -said to meet the point. There is nothing odd, of course, about a man or -a woman being confidential with himself or herself; it is when they -proceed to drop their confidences into other, and less indulgent ears, -that the oddity begins.</p> - -<p>There are moreover seasons when such outpourings seem even less -appropriate than others, and this year—September to September—appears, -looking back, to be one of these. It has been a black, a despairingly -black, twelve months for thousands; how black, how despairing, few of -those thousands would have credited when it began. Amongst those -incredulous ones, though on somewhat different grounds, the diarist -might have been reckoned. Diary-keeping is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> not entirely a matter of -egotism and of introspection, of fun, and of frolic, though it may -appear to the non-diarist to be. What a nice innocent-looking book it -seems, when its spaces are all blank, and the days they refer to are not -yet born! yet such a book may come to look like a mere fragment of -malicious destiny, bound in calf or calico. Holding it in his hands the -would-be diarist turns the leaves over one by one with a smile. How will -this, and this, and this space be filled up? he wonders. What odd little -adventures will they have to record? What absurdities of his own, or of -others, to recount? What books read? what expeditions made? what trees -or shrubs planted? So he sets jauntily forth on his self-appointed task, -to be met by—- What? A thought to give the lightest pause.</p> - -<p>And yet, and yet. Let the very worst come to pass that can come to pass, -even so an attitude of mere unmitigated despair hardly befits fast -disappearing mortals, whose breath is in their nostrils. Looking -backwards may seem all gloom and pain, and looking forward no better, -possibly rather worse, and yet assuredly it is <i>not</i> all gloom, or all -pain. Enchanting things spring up by thousands in the ugliest of clefts, -and the barest of trees may serve as a perch for some winter-singing -robin. Sorrow itself, carried out into the open air, under the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span> -benignant arch of heaven, changes in some degree its character. It is -Sorrow still, but it is Sorrow with a difference. It seems to merge into -the category of other things; terrible ones, it is true, but still -natural—earthquakes, volcanoes, avalanches, pestilences, and so -forth—things that we shrink from, but that we cannot reasonably resent. -The sense of wrong, of hardship, of bitterness, of personal injustice, -seems by degrees to melt away from it, and therefore it can be better -faced. At least it is well that we should tell ourselves so.</p> - -<p class="c"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span> -<small>THE END<br /> -<br /> -PLYMOUTH<br /> - -WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON<br /> - -PRINTERS</small><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Garden Diary, by Emily Lawless - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GARDEN DIARY *** - -***** This file should be named 51477-h.htm or 51477-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/4/7/51477/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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