A CHAPTER OF DISASTERS 



for instance, the annual Gypsophila will bury the unsightly 

 decay of the Iris leaves, or how you can pull branches of 

 " Miss Mellish " down over the Delphiniums. 

 Why do not our Delphiniums bloom twice ? Every garden 

 book and every catalogue cheers your heart by promising 

 a handsome second bloom to the industrious clipper-off of 

 seed-pods. But never a Delphinium has responded to our 

 kind attentions in that direction. Perhaps our soil does 

 not give them strength enough for such exertion. But it is 

 idle speculating. One must learn what one's garden will 

 do and what it won't do and make the best of it. 



The greatest of all the tragedies that have befallen us 



lately is indubitably the passing away of poor old Tom. 



We are now catless ! 



Poor little friend ! Where has that quaint, faithful, dutiful 



identity gone to? Juvenal says Heaven would not be 



Heaven to him if he were not to meet his own dogs there 



a sentiment which we have, we believe, ourselves set 



down elsewhere. St. Francis the Poverello saw God in 



all His lesser creatures. It is not possible to think that 



we shall lose anything in a completer world. 



Tom was the most conscientious of cats. He now lies 



beside Susan. We are going to get two little tombstones 



made for us by the Watts Settlement at Compton. Susan's 



epitaph has already been mentioned. Nothing more to 



the point could be imagined : 



" Here lies Susan, a good dog." " Here lies Thomas, for 



eighteen years our faithful cat-comrade." 



So shall it stand recorded over the new grave. 



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