A GARDEN DIARY 75 



them is absolutely invisible, but then so he pro- 

 bably would be in any case. Evening has more- 

 over 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 im- 

 pression 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 feel- 

 ing at home in the midst of you! 



