n6 A GARDEN DIARY 



MARCH i, 1900 



OURELY we need no satirist to point out the 

 *-J 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 hurry- 

 ing 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 



