A GARDEN DIARY 199 



JUNE 2, 1900 



" I ^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 that? It is a question, and, like 



