A GARDEN DIARY 
SEPTEMBER I, 1899 
ns 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 
B 
