A GARDEN DIARY 103 
to say, amounts to an agony. One feels it in 
one’s very bones. Fear of what its fate may 
be is the last thought at night, and one awakens 
to remember it with a sensation of despair which 
would be ridiculous were it not so real. 
For the odd part of it is that not a single 
creature near and dear to me is shut up within 
those walls. My interest in it is therefore a 
purely external one, the interest of a citizen, 
nothing more. If we—myself, and others in 
the like case—feel it thus acutely, how must the 
situation stand to-day, to-morrow, all these piti- 
less, interminable days, to some ? 
