126 A GARDEN DIARY 
terraces sloping slowly to the waves, that moan 
and mutter eternally around their bases. To 
represent the Burren—even the Burren plants 
—by three or four tiers of stones, which are not 
even limestones, might well seem even to oneself 
the very acme of absurdity. I refuse however 
to be ashamed of it, and if my Dryas octopetala 
and my Helianthemum canum, my Potentilla 
fruticosa, and my Cystopteris fragilis would but 
accept such hospitality as I can offer them; 
would but pretend that fragments of lime rubbish 
are slabs of limestone, I should be content, and 
ask no more of them. 
Some are kindly enough, but others are hope- 
lessly supercilious, and I am at my wits’ end 
how to cater for them. If distinguished visi- 
tors would only condescend to mention their 
wants plainly, how gladly, I have often thought, 
would one hasten to satisfy them. When they 
merely look disgusted, and, after sulking hope- 
lessly for some months, die upon one’s hands, 
what is an unfortunate host or hostess to do? 
Here is Helianthemum canum, for instance, 
which for the last nine months I have been 
keeping from dying, as it were by main force. 
Up to now I have in a measure succeeded, and 
have even occasionally flattered myself that it 
was beginning to resign itself. I know perfectly 
well however that it has in reality made up its 
mind upon the subject, and that one of these 
