162 A GARDEN DIARY 
being converted probably by that time into little 
electrical monsters, with ingenious arrangements 
for enabling them to become submarine ones, 
whenever the wars of that date threaten to inter- 
fere with the comfort of their owners. 
Poor baby oaks! They gave me a great 
deal of trouble to pull up, and now, with that 
inopportune remorse, sometimes ascribed to 
murderers, I am disposed to grow quite pitiful 
over them. They have been so spoilt, moreover, 
in the process, that they are not even worth 
putting into a flower-vase. Imagine having been 
potentially capable of serving as the tutelary 
deity, the beloved shade, the rendezvous of all 
the lovers of a parish for possibly half a dozen 
generations, and being found actually unfit to fill 
a bow-pot for an hour! Could poet or pessi- 
mist hit upon instance of malicious destiny more 
dramatically or tragically complete ? 
