206 A GARDEN DIARY 
enduring so long as one knew—knew as a matter 
of absolute certainty—that they would be now 
and again pierced by gleams of such celestial 
potency? The hard thing, and the thing that 
for all mortals will always be hardest to bear 
patiently, is—not the uncertainty even—so much 
as the desperate transitoriness of such visita- 
tions. Almost before we have time to see and 
to confer with them, our enchanting visitors 
have spread out their gauzy wings, and have 
vanished beyond recall. They are gone, but 
where they are gone to, or when they will next 
revisit us we have not the faintest notion. Ariel 
and Titania have disappeared into the abyss, but 
Caliban and Bottom on the contrary remain per- 
manently behind, and are continually at our 
elbows. At this very moment, and while I am 
still thinking about it, the light is shifting rapidly. 
The day has grown older; more crowded. A 
thousand bloated nothings have sprung up like 
so many fungi in the path. Shadows, slight, 
but impenetrable, have gathered over the fore- 
ground. My own mood too has shifted, and 
what a while ago seemed so clear has grown 
fainter and fainter, and seems to be upon the 
point of disappearing altogether. The good 
little hour has passed! 
