A GARDEN DIARY 217 
AUGUST 4, 1900 
OF the vicissitudes of this year there seem to 
be no end! After we have mourned over 
these victims of Pekin as men mourn over those 
for whom there is absolutely no hope; after we 
have enumerated their names, like the names 
upon a death-roll, and all but held a national 
funeral service in their memory; and after we 
have followed their last moments ; gloried in its 
heroism; wept over its tragedy ; starved, sighed, 
bled, almost died with them ; lo, it appeareth now 
that none of them are dead at all! Was ever 
an entire continent in the history of the world so 
mercilessly defrauded before of its tears? 
I have no notion how they may feel about it 
themselves, but my impression is that were I the 
responsible head of a daily newspaper I should 
prefer to immure myself from society for the 
next few days! There is a pile of such papers 
at this moment in my sanctum, which I have just 
been turning over, and reading a few of the head- 
lines with some little inward entertainment. Not 
