68 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
Damons and Phyllidas of old romance and courtly fetes 
galantes. However, there is, alas ! no shadow of doubt; 
they have really eaten the sweet peas, my doves “ with 
the crow’s rebuff.” So we must even forego the fragrant 
butterfly festoons this year, and next year they shall be 
sown elsewhere. It is quite singular to note how 
invariably mischievous and baneful in the gardener’s 
sight are the favoured minions of his chatelaine. cc A 
favourite has no friend.” I think Mr. Gray never 
penned a truer line ; last year it was the Belgian hares 
who figured as the evil genii of the plot of ground in 
question; the year before, if I remember rightly, that 
bad eminence was accorded to Momotaro the pug, and 
Badoura the white Persian, whether justly or not I can¬ 
not say. But of one thing I am very certain, the 
fantails have been pilfering the young gooseberries and 
I am not going to tell of them. 
They are mowing the meadows now, and the 
whispering, sighing song of the scythe calls to me as I 
go down towards the rose-garden, questioning still: 
“ Where, oh, where ? ” it whispers, over and over again, 
melancholy sweet as some melody of Schubert’s own 
making. “ Where ? ” asks the wistful voice, while the 
tall grass falls and shadows begin to lengthen on the 
sunken lawn. I have never found the answer yet for 
all these years of asking; and I am going down into 
the rose-garden before the sun leaves it, giving place to 
twilight. But the blackbird is singing still, and it 
pleases me to think that he makes answer to the 
scythe in that golden unknown tongue which he alone 
may use. 
