A sentimentalist sleeps in nearly everyone, whether he is aware of the
fact or not; just as we are all potential poets or lovers, though some
of us undoubtedly under rather a deep disguise. My particular vein of
sentiment has lately taken the form of linking together sundry small
spots here with others far away, upon the other side of St. George’s
boisterous channel. Thus I have a Burren corner, a West Galway corner, a
Kerry corner, a Kildare corner, even a green memento or two of the great
lost forest of Ossory, of which only a few shadowy remnants survive to a
remote, but happily not an indifferent generation.
That pleasure is to be found in such childishness might at first sight
seem incredible. Since it is so, there is no use, however, in refusing
to recognise it oneself. Take the Burren, for instance. Burren the wild,
the remote, the austere, the solitary; to the few who know it a region
absolutely unique, with its cyclopean 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 hopelessly supercilious, and I am
at my wits’ end how to cater for them. If distinguished visitors 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 hopelessly 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
mornings I shall hurry out to my “Burren” corner, only to find
Helianthemum canum looking black but satisfied, having just succeeded in
dying triumphantly on my hands!