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174 from the cabin on the moor several days before I recovered from my fever, and, therefore, before suspicion could have fallen upon them; and they were never heard of after.

“The Carstons, I hope, were grateful?”

Do you see where that light is burning faintly, in that window across the line there? Frank Carston’s sister is sleeping (peacefully, I should hope), in that room. She is mother of three of the finest young Britons in this big shire, and I am their father. But here comes the mail train, and it makes no long stay here: you had better look after your luggage. H.

the first glimpse, we should feel inclined to pronounce the post of head-gardener at a nobleman’s or other great country mansion, where the gardens were extensive and well-cared for, to be as delightful and healthful a situation as could fall to the lot of any man who has to work for his livelihood. In the first place, his temporal wants would be sufficiently provided for; for he would live rent free in a comfortable house, and he would have an annual income varying from two hundred to a thousand pounds. Then he would have under him a large staff of assistants who would do all the manual labour; he would purchase with his employer’s money everything that was needed for the gardens and green-houses; and all that he would have to do would be to walk about and give orders, and pass his time amid the loveliest flowers and most luscious fruits. On the first glimpse, therefore, such an occupation (more especially during the pleasant days of summer) would seem to offer unalloyed happiness and all that the heart could desire.

For, certainly, no more innocent recreation could be found than occupation in a garden, where we can look through Nature up to Nature’s God, and in the bright flowers see His glorious revelation written over the whole world.

“My God, my garden, and my grave is now all that I have to live for!” was once said by a pious Churchman who had spent a toilsome life and was ready to depart, with Simeon’s prayer upon his lips. In the quiet of his garden there was much to attune his heart to the great change through which he must soon pass; there was much to remind him of that which was written two hundred years ago by Milton’s friend, Andrew Marvell, when he thus addressed his garden,

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,

And Innocence, thy sister dear?

Mistaken long, I sought you then

In busy companies of men.

Your sacred plants, if here below,

Only among the plants will grow.

Society is all but rude

To this delicious solitude.

In his garden he would be surrounded by “floral apostles” (as Horace Smith called them) who could silently preach to him many lessons of truest wisdom; for, in the words of Allan Cunningham,

There is a lesson in each flower,

A story in each stream and bower;

In every herb on which you tread,

Are written words, which, rightly read,

Will lead you from earth’s fragrant sod,

To hope, and holiness, and God.

Indeed, the occupation that is to be found in a garden brings not only health to the body but to the mind also; and where, from the nature of the case, it is impossible to have even the smallest garden space close to one’s own doors, we should encourage the establishment of allotment grounds—those sworn foes to the public-house and gin-shop—where the working-man can profitably and healthfully employ his spare time, benefit himself and family, and be the head-gardener of the household. So salutary is the effect that a garden may produce on the morals, that, in the Eastern suburbs of London, a professional horticulturist has long since adopted the benevolent and praiseworthy scheme of giving employment in his gardens to those young thieves who wish to leave off their sinful course of life and take to honest labour—labour which no one feels disposed to give them, and the lack of which, therefore, throws them back into their old evil ways. This humane person comes to the rescue of these outcasts, and sets them to work in his gardens, where there is no sedentary occupation in a close and stifling atmosphere to repel them at the outset of their undertaking, but where there is plenty of fresh air, labour enough to procure an appetite for meals, sufficient society to be pleasant without being pernicious (for, there are wise rules on this point, to prevent the boys from herding and plotting together and keeping up the contaminations from which they have been rescued) and sufficient freedom to make them feel otherwise than prisoners. After a time of probation satisfactorily passed, they are entrusted upon errands, and sent to pay and receive bills; and there is scarcely an instance in which the trust reposed in them has been found to be misplaced; but, in the majority of cases, the judicious treatment and the gentle delights of the garden have completely humanised the little outcasts, and have fully reclaimed them from those “guilt gardens” in which their early years were passed. And who would not applaud their head-gardener for his truly valuable and Christian work!

But such a head-gardener as this is one of a thousand; although, certainly, every gardener has to deal with little thieves, and two-legged ones too; but they come chiefly in a feathered shape, and claim toll of fruit rather than flowers. With such thieves as these does the head-gardener wage war, coming out to battle, even as the Chinese do, with hideous “mawkins,” and other devices, wherewith to terrify and scare them from his enclosures; and, if these plans do not avail, he is compelled to deal with his enemies in a more summary manner. But, I began by speaking of the situation of a head-gardener at some mansion, hall, or castle, where there are what are commonly called “show gardens.”

Now, suppose yourself to be in the company of such a head-gardener, who is showing you over the spacious grounds entrusted to his care. Throughout the country there are many such gardens belonging to the nobility and landed