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nursed with my own hands, in a sly corner of the garden. You have never yet been to see them.

''Balt. (eagerly)'' Ay, even there too.

Mrs. B. What do you mean?

''Balt. (peevishly.)'' Go to! you have heard, as well as I, of the ridiculous expence he has been at in seeds, and rare plant's, and flower-roots, and nonsense; and of the learned botanist he is to pay so liberally for publishing a catalogue of them for the use of the scientific world—All that abominable ostentation. Ha, ha, ha! He does not know a nettle from a crow-foot on his native fields. Ha, ha, ha, ha!—You don't laugh, I think?

Mrs. B. We were to talk, you know, of indifferent things. But I have forgot to tell you of what really is not indifferent: I had a letter from my sister this morning, and, she says, your little godson is quite recovered from the remains of his illness. (pauses for an answer.)

''Balt. (nodding his head but not attending to her.)'' Umph.

Mrs. B. (coaxingly.) She says he has become so chattering, and so playful, it is delightful to see him! And he talks of his godfather very often!

''Balt. (nodding again.)'' Umph.

Mrs. B. He was always a great favourite of your's.

''Balt. (breaking out vehemently.)'' If any man but himself had been guilty ot half that ridiculous vanity, the dullest fool in the county would have laughed at him.