THE 



GARDENER. 



MAY 1869. 



THE ROSE. 



CHAPTER X. GARDEN ROSES. 



{Continued from page 152.) 



N after the publication of my last chapter, I received 

 from a furio-comic amateur the following epistle : — 



Sir, — I wish to be informed what the Two in Whist you mean by 

 leaving me on the 1st of April, ulL, in a ridiculous costume and a crowded ante- 

 room, quietly proposing to keep me there for a month. My legs, sir, cannot be 

 included among " varieties suitable for exhibition." They have, on the contrary, 

 been described too truly by a sarcastic street-boy as " bad uns to stop a pig in a 

 gate," and you might at least have clothed them in the black velvet trousers 

 recently and reasonably introduced. Moreover, I hate anterooms. They remind 

 me of disagreeable epochs — of waiting in custom-houses for luggage, which was 

 not, perhaps, quite what moral luggage should be ; of dreary dining-rooms belong- 

 ing to dentists, where, surveying with nervous rapidity the photographic album, 

 and wondering ove : the portrait of Mrs Dentist how that pretty face could have 

 wed with forceps, lancet, and file, I have heard kicks and groans from the 

 *^ drawing-room above," " oh-ohs " from the chair which I was about to fill. 

 They recall to memory rooms scholastic, in which I listened for the approach of 

 lictor and fasces, and from which, though mounted and with my back turned to 

 the enemy, I had no power to flee. They bring to recollection rooms collegiate, 

 sombre, walled with books, where with other rebels I have waited to see that 

 proctor, who hardly knew in the meek, respectful, gown-clad undergraduate of 

 the morn the hilarious Jehu he met yester-eve in a tandem and a scarlet coat. 

 Again, sir, I repeat that I hate anterooms, I hate waiting, I hate crowds, I hate 

 black silk stockings, and I am yours irascibly, 



BosE Rampant. 



I hasten at once, with many apologies, to the pacification and relief 

 of my disciple ; and seeing that he is much too hot and ruffled — I don't 



o 



