100 THE GARDENER. [March 



THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GARDENER; 



OR, LESSONS FOR THE YOUNG PROFESSIONAL. 

 APPRENTICE-LIFE. 



I AM quite sensible of the risk I am running in attempting to depict 

 what may be termed a one-sided view of former gardening-life — appren- 

 ticeship. But let me here say that I do not for a moment doubt that 

 equally graphic pictures from real life could be sketched of an opposite 

 state of things even at the same period to which I allude. Let me 

 also add, that the lessons I have adduced, and shall hope further to 

 multiply, may be ridiculed as tame, their logical sequence by no means 

 clear, and the propriety of their insertion here even doubtful. Still, 

 let me remark that I have found the practical application of the 

 principles by no means useless in my dealings with those whom at 

 different periods I have had under my charge. 



Again, I may be accused of being prosy. No excuse for myself will 

 I here plead, for a life spent amidst the beauties of nature should be a 

 poetically-inspiring one. But, alas ! drones v/ill be drones. I must 

 not, however, further for the present digress. 



I shall, for convenience' sake, arrange the present chapter, sermon- 

 like, under the following heads (whether I shall strictly adhere to my 

 divisional arrangement I will not venture positively to assert, knowing 

 too well how volatile my mental efforts are). But now for the ortho- 

 dox way of crudely expressing my thoughts. Firstly, my auto- 

 biography ; secondly, my practical progress ; thirdly, my supplement- 

 ary modes of mental improvement. To be quite consistent, I think I 

 should add, fourthly, lessons to be learnt ; and, fifthly and finally, 

 application. This arrangement must be certainly unexceptionable. 

 Would that the rendering of the details could be as hopefully regarded ! 

 My motto seems to be Festina Jente. 



But now to plunge at length in media res. I have a vivid recollection 

 of my first "job." I was to make some thousands of cuttings of the 

 common Laurel. My master provided me with a brand-new knife (I 

 know not whether it was a Saynor's or not, for at the moment I do 

 not remember whether that now celebrated firm was then in existence). 

 One thing I am conscious of, that, unfledged chicken as I was, just 

 emerged as it were from my mother's lap, I thought it was a hardship 

 to be required to make these future trees in the open air, exposed to 

 wintry winds and rain, when I might just as well have had them under 

 cover. But I did not rebel — I did not complain — I did not murmur : 

 how vain would it have been ! Subsequently, how much greater 

 cause for doing so ! 



My fingers seem now benumbed, and the cold east wind penetrates, 



