CHAPTER VIII 



\ LTHOUGH, as I mentioned before, I main- 

 jt~\. tain that gardening is in everyone's system, 

 the love of it was not forthcoming in my own in 

 my young days. We had always a large, rambling 

 place, which was made more rambling by indifferent 

 hands, for my mother preferred to give employ- 

 ment to men out of work in the village rather 

 than keep a regular gardener; and I may safely 

 say that the garden, in consequence, never looked 

 spick and span quite the contrary. But during 

 my five years of incarceration in town our usual 

 walk was up and down the Botanical Gardens ; 

 and as my good aunt was very fond of flowers, and 

 knew the names of very many, she always imparted 

 her knowledge of them to me, greatly relieving 

 the up and down walk, which we performed with 

 the regularity of sentry-go. Greenhouses were 

 connected with these gardens, with plants for sale, 

 so we not infrequently each bore home a pot- 

 plant for her small drawing-room. The residue 

 of them we used to brighten up her very tiny 

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