THE SIX OF SPADES. 4? 



CHAPTEE III. 



MR. EVANS. 



SITTING nest to Mr. Chiswick, whose dark-brown 

 locks contrast with Mr. Oldacre's silvery hair, like 

 Perilla nankinensis with Cineraria maritima, my 

 gardener puffs his pipe. Silent and thoughtful, as 

 one who is wise at whist, he knows every trick in 

 spades, and holds winning cards in his hand. We 

 have scored the honours, have we not, old friend ? 

 in many a floricultural rubber, and proved our capa- 

 bilities (dare I say our silver cup-abilities ?) on many 

 a board of green cloth. Trained in no ducal gardens, 

 taught in no colleges of science, you have learned 

 your lesson, slowly but surely, from the greatest 

 teacher of your art, Experience, bringing to her 

 school that love which she delights to instruct, and 

 which alone can master her laborious tasks. There 

 was never, assuredly, a good gardener yet, who was 

 not first of all a gardener at heart. 



My earliest associations with horticulture, recalled 

 as I look upon that old familiar face, were not of .a 

 jubilant kind. I have to confess that, at the pre- 

 mature age of five, I gave lamentable proof of my 

 descent from Eve by strong yearnings after forbidden 

 fruit ; and that at six I was an experienced felon 

 no, not a felon, for his crimes meet with capital 

 punishment, and mine were avenged elsewhere but, 

 at all events, an artful thief. Neither so expert nor 

 so shrewd, however, as to c:cape discovery and a just 



