THE SIX OF SPADES. 77 



the memory of one Puritan at all events from silly 

 prejudices on the subject. I mean that quaint, 

 touching old ditty which George Wither sang, and 

 which Frank here" (his son-in-law, Chiswick) "will 

 sing for you, if you wish." 



Whereupon was rapping of the table, and a pre- 

 liminary sipping of gin-and-water, and a rearrange- 

 ment of limbs into the most easy posture for listening ; 

 and then Mr. Chiswick, with a voice very pliable and 

 mellow, sang to us the impressive words and appro- 

 priate music of the well-known ballad, " This Indian 

 Weed," &c. 



And now, my brothers, do I feel glad at heart that 

 I am writing for those who love a garden. I picture 

 to myself some young Mr. Gallic Noodle, sightless 

 and noseless so far as flowers are concerned, yawning 

 over "The Six of Spades," and saying, "Whart a 

 delightful convocation of snorbs ! Parson smoking 

 clay pipes with groom, and dram-drinking with the 

 rest of the company, while melodious gent, who has 

 been digging all day, and has come in, I daresay, all 

 over worms, is halloaing Bacchanalian songs." Let 

 him sneer, as he tosses the volume down, and goes off 

 with his cigar to the stables, for I am perfectly 

 unconcerned and happy happy in my earnest hope 

 that they whose sympathies alone I crave, will recog- 

 nize in our little assemblies that brotherly goodwill 

 and amity, whereof themselves know from experience 

 the excellent power and sweetness, and whereby the 

 true lovers of a garden are united in a friendship as 

 steadfast as it is pure, and as universal as Divine 

 Beauty itself. 



