12 WOOD AND GARDEN 



another was an old Black Hamburg vine, that rambled 

 and clambered in and out of some very old green- 

 houses, and was wonderfully productive. There were 

 alleys of nuts in all directions, and large spreading 

 patches of palest yellow Daffodils — the double Nar- 

 cissm cernuus, now so scarce and difficult to grow. Had 

 I then known how precious a thing was there in fair 

 abundance, I should not have been contented with the 

 modest dozen that I asked for. It was a most plea- 

 sant garden to wander in, especially with the old Mr. 

 Webb who presently appeared. He was dressed in 

 black clothes of an old-looking cut — a Quaker, I believe. 

 Never shall I forget an apple-tart he invited me to try 

 as a proof of the merit of the " Wellington " apple. It 

 was not only good, but beautiful; the cooked apple 

 looking rosy and transparent, and most inviting. He 

 told me he was an ardent preacher of total abstinence, 

 and took me to a grassy, shady place among the nuts, 

 where there was an upright stone slab, like a tomb- 

 stone, with the inscription : 



TO ALCOHOL. 



He had dug a grave, and poured into it a quantity of 

 wine and beer and spirits, and placed the stone as a 

 memorial of his abhorrence of drink. The whole thing 

 remains in my mind like a picture — the shady groves 

 of old nuts, in tenderest early leaf, the pale Daffodils, 

 the mighty chained mastiffs with bloodshot eyes and 

 murderous fangs, the brawny, wholesome forewoman. 



