February 13. 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
379 
Should consist of road-scrapings and animal or vegetable 
refuse mixed with light loam. 
3rd. The most suitable time for planting all kinds of 
trees, evergreen and deciduous, is between the middle of 
October and the middle of November. But where the 
ground is damp, and the roots of the trees almost always 
in water, the planting should be deferred till the month of 
March, or such time as the trees begin to break their leaf- 
buds. 
Shortly before the rising of the sap in the spring, the soil 
should be drawn from the trunk of the tree all round, so as 
to form a gentle ridge, to collect the rain and allow the sun 
to act upon the roots near the surface. 
This practice of forming a shallow basin at the bottom of 
each tree is attended with the very best results, as the young 
Elms in the Garden of the Palais Royal sufficiently prove. 
We have frequently had occasion to show that the trees 
planted in Paris—in that Paris where science has her 
throne—were too often treated in ignorance of the first 
principles of arboriculture. The unfavourable results which 
have been obtained have only served to increase unneces¬ 
sary expense. 
If Mr. McGlashen could contrive a machine suited to 
remove the errors which we have long pointed out, in vain, to 
the attention of the authorities, he would be entitled to the 
thanks of every arboriculturist, not only in Scotland and 
France, but throughout all Europe. 
During the present severe weather the question of shelter 
takes precedence of most others in horticultural matters, 
and M. Thomas’s mention of the garden of the Palais- 
Royal, leads me to notice a neat and effective mode of 
protecting the roots of trees in tubs and boxes, which I have 
seen adopted there. It consists simply of surrounding the 
tub with wheat straw to the thickness of several inches; 
the straw is, of course, placed perpendicularly, but so neatly 
is it attached to the wood, by means of string and nails, as 
to be scarcely observable. Where, as in most cases, the 
boxes are raised on pegs, or feet, a few inches from the 
ground, a quantity of straw is placed underneath, and the 
covering at the sides is continued to the ground. This 
practice is adopted with hardy evergreens and other young 
trees of an ornamental character, which do not usually re¬ 
quire protection when grown in the open ground ; but, 
however hardy trees may bo in the ground, it is always a 
wise precaution to afford the roots some shelter when placed 
in boxes or tubs. 
For the last fortnight we have had winter in earnest, and 
the ground has been covered with ice and snow, the latter 
attaining the depth of nearly eight inches within Paris. 
The temperature during that time has ranged between six 
and eleven’ degrees below zero (Centegrade) ; that is, 1 
think, between twelve and twenty-one of Farenheit 
In many of the more southern Departments, according 
to accounts, more snow has fallen this last fortnight than 
had fallen for ten years before ; and eventhose Departments 
where snow is seldom or never seen, have been visited this 
winter. This occurrence has led all the “oldest inhabi¬ 
tants" to prognosticate a fine summer, and an abundant 
harvest. 
At present all articles of consumption are excessively 
dear, and nothing is heard but a general murmur. Veget¬ 
ables, which in Paris are always the sure stay of the poor, 
are now nearly quite out of their reach. 
Since the foregoing was written, the wind has changed, 
and we have had a supply of rain. The snow and ice are 
rapidly disappearing, and the glass continues to mount.— 
P. F. Keir. 
THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 
(Continued from page 320.) 
By the Authoress of “My Flowers." 
After the death of Lady B-, the vials of affliction 
began to be poured out upon the head of Sir Charles very 
quickly. The commingled history of his daughter and 
himself was one of the most melancholy that could be 
imagined. No romance could exceed hers, if romance were 
made up of sin and wickedness. Poor thing! her parentage 
and education were disastrous; yet still her own punishment 
was severe, and she lived to be the instrument of torture to 
her father! Oh, let parents and children deeply ponder their 
ways! If not for the Lord's sakp, yet for their own, let 
them seriously consider! Terrible are the strokes dealt by 
the. hands of those we have armed against ourselves—of 
those we have led wrong and injured! and terrible must it 
be for those who have dealt the blow, to look upon the ruin 
they have caused, and feel that they have been their own 
avengers! 
Sir Charles remained some time among his friends in 
G- after his lady’s decease. He could not tell what to 
do with Matilda, now growing up into a handsome, showy, 
dauntless young woman. He was unfit to take charge of 
her himself; she was too old to be placed at school, and 
much too independent for people in general to undertake 
and manage. At last, one family of intimate friends, who 
settled at It-, offered to receive, her as a resident among 
them. They were sorry for her unprotected position, and 
were under much personal obligation to Sir Charles. Their 
circumstances were not easy—they necessarily lived in great 
seclusion ; they could give her no advantages of society, nor 
introductions to beneficial acquaintances; but they would, 
at any rate, give her a home, and do all they could for her. 
A very short residence in Sir John D -’s family dis¬ 
played her character as of the worst kind. Deception, 
lightness of conduct, daring effrontery, and total want of 
principle, developed themselves so fully, that it was im¬ 
possible long to retain her as an inmate, and her unhappy 
father was written to to come and remove her. Matilda’s 
power over him was unbounded. He took her away, but 
unconvinced of her depravity, or too unsusceptible of vice to 
perceive it. A heart and mind crooked and callous do not 
notice the evil dispositions of others, or pass them by lightly 
or unconcernedly, until the iron enters their own souls. 
Their moral perceptions are blunt and dim, and till their 
own feelings are wounded, they do not see or perceive. 
Sir Charles applied to a connection of his late wife to 
undertake the charge of his daughter, which was assented 
to ; but the same results followed. Mrs. S- could do 
nothing with her; she was unmanageable and incorrigible, 
and her father was again sent for. He had been living in 
Paris, but came over to receive his child once more under 
his own wing. He now placed her as parlour-boarder under 
the care of some ladies, in a country town, where she re¬ 
mained for a time; but at length invited herself to the 
house of her father’s old friend, Sir John -, where she 
was kindly received, and in a short time sent on to join her 
father in London. A few weeks after this, it was discovered 
that she was located at the inn at N -, near the residence 
of her friends, running up a long bill at a dressmakers, and 
amusing herself very unconcernedly, without acquainting 
her father or her friends of her situation. Upon this, Sir 
Charles determined to take charge of her himself; and he 
took her to reside with him in Paris. Dangerous as every 
place must be to a young woman of Matilda’s stamp, France 
and Paris were the most hazardous. In such an atmosphere, 
and with such a parent, one like her was sure to come to 
a fearful end; and now, for the first time, she drove an 
arrow into Sir Charles’s heart. She eloped with the husband 
of another woman, and fled with him to Spain. 
A veil must he drawn over poor Sir Charles’s state of 
mind, when this idolized, highly-esteemed daughter left him 
on such a mission. Language fails to pourtray all that 
arose and strove in the dark mind of a “ free thinker” when 
such a blow fell. He was in Paris—alone—childless—for¬ 
saken. 
Matilda and her equally-depraved companion returned 
after a time. She had left. Paris in man’s attire; she re¬ 
turned to it in rags, and barefooted. They then proceeded to 
London, where she continued until deserted and penniless ; 
when it seemed as if her Heavenly Father had pity yet in 
His loving heart for the poor, neglected offspring of such 
erring parents. She met, one day, in the street, a young 
man, with whom she had formed an acquaintance in bygone 
days. He was inferior to her in birth, but was respectable 
and wealthy. He was a coach proprietor, and in the days 
of “ the road ’’ drove his own coach. In Matilda’s flying 
and daring excursions she had made his acquaintance, and, 
I believe, he liked her then. Certain it is, that he now offered 
