vigorous plants may be maintained. Rotted turves, good loam enriched with old welldecomposed stable manure, and a little sand, makes the best soil for growing these delicious flowers, which will thrive wherever there is a free current of air.

Few plants are more ornamental during the winter-months than the pretty Primula sinensis. If the seed is now sown it will prove as successful as if planted in the spring; but the first heads of flowers must be pinched out, in order to strengthen the plant for April blossoming. As a rule, I would not advise the saving of seeds; the plants in this condition become unsightly, especially in a small garden, and, unless in the case of some peculiarly fine specimen, it is best to purchase fresh seed from year to year. It sometimes happens, however, that, from a number of stocks, one turns out a particularly good one; when this occurs reserve three or four perfectly-formed pods on the centre stem, with the hope of obtaining a supply of double ones.

In looking at the gardens around me, I am led to observe the little variety in their contents: a catalogue of one would answer for the whole. There is no attempt to introduce any but the well-known old favourites in the shape of perennials and biennials, and a wonderful timidity on the score of annuals, beautiful and numerous as are their varieties. Sweet-pea, mignonette, candytuft, and Virginian stock, appear to be the general favourites, with here and there a patch of nemophila. Now, beside the hardy Eschscholtzia, with its curious extinguisher-shaped calyx, which it throws off at the top of the flower, as its burnished gold-hued chalice opens, there are Clarkias, Gilias, Eutoca, Collinsias, and others,

cheap, easy of culture, and extremely effective, few of which are seen where a gardener is not in attendance. Even the exquisitely-perfumed yellow lupin, the showy malope, the pretty coreopsis, and a host of others, equally beautiful and well-known, are seldom or ever met with, and the list of perennials and biennials is of the smallest. Few things are more beautiful than the salvias, all of which, except S. coccinea and S. mexicana, will stand out during the winter and take no harm, if the root be covered with litter or even ashes. Potentilla is another plant, the variety and beauty of which should find its way into every garden; and who that had once enjoyed the elegant appearance and vivid hues of the various kinds of phlox would ever after be without some of the charming tribe? Another family of plants, extremely interesting, beautiful, and easy of culture-now nearly or entirely confined to conservatories, and the window garden, but which would equally adorn a sunny border-is the large one of the mesembryanthemums. True, they will not bear frost; but they may be turned out into the warm spots proper for them in April, and have the surface pretty thickly covered with stones at night, or during heavy rain and cold winds they require sheltering; after which, throughout the summer and autumn months, they will keep up a succession of their splendid blossoms, and well repay their introduction to our garden.

Lobelias, again, are not cultivated to the extent they deserve; but it is pleasant to see how popular the calceolaria, the scarlet Tom Thumb (Pelargonium), and verbenas are becoming, in the decoration of the well-kept front-border or fore-court. If not already done, these plants, and many others adapted for this purpose, should be bedded out without delay.

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POETRY received and accepted with thanks: "The Spirit of Solomon."

Declined, with thanks: "The Comet." Our esteemed correspondent will perceive that we have substituted one of his compositions more suited to our pages.

"The Song of the Sister Sylphs :" This subject is not to our taste; and although the writer heads the effusion "original poetry," we are sorry not to find in it a single new idea. "The Moslem Blessing and Curse" is, we regret, unsuited for our journal.

MILL. We hope to use the contribution, and sincerely regret that it is not possible to accept the "pencil sketches:" they would inflict a loss of time upon the printers which it would be unreasonable to require of them.

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Books.-" Orange Blossoms" received too late for notice this month; it shall be attended to next.

CHAP. III.

"As pale wild roses dream of redness, Dreams her innocent heart of love." W. ALLINGHAM.

"A month! Can it be no more since last I wrote? If every month could be like this!". And old Mrs. Mainwaring and Aunt Julia agree, that the summers are not what they remember them. What would they have more? Fresh joyous mornings, bright glowing noontides, dreamy afternoons of delicious languor, glorious golden sunsets, long whispering twilights! Such a summer I have never known. Have you, Susy? But no, that question must not be thus addressed. Looking over my note-book, I see that I have made it most impertinently egotistical and fatiguingly minute. No, Miss Susy, if you ever see any of these chronicles it must be an abridged edition, revised and corrected. Still, it is pleasant work, recalling pleasant days: I will go on with it.

One bright breezy morning I ran down to the Gate-house (I have grown very intimate with the Hamiltons) to show them Sophy Cartwright's note of invitation, and ask if they had received one. Sophy is now at her father's country parish, where their summer months are spent. I heard a gentleman's voice within, as I stopped at the head of the staircase-I am accustomed now to enter without ringing-and I stood hesitating for a moment, till I perceived it was not the voice I at first had fancied; and, on entering, I found only Mr. Hanmer, with the two sisters. Agnes was looking flushed and excited, but Mary pale and calm as ever. I told, in a few words, the object of my visit, and urged Mary to accompany us.

"It is just what Mary likes," said Agnes, eagerly. "A long day in the country-a school féte-a social réunion." Her large eyes expanded and fixed themselves meaningly on her sister's.

"But I cannot leave you, Agnes," pleaded Mary, in a low voice.

"I shall have Charles," said Agnes, with a movement of her hand, as if she were throwing aside some light weight. Mary only shook her head.

"It is only for once," said Mr. Hanmer, just lifting his eyes to hers.

"Charles would like it as well as I should," she answered. "And he earns his pleasures, I do not."

"Not, Mary!" said Agnes, with something reproachful in her accents.

"Well," said Mary, feigning a laugh, "he works, at least, Agnes."

"And you suffer, Mary," said she.

Mary's cheek suffused deeply at these words, and, rising hastily, she stood by her sister's side, holding her soft white hand in one of hers, "That is woman's lot," she said.

I thought Mr. Hanmer suppressed a little sigh. What business was it of his, I wondered. And then, in his quiet cold tone, he said, "I think it is a mere matter of duty for all of us, now and then, however disagreeable it may be to our feelings, to enter into the amusements, and so throw ourselves into the interests of others., Surely we are called upon to rejoice with those who do rejoice, as well as to weep with those who weep."

Mary still stood with her head averted, and her hand clasped in her sister's; and Agnes' face lighted up with a smile that was perfectly bewitching. How lovely she must have been

"You have conquered, Mr. Hanmer," she said. "You have appealed to duty, and that is an appeal that Mary never resists."

"You have conquered, Agnes, murmured Mary, "conquered as you always do."

She cast away her hand hastily, and, turning her head aside, I heard her muttering to herself, "Not always-not always." But Mr. Hanmer and Mary were so busy settling the hour of leaving for Cruxton and the mode of arriving there, that I think her words were unobserved by them. I helped them out. I had come expressly to ask Mary to accompany Aunt Julia and me, and she seemed glad to ac

F

cept the offer. After Mr. Hanmer left I did not linger long, only I remarked on a beautiful bouquet which Mary began arranging whilst I was with them.

"He brought them here," said Agnes. "Who?" I asked, "Mr. Everard?" Agnes glanced at me with the utmost arch

ness.

"No," she said, "this time, Mr. Hanmer." Mary, with a quick movement, drew down all the flowers she had placed in the vase.

"Oh! what a pity," cried Agnes. "I was admiring them, Mary.”

"They are soon replaced," she replied, as composedly as ever.

"As all things are," thought I, as I took leave. And yet, is it possible Mr. Hanmer can ever take the place of Walter Everard in Mary's heart? I am sure he had a place there once. I am sure they were once very dear to one another. Change, doubt, estrangement, have passed between them.

"But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Can wholly do away, I ween,

The trace of that which once hath been."

I have speculated much on this, and I have had reason to speculate still more. We dined at Dr. Burrow's next day. A grand party. The Dean was there and Mrs. Neville and their daughters, and a very magnificent son, who belongs to a regiment of hussars, that is quartered in the neighbourhood. I felt I had no business in such exalted company. Only Mrs. Neville is always kind, and so simple in her manner, that I never mind her. Her daughters are very different. I can't think what Mr. Everard can find so delightful in them, that he should allow them to monopolize him as they do. They did not have it all their own way this evening. I chanced to find myself by him. "Are you going to Miss Cartwright's school fete, Mr. Everard?" I asked.

"No, indeed," he answered. "I think a school fete the most entire simulacrum."

"What is that?" I asked, innocently. "Well, in the vulgar tongue, sham. Is it to see the children eat plum buns and hear them sing hymns you are going to Cruxton next

week?"

for my veracity. He also joined in persuading her to accept the invitation."

Now, why did I say this? I don't think I wished to vex Mr. Everard; and yet I am afraid this was the result of my words. He looked quite cross. Strange to say, crossness sits very well on his features.

"In him it hides a killing grace."

Ah, well! He asked in aggrieved accents, "Did she need much persuasion? Had Mr. Hanmer to expend a great deal of eloquence?"

"No," I answered. He prevailed with a few words." He said, "It was her duty to go there."

"He knew how to hit the mark, at any rate," he said. "By the way, Miss Pryor, you are not yet enrolled in our Archery Club."

It was so sudden a transition I could scarcely keep up with it; but I was compelled to follow. The next minute I found Miss Neville, who wins all the prizes at all the archery meetings, joining in the conversation; and before the end of the evening it was settled that my name was to be entered in the Archery Club, of which I felt sure I should be anything but a distinguished member.

I did not see Glaucus so often at the Gate

house after this; but, on the other hand, one rarely meets Mr. Hamilton anywhere without Mr. Everard.

The day of Sophy's school féte arrived, fair as heart could wish. But I was so intent in watching others that I believe I lost half the enjoyment that was to be found in it. Mary Hamilton accompanied us, with an expression of troubled joy (is that intelligible?) on her smooth brow, that set me meditating. After all, in spite of all his objections, his cynicism, his stern judg ment, Mr. Everard was there. I brought him there. Not to meet me: indeed that is not my meaning. But some of my words, I think, brought him thither. I watched to see if the same look that I had once before marked would greet Mary Hamilton on her arrival. No, it was not there. And she did not look for it; She turned however foolish, foolish Lily did. away, scarcely greeting him, and received Mr. Haniner with a grave smile. And Mr. Everard bit his lip, and began talking very fast to Edith Neville, I saw all that, and I saw his eye wander often after Mary Hamilton, as she quietly, and without putting herself forward, helped Sophy in her arrangements, and, when the feast began, took care of plain children and encouraged dull ones and brought forward shy ones, who would else have been overlooked. She did not, like Miss Neville, go into raptures with the miniature belle of the village, nor did she once smile when Mr. Everard, very foolishly I thought, amused himself by drawing out the little rosy-lipped coquette of nine years old. Where she was of use there she was found; and, after the children were disposed of, took care of old Mrs. Mainwaring, and made herself agreeable to some very stupid cousins of Sophy's; never very prominent, never obtrusive, yet