was devoted to making up for the past neglect,
Morgan bemoaning the state of the garden most piteously.

I suppose I must have been about fifteen years old then, but cannot be
sure. All I know is that the whole business stands out vividly in my
mind, as if it had taken place yesterday. In fact I can sit down, close
my eyes, and recall nearly the whole of my boyish life on the river,
with the scenes coloured by memory till they seem to grow. At such
times it seems to me that I can actually breathe in the sweet lemony
odour of the great laurel-leaved flowers borne on what, there, were
often great trees dotted with blossoms which looked like gigantic
creamy-white tulips, one of which great magnolias flourished at the end
of our house.

On the day of which I am speaking, Morgan Johns, our serving-man and
general hand, for there was nothing he was not ready to do, came and
told my father that there was a schooner in the river, adding something
which my father shook his head over and groaned. This, of course, made
me open my ears and take an interest in the matter at once.

"Well, sir, look you," said Morgan, "I'll do as much as I can, but you
keep on fencing in more and more land, and planting more and more
trees."

"Yes, I do, Morgan," said my father, apologetically; "but see how
different it is to cold, mountainous North Wales."

"North Wales is a very coot country, sir," said Morgan, severely. "No
man should look down on the place of his birth."

"Nobody does, Morgan. I often long to see Snowdon, and the great ridge
of blue mountains growing less and less till they sink into the sea."

"Ah," said Morgan, enthusiastically, and speaking more broadly, "it's a
fery coot country is Wales. Where are your mountains here?"

"Ah, where are they, Morgan? The place is flat enough, but see how rich
and fat the soil is."

"Yes, it's fery good," said Morgan, growing more English.

"And see how things grow."

"Yes; that's the worst of them, sir; they grow while you're looking at
them; and how can one man fight against the weeds, which grow so fast
they lift your coat off the ground?"

"In time, Morgan, in time," said my father. "Yes, sir, in time. Ah,
well, I'll work till I die, and I can't do any more."

"No, Morgan," said my father, quietly, "you cannot do any more."

"The other gentlemen who came out don't mind doing it, and their little
estates are in better order than ours."

"No, Morgan," said my fathe