s
down the green bowery lane, and was only roused from his floral labours
by the salutation of my friend, as we dismounted before the low
wicket-gate, and, hooking our bridles to its side-posts, prepared to
enter the little territory. Starting from his flower-bed, the old man,
at sight of us, respectfully uncovered his grey head, and came forward
as quickly as was compatible with the state of limbs crippled by
rheumatic gout, to admit and welcome his visitors with something beyond
rustic courtesy.

"Ah, Hallings!" said my friend, cordially shaking hands with his humble
acquaintance, whose countenance brightened with pleasure at the kind
greeting--"here you are at your favourite work; no wonder your garden is
celebrated for the most beautiful flowers in the neighbourhood, for you
and Celia tend them, I verily believe, night and day; and as for those
pinks--which are, I know, the pride of your heart--you may rest content,
for they are the pride of the country. Remember, Mrs L---- has your
promise of a few slips at the proper season."

"Be pleased to look, sir at these few plants I have made free to pot
for Mrs L----," answered the venerable Hallings, with a glance of
conscious pleasure, not unmingled with pride, as he directed my friend's
attention to some perfect specimens of the choice flowers in question:
"I will send them down to the lady to-morrow morning by my brother's
cart, and Celia and I shall be proud to think madam will accept them,
and set some store, may be, on our poor offering, for the remembrance of
old times, and the sake of those who are gone. You may remember, sir,
how our dear lady prized this particular sort?"

"Well do I remember it, and those old times you allude to, my good
Hallings. Methinks at this moment I can see your worthy venerable
master, and his faithful companion and friend, the dear sister of whom
you speak;--he, with one of these, her choice flowers, in his
button-hole when he came into the drawing-room dressed for dinner, and
she often assisted to her seat during her slight attacks of gout by Mrs
Hallings, her faithful Celia. I believe, Hallings, Mrs Eleanor used to
send her brother a daily present, for his afternoon toilet, of one of
these rare beauties--was it not so?" asked my friend, with a smile; the
good-humoured archness of which soon, however, changed to a more serious
expression, as he observed that the old man's voice faltered in his
attempted reply, and that he hastily d