and treated me as a liar, when I said that I
only wanted to stub up a few old briars for a
gentleman of my acquaintance, to change into
roses. But I watched my opportunity, and
took it at last. I crawled up one ditch, down
another ; wet, or dry, was all the same to
me. I lay squat for hours in a bed of nettles,
and afterwards crept on all-fours through a
thicket of furze and holly bushes. Never
mind that ; here it is, at last. Isn't it a
beauty, sir? "

It was a beauty. The following summer
I headed it with that bright-cheeked gallant,
Brutus or Brennus (for he is so doubly
christened), who grew, and grew, till he
formed a shade beneath which I could sit in
my garden-chair.

In a few words, I will let you into the
secret of converting a briar into a standard
rose; but still, you must take lessons of some
obliging friend, like mine. You must see the
thing done, and then practise it yourself on
the first straggling hedge-rose that falls in
your way. Note, too, that cherries, peaches,
and apricots may be budded in the same way
as roses.

Your pupils arrive, in autumn, at your
seminary for young roses. You will have
previously engaged a sufficient number of what
the French call tuteurs, tutors, or stakes, to
support them in an upright course of behaviour.
Arrange them into forms, or classes,
according to height. Inspect carefully their
lower extremities; remove all corns, bunions,
straggling roots, and whatever is likely to
sprout into proud flesh, or suckers. Plant
them at exactly the same depth as you
observe them to have grown in their native
site. Fasten each individual stock either to
a stake of its own, or to a long horizontal
twig supported at each end by two upright
posts. They will thus pass their winter
vacation, though they will not remain
absolutely idle; for they will be making themselves
at home and pushing root-fibres at times
when you believe them to be fast asleep. In
spring, watch the swelling buds that show
themselves the whole way up the stem.
When they are about a quarter of an inch
long, cut off all but two, which will be
allowed to grow, to be budded, at the height
required. Of course, select strong, healthy
buds, as near to and as opposite to each
other as possible. Into these the whole
vigour of the briar will be directed.

In July, after a thunderstorm, or when
the ground has imbibed a soaking shower,
some kind friend will send you a twig of a
matchless rose. Take it in your left hand,
look out for a plump, healthy, dormant bud;
cut off the leaf, leaving half-an-inch of the
foot-stalk; insert your knife a quarter or a
third of an inch above the bud; cut
downwards, and bring it out a quarter of an inch
below; remove with your thumb-nail the
woody portion, leaving a small shield of bark
with a bud in the centre. This is the bud
you want to make grow on your briar. To
keep it moist, while you are preparing its
new resting-place, you may drop it, if you
like, into a glass of water ; a snugger and
more convenient receptacle is at hand,—
your mouth.

On the branch to be budded, make two
slits in the bark like the two straight lines
which form the letter T. The perpendicular
stroke will run along the branch and terminate
where it springs from the main stem; it
must be a little longer than the bud you
intend to insert. The horizontal stroke will
be formed by a cut across the branch, and
must be a little wider than the bud you want
to put in. You must just cut through the
bark, without dividing the wood beneath.
Cut those slits with a pen-knife on a piece of
paper, or on any fresh twig whose bark peels
readily, and you will instantly see what their
object is. With the handle of your budding-
knife gently push or lift the bark on each
side of the perpendicular slit, or stem of the
T, so as to cause it to rise. Or you may do it
with your thumb-nails. As fingers were
made before knives and forks, so thumb-nails
were invented before ivory-handled budding-
knives. Do nothing that can injure or irritate
the interior of the wound. If you poke
inside it for half an hour, and plough up the
skin, you will injure its delicate organisation,
and in nine cases out of ten you may whistle
for your bud. Instead of that, the bark once
raised, take the bud out of your mouth, and
slip it in gently till it reaches its place. Be as
quick as if you wished to spare your patient's
sufferings. It really is a surgical operation.
The bud once settled between the divided
bark, bind up the wound with ligature of
softest lamb's wool. If you have not been
clumsy, the bud will grow; and then you
must unbind it, and let nothing else grow on
the briar either at top or bottom. At the
end of two or three summers you will have a
handsome-headed rose-tree, from which you
may gather basketsful of bouquets, if you
prune it properly, — sometimes if you abstain
trom pruning it.

The other day I saw an outer barbarian
clipping the head of a .standard rose with a
pair of shears. I thought, and was very near
telling him, that he deserved to have his own
nose thrust between the blades. There are
roses, such as the old unrivalled cabbage
yellow, and the pretty little Banksias, with
their white or nankin-coloured tufts of tiny
violet-scented flowers, which, I believe, cannot
bear even the smell of iron. They will
refuse to flower if you come near them with a
knife in your pocket, even if you do not take
it out and open it. You may get rid of their
dead and used-up wood as well as you can,
by breaking it off; but the scent of steel
agrees not with their constitution. What
becomes of them, then, when they fall into
the hands of these merciless butchers and
assassins of roses? Many other roses, and