within a rauenus wolf and murderer." Dr.
Hooker wrote also from the passes of Thibet:
"Here are three rhododendrons, two of them
resinous and strongly odoriferous; and it is
to the presence of these plants that the
natives attribute the painful sensations
experienced at great elevations."

And now that we have named Dr. Hooker,
we have named the chief adorner of the
rhododendron garden. Before his recent
exploration of the rhododendrons of the
Sikkim Himalaya, and his introduction of
new seeds, the range of colour over which
the gardener had rule was very limited.
There are three plants out of which to
breed varieties. Probably the reader knows
how, within the flower-cup the filaments (each
bearing a case full of yellow dust, or pollen)
surround the little central column. On the
point of that column they scatter their dust
when the flower is full-blown, and the dust, as
a fertilising powder, passes in a changed form
down the column to the seed-case at its
root, where it gives life to the seeds.  If
the filaments of a flower—say of a flower of
the purple rhododendron—be cut off, and at
the time when they should shed their pollen
on the summit of the little column, called
the pistil, there be shed on it by a gardener
the ripe dust or pollen of another
sort of rhododendron—say of the Caucasian
—the resulting seeds will produce hybrid
plants partaking of the qualities of either
parent.  Let all these seeds be sown, and,
perhaps, no two will come up alike. Some will
produce plants more nearly like the male
parent, some plants more nearly like the
female parent, and the blossoms may be of
all shades of colour between white and purple.
On this principle and within limits
so defined, many varieties of rhododendron
were produced at Knaphill and elsewhere;
the colours of their flowers being formed
almost exclusively by modification of the
main elements of purple, pink, and white. In
the gardener's eyes the great merit of Dr.
Hooker's Asiatic explorations was, that he
brought home seeds of new rhododendrons;
among which were some that yielded blossoms
of the richest scarlet.

Rhododendrons are a hardy race of plants.
There is strong evidence of this in the mere
fact that they can be dug up by thousands
while in bud, brought to a distance to display
their blossoming, and then dug up again and
carried home: but there is a limit to their
hardihood. English Aprils will take care that
no good rhododendron blossoms shall show
their petals out of doors; nor is it an easy, if
a possible, thing so to acclimatise a plant as
to make it change its own appointed times of
bud, and flower, and fruit. The difficulty
is to be overcome only by intermarriages of
the Americans and Europeans with the
Asiatics. On this principle gardeners have
acted. On this principle the tints were
produced, by the variety of which we have
been charmed during this month of June,
now past, in the .Rhododendron Garden
which suggested these remarks. The
Himalayan varieties having been introduced
by seed only within the last ten years, it
is only now, therefore, that we are beginning
to see the extent and beauty of the
addition to be made to English gardens by
the cultivation of plants bred from them. The
show at Ashburuham Park, in fact, was
one of the first hints, and the most emphatic
we have yet had, of the debt England will
owe for increase of beauty in its gardens
to the naturalist who first explored the
rhododendrons of the Sikkim Himalaya.

ERIC WALDERTHORN.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

ERNST WALDERTHORN walked to and fro
in the withdrawing-room of Kronenthal. His
face was anxious, though he strove to smile
and words of hope were on his lips, which,
to judge from his unequal steps and restless
eyes, seemed far from his heart.

"You may depend on it, dear mother, that
Eric never left Stettin that stormy night.
Every one must have seen the storm coming
up all the evening. You may rest assured
he slept safely under the hospitable roof of
the Geldenstern."

"Heaven grant it may be as you say, my
son," answered the lady to whom his words
were addressed.

The lady of Kroneuthal, as she was always
called, had not long passed the prime of life.
She was about forty-five, and bore her years
well, though the traces of deep sorrow were
to be seen on her still handsome countenance.
The likeness between her and her children
was very remarkable, and there could be no
doubt as to whence Eric derived his broad
forehead and deep intellectual eye. She was
tall and rather slight; and, as she rose from her
chair and, approaching her eldest son, stood
beside him putting her hand upon his arm
and looking into his face, he almost started
back from her, and from his own thoughts,
—the face was so like Eric's.

"Mother! I will have a horse saddled
and ride over to Stettin. There is plenty
of time before dark."

But before this intention could be executed,
sleigh bells were heard in the court below;
and Ernst, running down, was seized
in the hall by Eric. Warm greetings passed
between the brothers: all the warmer for the
suspense Ernst had been enduring.

Eric presented Carl, who was heartily
welcomed, and the three proceeded up-
stairs to the mother—overpowered with
the joy of hearing her son's voice—who stood
trembling at the door. Eric bounded forward
and, embracing her, carried her to the
sofa, covering her face and hands with
kisses.

"Mother, dear mother, I hope you have