I had been very excited about Dr. Grill, his description
in the catalogues being specially fascinating,
and no doubt I deserved the snubbing I got. "Never be excited,
my dears, about anything," shall be the advice I will give
the three babies when the time comes to take them out to parties,
"or, if you are, don't show it. If by nature you are volcanoes,
at least be only smouldering ones. Don't look pleased,
don't look interested, don't, above all things, look eager.
Calm indifference should be written on every feature of your faces.
Never show that you like any one person, or any one thing.
Be cool, languid, and reserved. If you don't do as your
mother tells you and are just gushing, frisky, young idiots,
snubs will be your portion. If you do as she tells you,
you'll marry princes and live happily ever after."

Dr. Grill must be a German rose. In this part of
the world the more you are pleased to see a person the less
is he pleased to see you; whereas, if you are disagreeable,
he will grow pleasant visibly, his countenance expanding
into wider amiability the more your own is stiff and sour.
But I was not Prepared for that sort of thing in a rose,
and was disgusted with Dr. Grill. He had the best place in
the garden--warm, sunny, and sheltered; his holes were prepared
with the tenderest care; he was given the most dainty
mixture of compost, clay, and manure; he was watered assiduously
all through the drought when more willing flowers got nothing;
and he refused to do anything but look black and shrivel.
He did not die, but neither did he live--he just existed;
and at the end of the summer not one of him had a scrap
more shoot or leaf than when he was first put in in April.