saturnine sedateness.

"I suppose y'are alludin' to the F.R.H.'s, Passon," he said; "They
all loves Latin, as cats loves milk; howsomever, they never knows
'ow to pronounce it. Likewhich myself not bein' a F.R.H. nor likely
to be, I'm bound to confess I dabbles in it a bit,--though there's a
chap wot I gets cheap shrubs of, his Latin's worse nor mine, an'
'e's got all the three letters after 'is name. 'Ow did 'e get 'em?
By reason of competition in the Chrysanthum Show. Lor'! Henny fool
can grow ye a chrysanthum as big as a cabbage, if that's yer fancy,-
-that ain't scientific gard'nin'! An' as for the mignonette, I
reckon to agree wi' ye, Passon--the size ain't the sweetness,
likewhich when I married, I married a small lass, for sez I: 'Little
to carry, less to keep!' An' that's true enough, though she's gained
in breadth, Lor' love 'er!--wot she never 'ad in heighth. As I was
a-sayin', the chap wot I gets shrubs of, reels off 'is Latin like
chollops of mud off a garden scraper; but 'e don't understand it
while 'e sez it. Jes' for show, bless ye! It all goes down wi' Sir
Morton Pippitt, though, for 'e sez, sez 'e: 'MY cabbages are the
prize vegetable, grown by Mr. Smogorton of Worcester, F.R.H.' 'E's
got it in 'is Catlog! Hor!--hor!--hor! Passon, a bit o' Latin do go
down wi' some folks in the gard'nin' line--it do reely now!"

"Talking of Sir Morton Pippitt," said Walden, disregarding his
gardener's garrulity, "It seems he has visitors up at the Hall."

"'E 'as so," returned Bainton; "Reg'ler weedy waifs an' strays o'
'umanity, if one may go by out'ard appearance; not a single firm,
well-put-down leg among 'em. Mos'ly 'lords' and 'sirs.' Bein' so
jes' lately knighted for buildin' a 'ospital at Riversford, out of