Roses.-Watch the progress of the opening buds. If the leaves curl, it indicates the presence of the grub. Pick them off carefully, or the bloom will be entirely destroyed. Those in the house require plenty of air. Water them frequently all over, and fumigate pretty often, to keep them free from aphides; re-pot where necessary. The early shoots of China-roses, taken off close to the old stem when about four inches long, and treated as directed in the paragraph on cuttings, will make blooming plants in the autumn. Stocks.-There is not perhaps a more beautiful ornament of the garden than the gilliflower of our ancestors. Many varieties may now be planted out, and others brought on, to follow them. They require a rich, well-worked soil. German stocks, if sown now, will bloom well in autumn. Water-lilies.-The common water-lilies, Nymphæa alba and Nuphar lutea, will grow in any lake or other piece of fresh water. They will bear removing, and are well worth the trouble, from their beautiful appearance when in flower. NEW AND RARE PLANT. IMPATIENS CORNIG ERA, Hook.-Balsaminaceæ (Bot. Mag.)-A beautiful stove species of erect habit, and growing from three to four feet high. The stem is stout, succulent, semipellucid, thick, and much branched. The leaves are alternate, nearly a span long, ovate, acuminate, penninerved, pale below; petiole and mid-rib generally red, the margin ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. NOTICE TO CONTRIBUTORS.- The Editor begs it to be understood, that she can in no case undertake to return rejected MSS., or forward parts of the Magazine, unless sufficient stamps are sent to cover the expense of postage, &c. Correspondents are requested to keep copies of all short articles. All communications requiring private answers must contain a stamped envelope and address. All Publications, &c., intended for review, must be sent in before the 10th of the month. Correspondents not answered by post, will please to refer to this page for replies to their various inquiries. "Lines on regret to think this not up to par. MOUSQUETAIRE CUFF.-The editor regrets her may doubtless be obtained on application to Mrs. inability to oblige this correspondent. The pattern Pullan, 126, Albany-street, Regent's Park. ROSE LOVELL.-We never doubted the fact of patent in every line of the thirty-three verses. And the authoress's youth, at least in authorship; it was of our advice, and scorns to profit by it, we can what is more, if she so wrongly translates the spirit insure her a perennial bloom in this condition. PROSE received, but not yet read.-"Judge not, that ye be not judged;" 66 Bleak Avenue;" 66 A Trip from Nuremburg to Vienna;" "Herbert Trevor;" ;" "Sea-side Talk." Printed by Rogerson and Tuxford, 246, Strand, London. MONTHLY BELLE ASSEMBLÉE, INCORPORATED WITH THE LADIES' COMPANION. MAY, 1855. THE STORY OF AN OLDEN PLAY. CHAP. II. (Continued from page 174.) Tickle was the first to perceive the girl, as she stepped lightly to the rickety table at which he sat-wigless, waistcoatless, coatless, as she had premised, and with his ruffled shirt hanging in dirty tatters round his hands. His spirits were nevertheless gay, as flirting open his tinselled snuff-box, he took a pinch, and then offered the like courtesy to the old man. "Ha! ha!" he laughed, "thou art come, art thou, to say that the Associated hath relented-the Journal hath stopped-that Fogg's disconsolate-Babble utterly at a loss! Well, repentance is better late than never, especially when it hath its sign in ale. Come, let me taste it." The girl placed the ale and viands on the table, and said gently, "These are not their gifts, Mr. Tickle, but mine. I was there tonight, but-." "Of course," he interrupted, with satirical bitterness, "to chuckle with Grinder; to-." "You have least reason to think ill, or believe ill of me, Mr. Tickle," she said, interrupting him, and speaking with a degree of firmness strangely at variance with her childish appearance. "How many times I have saved you, and starved for you, since you picked me out for my looks from amongst Nathan's ballad-singers and hawkers, you best know. I liked you, and therefore sung for you, though there were others who would have treated me as an honest wench, and paid me better." "Indeed! It is a pity thee didn'st sing their doggerel instead of poetry like mine. But give me the ale." He did not wait for her to hand it to him, or for means of drawing the cork, but beating off the neck of the bottle by a blow on the table, held it to his mouth, and stayed only when his breath was gone. Then looking across to where the girl stood, he seemed struck anew by the beauty of her face, yet more by its altered expression; and there was something like jealousy expressed in the altered tone of his voice, when he abruptly asked where the money had come from wherewith to buy these things? She wished to tell him-it was one of the motives of her journey hither; but she hesitated to do so in the presence of others, especially of the old man, who watched her with such an expression of cunning eagerness. The dissolute poet bid her with a laugh go on-that the gentleman was a friend. Very reluctantly, yet with an innocent simplicity that would have moved the heart of any worthier man-not only to feel pity, but to do justice-she told him of that night's incident in the Barbican, and of the worthier life for her that was likely to be its result. The poet only laughed significantly, and hinted that the whole story was of Grub-street fabrication. "It isn't! it isn't !" wept the girl; "Johnny Bobkin, the parish clerk of St. Dunstan's in Fleet-street, can tell thee so, for he is waiting for me outside the prison gates. It isn't a lie, Mr. Tickle, for I'm going to-morrow night to Lincoln's Inn to sing to the gentleman and his sister, and a great singingmaster, who is to say whether my voice hath merit in it. If it hath, I am to be taught, and in time sing in Mr. Gay's opera, and at Renelagh." She stayed here, for her emotion had made her breathless, and blind to the fact, that the men had exchanged many glances; but drawing nearer to him she loved, to him whose victim she had been, she continued, as though unconscious of any human presence but his"Then-then-when I can sing well, and work for you, and bring you luxuries. then-." He did not let her finish her beseeching words, but burst into a laugh so coarse and loud that it awoke the distant sleeper. "Ha! ha!" laughed this dissolute discreditor of letters; "what! make a Fleet marriage of it, eh? No, no! the promises of sentimental moments are but fudge. No! no Fleet marriagenot to-night especially, when my fortune's made, and this Paternoster Row bookseller is here to offer the Lord knows what for my services-." "I know thou art a gentleman, and I only a poor ballad-singer-a little better taught and cared for than many, because of the kindness of S the Jewish priest; still only a poor ballad- | Mr. Tickle, and learnt that his name was Martin wench, with nothing to offer thee but my love; Cratch, by repute a wealthy, miserly man, and yet I would work for thee-honour thee-." living at the sign of the "Old Red Book," in Paternoster Row. In this depth of her anguish and entreaty, she had lost as it were all perception of others' presence; and coming nearer and nearer, now knelt, and sought to caress the hand which held the snuff-box, as though, like a beaten dog, it was her duty in her low estate to show herself as one sinning and not sinned against-as poor hapless one she was! There was a pause whilst this Niobe wept, this Mephistopheles exchanged merry winks and nods with the bookseller-and it was curiously filled up by the awakened sleeper, who now rising up in bed, leant on his elbow, and said "As it's not yet too late," said honest Johnny, "and I've been needing to go up there these past two days, to fetch a coat of his which wants a stitch, we'll go there now, and you can see and judge for yourself, the more that Mistress Beck, his housekeeper, is a good friend of mine." Saying this, honest Bobkin led the way up Fleet-lane; though to speak the truth, it was not so much the coat he needed, as his own willingness to put off his encounter with his worthy wife. The Paternoster Row of that day was a quaint "The marriage ceremony is a very nice little place. Vast numbers of sign-boards darkened easy affair. Mr. Tickle, just try, I want a job; the way, and creaked in the wind, though the and it, you know, can end as many hath done houses, being for the most part inhabited by in fumo to-morrow. So say the word-my the worthy shopkeepers themselves, held a more register and gown are in the closet; Mrs. Mug-cheerful look than at present. Many of the gins 'll dry my bands in a trice, and we can shops were by this hour closed, but Cratch's borrow a prayer-book next door. Soon done, not so; for though the books were cleared off sir-fees cheap and reasonable." the wide ledge of the unglazed windows, the apprentices were yet busy within the shop. Avoiding this, he led the way down an adjacent passage, and from thence through a wide door into a warm and capacious kitchen. Here the apprentices' supper was laid ready, whilst that of the master was in a state of savoury preparation before the fire-namely, a fine fowl, twisted round and round, and delicate Epping sausages doing slowly in a pan. This tempting offer of this worthy specimen of the Fleet Prison parsons of the day, was, if heard, at least unreplied to; for, waiting till these pitiful entreaties had reached their climax, till she had crept nearer and nearer, as though to hide her debasement in the shadow of his presence, till her lips were pressed down upon a hand so unworthy of her child-like tenderness, he raised it then, and with one cowardly blow half struck her, half pushed her, till she reeled whole paces from his side, and then bid her go, for that he, a gentleman, a university scholar, a poet, should, now that fortune had changed sides, look steps higher than a Houndsditch ballad-girl, and marry some Lady Betty or Belinda with a fortune. To this no reply was made, nor had the command to be repeated. Rising, as though with difficulty, from her stricken posture, the girl crept, rather than walked, from the room, only turning to look the poet once more in the face as she closed the door. It was one for him to remember. It implied neither hate, nor scorn, nor revenge; but, as far as might be, their eternal separation from that hour-that henceforth the paths of their lives must be widely asunder; and that, crushed, scorned, dishonoured though she was, she would rise superior to her fate, were means afforded. Nevertheless, as soon as the door was closed, she sunk down in a state of bitter anguish upon the pavement beside it. Here the man with the link found her upon his return, though in a different attitude; for becoming unwittingly a hearer of the conversation which followed her departure it soon arrested her earnest attention, and she listened with the deepest interest. Upon her exit from the prison, where she found the worthy parish-clerk patiently awaiting her return, she sought from him some knowledge touching the old bookseller closeted with After a discussion touching Cratch's coat, Johnny Bobkin was invited to stay supper, was supplied intermediately with a horn of beer, and Mistress Beck found a seat for the ballad-girl in the chimney-corner. 66 Company, eh?" asked Johnny confidentially, when he and the housekeeper had warmed in their talk, "or only Miss Alice." "Alice went at noon to Leicester-Fields, to spend the day with her godfather, at the Golden Rose. So supper is for master and Mr. Ruthven." "Dear me," replied Bobkin; "what! hath matters progressed so fast and so far that”— "No! no!" replied the housekeeper impatiently, you can't think that; the old man knows nothing of it, and well he dothn't. But list! here he comes!" 66 Even as she spoke, the same gaunt old shadowy man the ballad-girl had seen so lately in the Fleet Prison glided in, and without appearing to notice either her or Bobkin, called Mistress Beck aside, and whispered "No butter in the gravy, Beck; a very small loaf, and not too much ale. And hark'e, if I should be under the necessity of having in the Nantes authors are all topers-empty the bottle, Beck, leave but a little drop in, scarcely enough. We can say that Alice hath the keys, eh? eh! But-but-doth any one wait?" "Yes, Sir John Ogilvy's gentleman, Mr. Pounce, stays in the parlour; so perhaps―" |