“But you see, now,” said Bailey Kettledrum, smacking his lips, and gazing into profundity, “you see, my dear sir, there is nothing ‘ab omni parte beatum;’ perhaps you remember the passage in the heroic epistles of—ah, Cicero it was, I believe, who wrote all those epistles to somebody.” “No doubt of it,” said Rufus Hutton, who knew more of Hindustani than of Latin and Greek combined; “and yet St. Paul wrote some.” “Not in Latin, my dear sir; all St. Paulʼs were Greek. ‘Nihil est,’ I now remember, ‘ab omni parte beatum.’ I donʼt know how it scans, which I suppose it ought to do, but that isnʼt my look–out. Perhaps, however, you can tell me?” “Iʼm blowed if I can,” said Rufus Hutton, in the honesty of his mind; “and I am not quite sure that it has any right to scan.” “Well, I canʼt say; but I _think_ it ought,”—he was in the mists of memory, where most of the trees have sensitive roots, though the branches are not distinguishable. “However, that canʼt matter at all; I see you are a classical scholar. And, Hutton, I like a classical scholar, because he can understand me. But you see that these trees are rather—ah, what is the expression for it——?” “Cankered, and scabby, and scrubs.” “That is to say—yes, I suppose, they would crop the better, if that be possible, for a little root–pruning.” “You have gathered the fruit for this year, I presume?” “Well, no, not quite that. The children have had some, of course. But we are very particular not to store too early.” “I really donʼt think you need be.” “Why, many people say, ‘let well alone;’ but my gardener talks of making——” “A jolly good bonfire of them, if he knows anything of his business. Then drain the ground, trench, and plant new ones.” Mr. Kettledrum looked quite thunderstruck; he caught hold of a tree to help him, and a great cake of rotten bark, bearded with moss, came away like the mask of a mummer. It was slimy on the under side, and two of his fingers went through it. “Nice state of things,” said Rufus, laughing. “I suppose the Dook likes lepers?” “Why, my dear sir, you donʼt mean to say——” “That I would leave only one of them, and I would hang the head–gardener upon it.” That worthy was just coming round the corner, to obtain the applause of a gentleman well known to the _Gardenerʼs Chronicle_; but now he turned round abruptly, and scratched his head, and thought of his family.