excellent taste in laying out gardens and planting trees. It was a beautiful country home where the little John first saw the light of day, with shady groves and beautiful lawn, and all the things that make for health and happiness in a little boy. John’s father worked about the place and rested in a quaint little cottage almost under the eaves of the large mansion. His father had been gardener before him; had lived and died close to nature in that homely and gentle trade—he was at the end of a long line of gardeners, who had come by their positions as naturally as kings come by their thrones, and it seemed very probable that the little boy, who romped around the spacious grounds, and ran across the flower beds, and climbed the tall elms, would come to be a gardener, too, and pass a quiet life far away from all the din and tumult of bloodshed and war. But this was not to be.
John’s father began to work for Mr. Craik when he was quite young and he soon became
