THE 



GARDENER. 



MARCH 1869. 



THE ROSE. 



{Continued from page 55.) 

 CHAPTER VIII. — SELECTION. 



A K E a hot schoolboy into a fruiterer's shop, where the 

 cheeks of the Peach and the Quarrenden Pippin are glow- 

 ing like his own, where the bloom still lingers upon 

 Grape and Plum, and where the *' Good Christian " Pear of 

 Williams (would that all who assure us of their sanctity were as free 

 from sourness, as fruitful, melting, and juicy!) yields to his inquiring 

 thumb. Bid him survey the scene, a pomological Selkirk, and then 

 proceed to fruition. Or take young Philippos, a few years older, to 

 some great mart of horses. Introduce him to the proprietor, with his 

 pleasant smiling face, ruddy (from early rising, doubtless), his cheek 

 and chin close shaven (few men nowadays shave so closely), hair 

 clipped like his horses', fox galloping over bird's-eye neckerchief, cut- 

 away coat with gilt buttons, and drab adhesive pants. Let him hear 

 how this generous, guileless man has collected, without regard to toil 

 or money, the best horses in all Europe, solely for the pleasure of dis- 

 tributing them at nominal prices among his favourites and friends. 

 Oh, ecstasy! "the young gentleman" is permitted to know that he is 

 himself a member of that blissful band — a Knight of Arthur's table. 

 The good dealer has "just such another young 'un of his own," and 

 will forthwith exhibit to his counterpart a splendid series of steeds, on 

 which his lad has won the principal steeple-chases, and led the clipping- 

 est runs of the season. How their coats shine as the neat clothing 



