1869.] THE ROSE. 293 



of unparalleled and unassisted splendour should declare herself monarch 

 of the floral world. 



Carrying out this loyal resolution, I forthwith suggested in the pages 

 of 'The Florist' (April 1857), to all Rose-growers, amateur and pro- 

 fessional, "that we should hold near some central station a Grand 

 Natioxal Rose-Show — a feast of Roses, at which the whole brother- 

 hood might meet in love and unity, to drink, out of cups of silver, 

 success to the queen of flowers." And I must confess that, when I 

 had made this proposal to the world, I rather purred internally with 

 self-approbation. I felt confident that the world would be pleased. 

 Would the world send me a deputation 1 Should I be chaired at the 

 London flower-shows'? Perhaps I should be made a baronet. For 

 some days after the publication of the magazine I waited anxiously at 

 home. I opened my letters nervously, but the public made no sign. 

 Had it gone wild with joy, or were its emotions too deep for words? 

 Weeks passed and it still was mute. I was disappointed. I had thought 

 better of mankind, but I was disappointed, even as that dog of 

 Thompson's, whose sad story is told in these parts as a warning to the 

 over-sanguine. He heard one morning the sound of familiar footsteps 

 approaching at the hour of food. He said to himself, " What jolly dogs 

 are we !" he rushed towards the door, jumping and frisking, for he 

 thought they were bringing him his breakfast; and . . . they 

 took him out and hanged him. 



The suspense in both cases was extremely disagreeable, but I had 

 this advantage, that mine was too brief to be fatal. I had power to 

 cut the knot, and I exercised it by writing to our chief Rosarians the 

 simple question, " Will you help me in establishing a National Rose- 

 Show 1 " Then were all my doubts and disappointments dispelled, 

 and the winter of my discontent made glorious summer, for the an- 

 swers which I received, as soon as mails could bring them, might be 

 summed up in one word, "Heartily." The three men, the triumviri, 

 whose sympathy and aid I most desired — Mr Rivers, king of rosists, 

 Mr Charles Turner, prince of florists, and Mr William Paul, who was 

 not only a successful writer upon the Rose, but at that time presided, 

 practically, over the glorious Rose-fields of Cheshunt — promised to 

 work with me ; and the rest to whom I wrote (not many at first, be- 

 cause too many captains spoil the field-day, and too many huntsmen 

 lose the fox) assented readily to all I asked from them. I was quite 

 happy, quite certain of success, when I had read these letters ; and I 

 remember that in the exuberance of my joy I attempted foolishly a 

 perilous experiment, which quickly ended in bloodshed — I began to 

 whistle in the act of shaving ! 



Shortly afterwards we met in London, as members of her Majesty 



