THE FLORIST. 121 



FLORICULTURE. 



Such of our readers as may have the British Classics at their 

 elbow will be spared the trouble of referring to The Tatler, 

 No. 218; whilst those who, unhappily, do not possess these 

 depositories of the wit of Addison and his contemporaries, will 

 thank us for extracting a paper full of the happiest pleasantry, 

 conveyed in the purest and most elegant language. We, as 

 florists, are not unwilling that the most polished writers 

 should indulge in a smile at our expense. We can relish 

 such exquisite humour as much as any of that large party 

 who can " look upon it as a piece of happiness that they have 

 never fallen into any of these fantastical tastes ;" but we cannot 

 afford to part with any of our enthusiasm in what we know 

 to be a sensible and pleasing pursuit, and one that yields a 

 great amount of innocent enjoyment. But our principal object 

 is, to draw attention to a series of papers, " On the Philosophy 

 of Florists' Flowers," from the pen of a scholar and a gentle- 

 man, the first of which appears in this Number. Many will 

 be furnished in these essays with replies to such objections 

 as Addison raised in his day, and which are largely partaken 

 of by others in our own times, who, eating with the greatest 

 satisfaction fruits improved in size and flavour by the skill 

 of the fruitist, would try to cast ridicule upon florists for 

 attempting to develope those beautiful forms and colours in 

 flowers, which administer to as refined a taste as that of the 

 palate. We should soon reach these objectors' hearts, if the 

 road only lay a little more in the direction of the Englishman's 

 vulnerable part — the stomach. 



" From my own Apartment, Aug. 30, 1760. 

 " I chanced to rise very early one particular morning this summer, and took 

 a walk into the country to divert myself among the fields and meadows, while 

 the green was new and the flowers in their bloom. As at this season of the 

 year every lane is a beautiful walk, and every hedge full of nosegays, I lost 

 myself with a great deal of pleasure among several thickets and bushes, that 

 were filled with a great variety of birds, and an agreeable confusion of notes, 

 which formed the pleasantest scene in the world to one who had passed a whole 

 winter in noise and smoke. The freshness of the dews that lay upon every 

 thing about me, with the cool breath of the morning, which inspired the birds 

 with so many delightful instincts, created in me the same kind of animal plea- 

 sure, and made my heart overflow with such secret emotions of joy and satis- 

 faction as are not to be described or accounted for. On this occasion, I could 

 not but reflect upon a beautiful simile in Milton : 



' As one who long in populous city pent, 

 Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, 

 Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe 

 Among the pleasant villages and farms 

 Adjoin'd, from each thing met conceives delight : 

 The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, 

 Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.' 



VOL. II. NO. XVII. K 



