THE FLORIST. 127 



may have happened ; but from some researches made on the subject, 

 I am inclined to believe they have been comparatively rare. And 

 there is one reason for novelty, not generally known except to ex- 

 perienced florists (though popularly acknowledged in fruits), that 

 highly-cultivated varieties soon wear themselves out and degenerate. 

 Pinks rarely retain their character through more than from ten to 

 fifteen generations of cuttings ; and therefore new ones must be con- 

 tinually superseding the old, even though little, if any thing, superior 

 to those they displace. 



And as for a person unaccustomed to any species of flower mak- 

 ing a wrong selection for his approval, it happens in every thing else 

 as well as in flowers, and therefore loses its force. Lace, for instance, 

 is made for the same purpose that the flower was created, — to please 

 the eye ; and an unpractised eye would be as apt to pass by the rare 

 and costly, and to select the valueless in lace, as in a Pelargonium. 

 The fact is ever found to be, that the most showy qualities are not 

 the most useful ; nor is that which will most permanently please, 

 that which first catches the unaccustomed eye. But that which is 

 sterling, which will attract without fatiguing the sight, and gratify 

 without offending the judgment, will often be passed over at first 

 without notice. And therefore it is no more a reproach to the study 

 which investigates these facts, or to the art which is founded upon 

 them, that the eye of a novice should make a choice, which the same 

 eye when tutored by experience would reject, than it is an argument 

 against a more cultivated taste in diet, that a child prefers green fruit 

 to ripe, and leaves wholesome food for gingerbread. 



Iota. 

 [To be continued.] 



POWER OF THE FLORIST IN BRINGING FORTH THE 

 HIDDEN BEAUTY OF FLOWERS. 



By some it may be considered a sort of presumption for florists to 

 attempt to mend Nature : well, be it so ; we hope that, like a fond 

 mother, she will only laugh at the innocent amusements of her chil- 

 dren, and let us have our own way. 



The botanist loves Nature for herself alone : a rustic beauty to 

 him is "loveliest when least adorned." Not so the florist; he 

 loves Nature too, but not in dishabille ; for him she must be clad in 

 all her charms. He takes the wild beauty from its native home, sees 

 hidden charms beneath the rustic guise, makes it his fondling, tends 

 it from morn to eve, watches every change of colour and of form with 

 joy or sadness, as it approaches to his waking dream, or recedes from 

 it. With years of toil, anxiety, and care, with perseverance, he 

 bends the stubborn beauty to his will. 



He aids Flora in producing her soft round form of beauty, Nature's 

 charm. For her his skill prepares the many-coloured mantle, that 

 might vie with Iris's own, and make her blush with envy. He gives to 



