242 THE FLORIST. 



HOMES OP THE FLORIST.— No. I. 



STAPLEFORD. 



As the sun was declining in the west, on a fine evening in the month 

 of May, in the year of grace eighteen hundred and fifty nine, a traveller 

 might have been seen wending his way along the high road that leads 

 from Cambridge to Stapleford. He was about the prime (?) of life, 

 and of average stature ; while the snow that had begun to whiten his 

 whiskers betokened that he was perhaps on the shady side of the said 

 prime ; from the fact that he was without attendant of any kind, and 

 unencumbered with luggage, you might have guessed him (i. e. if you 

 were an ignoramus) to be a traveller who lived upon his wits and the 

 inexperience of others ; but a closer inspection would have, notwith- 

 standing his dusty and soilworn appearance, detected that he belonged 

 to the ecclesiastical order. He was evidently a stranger, for each little 

 ragged urchin he passed was pressed into his service, to inquire the way 

 to a house, at the door of which he soon found himself. In such a way 

 — in G. P. R. James' style — I might go on to describe what I will, 

 however, attempt in a less enigmatical way, my visit to one of the first 

 florists in the kingdom, R. Headly, Esq., of Stapleford. Tulipomaniacs, 

 moonstruck Auricula growers, Carnation fanciers, you all know Richard 

 Headly. Let me tell you what sort of a man he is, and how he treated 

 a poor brother florist, and how he will treat you, if you ever go near him. 

 It was just as I had said I had ccme round by Bury St. Edmonds, 

 and seen its glorious church and ruins, had wandered through the 

 shady groves of Cambridge, and not liking the prices of mine host of 



the — , I thought, 1 will take my bag, go to Stapleford, put up at 



a nice clean country inn there, and ask permission to see Mr. Headly 's 

 flowers. So I carried this plan into execution. Leaving the railway 

 station at Cambridge (which is by the bye one of the most delicious 

 puzzles of a station), a few minutes brought me to Sheldford, where, 

 depositing my bag, I walked on boldly to Mr. Headly 's. I was utterly 

 unknown to him, save by two or three foolish letters I had sent to 

 but I sent in my name, and in a few r minutes Mr. H. came in ; 

 he received me with the utmost cordiality as a brother florist, insisted 

 on sending for my bag, made me take up my quarters with him, and 

 took me round his garden. Of course, as everybody tells you when 

 you go to see their garden, or look over their house, it is a very bad 

 time to come ; they are all muddle and confusion, and that if you could 

 only come a little later it would be very different. So said Mr. Headly ; 

 he had been burnt up by the long drought, scorched with the east 

 winds, and his gardener was ill, all which were unhappily too true, but 

 they did not seem to have exerted much influence on the state of his 

 garden, which was very different to what the common notion of a 

 florist's garden would induce people to expect. They say you must 

 never look for it to be tidy, there are so many awnings and contrivances 

 for shading, traps for insects, &c, that it is never to look well ; all which, 

 though true of some, is not true of Mr. Headly. The house stands in 

 the centre of a very pretty plot, in which are Roses, shrubs, and some 



