1883.] 



AND HORTICULTURIST. 



377 



cuttings or plants should be sold for four years, 

 Mr. Evans having to look for his profits from the 

 cut flowers — but here is where the snag comes. 

 It is well known that rosebuds can not now be 

 sold unless cut with long stems, and the question 

 arises, how is Mr. Evans going to prevent the cut- 

 tings attached to the buds from being used by 

 others for the purpose of propagation ? 



In a visit by some half a dozen of us, all veterans 

 in the trade, at Mr. Evans' place last March, the 

 question was raised for Mr. E's benefit of what was 

 the best means of kiUing the leaf bud, or to pre- 

 vent its growth. Various remedies were suggested, 

 such as touching the leaf bud with acid, cutting 

 it out, and squeezing the bud and stems. The two 

 latter methods we have experimented with and 

 find that neither of them is safe. Cuttings of sev- 

 eral varieties of roses put in a month ago, that 

 were squeezed both in the stem and bud, granula- 

 ted throughout and rooted quite as quickly as 

 others put in at the same time without mutilation, 

 and seemingly will make quite as good plants. 

 Others from which the buds were cut— leaving the 

 leaf on of course — in two out of three developed 

 latent side buds, so that it seems neither of these 

 methods is safe. If the suggestion of destroying 

 the bud with acid were practicable it certainly 

 would be objectionable from the danger to the 

 hands when handling the roses. The subject be- 

 comes one of very general interest, for although 

 it is rare that such an extraordinary compav,t ^s 

 that between Mr. Bennett and Mr. Evans occurs, 

 yet cases must constantly be coming up where 

 the buds of new roses that may sell only at ten 

 cents each must have cuttings attached to them 

 where the plants sell at one dollar or more each. 

 So that the owner of new varieties must either sac- 

 rifice his flowers or give for ten cents what is worth 

 to him a dollar. 



THE LONDON FLOWER SELLER. 

 BY F. 



If the editor of the Gardeners' Monthly 

 deems the enclosed — cut from an English news- 

 paper — worthy a corner in his work, it may 

 be to some reader a pleasing retrospect. Al- 

 though it is over fifty years since he bought his 

 "Last Moss Rose," for a penny, in the streets of 

 London, he is vividly reminded of the sellers and 

 their offerings. The beauties of floral existence 

 are often associated with poverty, sin, and homely 

 human features ; yet some are of the sort which 

 old Bill Cobbett saw in Wiltshire, planting cab- 



bages, when he says he was half tempted to take 

 a "kiss," which he would rather do from such an 

 one, than lick the paint from the cheeks of a 

 Duchess. 



THE LONDON FLOWER SELLER. 



A rose — a rose for a penny ! 



Ami pansies twopence a bunch : 

 There's the baker with loaves liaked freshly, 



And O for a crust to niunt^h : 



All day I've sat by the station, 



But nobody wants my flowers ; 

 The wet streets steam and the sun bursts 



Between the thunder-showers. 



Carnations, pink and crimson, 

 Kresh gathered, sweet and strong '. 



But over the shining pavement 

 The pa,ssengers hurry along. 



Sweet-peas ! By some cottage window 

 They grew ; for I've seen such grow. 



Rosy-white, like the face of the darling 

 I lost in the time of snow. 



My child, my sinless blossom, 

 My pride, "though the mark of scorn ! 



O. God ! I was such a baby 

 Myself when the babe was born : 



The mignonette's drooping saiUy : 



Will it sell ■.' it is fragrant still : 

 Lame Milly once had some blowing 



Upon her window-sill. 



White jessamine ! -like that lady. 



So dainty, and clean, and sweet, 

 From the curl on her tranquil forehead 



To the tips of her delicate feet. 



O. to be once as she is, 



With never a soil or stain ! 

 Men bowing or speaking her gently 



As she passes on to her train. 



Not half so pretty as I am, 



Kot rich, for she walks to-day ; 

 But out of the filth and riot, 



And pure as the jasmine spray. 



Did her father drink. I wonder ".' 

 Was she nursed in sins and shames ? 



Did they beat her, starve her, kick her. 

 And call her filtliy names ? 



Sweet-williams '. Tossed me for nothing 



By a lad at a fruiterer's stall : 

 Brown-bearded, fresh and wholesome 



They are, and strong and tall, 



Like fresh-faced Will from the country. 



Who spoke of field and plough, 

 And promised me marriage and left me— 



Who loves him, 1 wonder, now ? 



The sky is all black ; in the distance 



The angry thunder rolls ; 

 There's a iVlinding flash, with a deluge 



The rain sweeps the hurrying shoals. 



It sweeps up under my shelter, 



I'm wet again to the" skin. 

 And just two bunches of jiansies 



Would buy me a drop of gin. 



A rose— a rose for a penny ! 



White lilies a penny apiece 1 

 The clouds from the sun are breaking, 



The showers soon will cease. 



A pigeon, with wings all shining, 



Flits by in the sudden gold, 

 As if in a molten rainbow 



His beautiful plumes were rolled. 



Ah ! my dream of the angel singing, 

 His eyes one flame of love, 

 " Thougli thou liest among the potsherds, 

 Thou Shalt be as the wings of a dove." 



Roses, sweet-williams, pansies, 



Jasmine and lilies fair, 

 iMignonette, sweet-peas, carnations, 



Drooping in sultry air. 



Maxwell Gray. 



