MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR XXXV 
erower has not been the object of this Memoir. His 
toils are fully written down by himself; and, if he 
has omitted the triumphs, does that matter? If not 
the most successful of amateur rose-growers, he 
was high up in the first flight, and won quanti- 
ties of medals and silver cups. He was one of the 
National Rose Society’s judges, and each summer 
used to see him travelling all over the country to 
judge at rose shows. His experiences were some- 
times very amusing, especially when exhibiting, and 
sometimes they were almost tragic. One year he 
had to have a new gardener, and this was a sore 
trial. He usually took the gardener with him when 
he went to show roses, and the first attempt with 
the new gardener was at Norwich. While setting 
up some roses there, Mr. Foster-Melliar asked the 
new gardener to bring him the rose that was to win 
the medal. As the man was bringing it, the head 
snapped off. Rose-growers will appreciate the irrita- 
tion caused by a mishap of this kind, but Mr. Foster- 
Melliar merely told him to go and fetch the next 
best. As the wretched man was bringing it, that 
one also snapped off at the head. Mr. Foster-Melliar 
looked at him. ‘‘There, there,’ he said gently, 
“go and play on the grass’?! Itis doubtful if the 
man ever got over it, and, at all events, he left 
shortly afterwards. He was prepared to be stormed 
at, but to be told to ‘‘ go and play on the grass’”’ was 
too much for him. 
In the height and vigour of his manhood, as it 
would have seemed, he was struck down. On the 
Thursday he had just completed, signed and de- 
spatched to the printers the preface to the third 
edition of this book. On the Saturday he was 
