210 A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. 



that salmon (in Norway) such a raging, gigantic beast, that, 

 being fond of facts, my interest would flag. No ; give me 

 a thorough florist, fond of all flowers, in gardens, under 

 glass, by the brook, in the field. We should never be 

 weary of talking about our favourites ; and, you may 

 depend upon it, we should grow something. 



In all sobriety, I often wish that we, who, in these loco- 

 motive days, frequently find ourselves in our great cities, 

 especially when our exhibitions are open, might have better 

 opportunities from time to time of gratifying our gregarious 

 inclinations. Why, for example, should not the Horti- 

 cultural Club in London have a permanent building like 

 other clubs, of course on a scale proportioned to its income, 

 where we might write our letters, read our newspapers, and 

 (dare I mention it T) smoke our cigars, with every probabil- 

 ity that we should meet some genial friend } Only let our 

 present earnest secretary, Mr Richard Dean, direct, as now, 

 and there would be no fear of failure. Not only in London, 

 but in Edinburgh, in Dublin, in Paris, I would have a horti- 

 cultural club, where gardeners (a title which every man is 

 proud of, if he feels that he has a right to claim it) might 

 assemble in a fraternal spirit, as brethren of that Grand 

 Lodge whose first master wore an apron of leaves, and 



