212 A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. 



horse-radish, or to sound the same in honour, is an offence 

 less pardonable than profane swearing ; there may even be 

 an isolated case of ignorance, that to eat peas with a knife 

 is one of the deadly sins ; — but, nevertheless, if he loves his 

 flowers, he must be in heart a gentleman. But we have 

 lost our way to the Rose-show. 



We went back to our homes. We appealed for subscrip- 

 tions to the lovers of the Rose, and they responded, as I 

 knew they would. They responded until our sum total 

 nearly reached ;^200. We published our schedule of prizes, 

 amounting to ;^I56. We engaged St James's Hall, an 

 expensive luxury, at 30 guineas for the day, but just then 

 in the first freshness of its beauty, and therefore an attrac- 

 tion in itself. We secured the services of the Coldstream 

 band — a mistake, because their admirable music was too 

 loud for indoor enjoyment. We advertised freely. We 

 placarded the walls of London with gorgeous and gigantic 

 posters. And then the great day came. 



The late Mr John Edwards, who gave us from the first 

 most important help, and who was the best man I ever saw 

 in the practical arrangements of a flower-show, appeared, 

 soon after daybreak, on the scene. He found the Hall 

 crowded with chairs and benches, just as it was left after a 



