172 DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE OP ONE HUNDRED TULIPS. 



ARTICLE III. 



DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE OF ONE HUNDRED TULIPS, AS 

 SHOWN BY THK FELTON AMATEURS, MAY 31, 1841. 



BY MR. WILLIAM HARRISON, 

 SECRETARY TO THE FELTON FLORISTS' SOCIETY. 



The month of May has again arrived to cheer and gladden us with 

 the brightness of its sunny and joyous career. The trees have again 

 assumed the splendour of their umbrageous summer foliage, the 

 meadows are clothed with their wonted luxuriance, the cuckoo and 

 the landrail have again visited our land and delighted us with their 

 monotonous yet pleasing evening music, and the hopes of the devoted 

 Tulip grower have again been gratified with the sight of one of the 

 most gorgeous and magnificent spectacles that perhaps the whole 

 creation ever presents to the human eye, — the sight of a bed of 

 Tulips in full bloom. Wherever may be his locality, he has, no 

 doubt, like the writer of this article, spent the most of his leisure 

 hours by the side of his Tulip bed, and day after day admired and 

 criticised the succession of beauties as their expanded cups presented 

 to his admiring eyes the various merits or demerits of the varieties in 

 his possession. From the black feathering of an Adde Winter, or 

 the dark flame of an Alexander, to the pale and delicate purplish 

 streaks of a Violet ma Favorite ; from the gay and flaunting yellow 

 to the delicate hues of the cherry and the rose, as displayed in a 

 Duchess of Clarence, a Mary Stnart, or a Count de Vergennes ; all, 

 all in their turns have met with their due share of admiration. For 

 my part, May has been to me a month of unalloyed enjoyment. 

 My days have been devoted to the usual routine of my occupation, 

 and my mornings and evenings have been spent among my tulips. 

 Retired from the varied and ever-cankering cares of life, and distant 

 from " the busy hum of men," the hours have glided over my 

 head in 



Calm contemplation and poetic ease," 



and in silence unbroken, save by the passing zephyrs, the cuckoo on 

 the neighbouring tree, the landrail in the adjoining meadow, the 

 rippling of the Coquet as she pursues her serpentine course, or the 

 hollow murmurs of the distant ocean. So situated, it is impossible 

 not to feel charmed with the beauties of the creation, and a feeling of 

 the warmest gratitude to the Divine dispenser of all things pervade 



