T6 FLORICULTURAL GLEANINGS. 



his, and he would rather felicitate himself over his " pounds and shil- 

 lings saved," and his " Single Anemones," than enter into the Tulip 

 growers' high anticipations of fine blooms from newly imported varie- 

 ties. What would be the use of talking to him of the fine pencilling 

 of Ely's Queen Victoria or Lawrence's Damascus, or the fine flaming 

 of Dickson's Duke of Devonshire, Lawrence's Shakspere, or a fine 

 Pnlyphemus? What would he care for the beautiful feathering of a 

 Lady Crewe, a Claudiana, a Comte de Vergennes, or a Jeffrey's 

 Royal George? What would they be in comparison with his penny 

 beauties and his " pounds saved ? " He would brush them all from 

 the floral arena " at one fell swoop," put his huge extinguisher over 

 the whole, hurl their ambitious raisers into floral oblivion and despair, 

 and substitute his " Single Anemones" in their stead. 



Really, Mr. Editor, it is almost impossible to believe that any indi- 

 vidual can be found, in the present advanced state of floriculture, en- 

 tertaining such absurd ideas, and yet we have proof of the fact by the 

 appearance of his paragraph in your December Number. But as 

 this must proceed either from sheer ignorance of the merits of this 

 favourite flower, or from a want of taste for the beauties of nature, 

 and as every man has a right to ride his hobby-horse as he pleases, 

 the Tulip growers of England, in the midst of their manifold enjoy- 

 ments, may well afford to allow (he " Southlander " to bestride his 

 miserable jackass after his own fashion. He cannot, however, pie- 

 vent them from considering Scott's beautiful lines in the " Lay of the 

 Last Minstrel," with the change of a few words, as peculiarly appli- 

 cable to himself: — 



" Breathes there a man with soul so dead 

 Who never to himself hath said, 



This Tulip bed is a glorious sight ? 

 --:< « * * • 



If such there breathe, go mark him well, 

 Fir him no minstrel raptures swell; 

 High though his titles, proud his name, 

 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, 

 Despite tho-e titles, power, and pelf, 

 The wretch, concenter'd all in self, 

 Living, shall forfect fair renown, 

 And, doubly dying, shall go down 

 To the vile dust from whence he sprung. 

 Unwept, unhonouiM, and unsung! " 



