AT A ROSE-SHOW. 28/ 



away ten minutes, but coffee-room clock says 

 three. Selfish snob in corner writing letters with 

 a coolness and equanimity quite disgusting; he 

 looks up and is recognized as rival amateur, pro- 

 prietor of Pierre Notting ; something about him, 

 exhibitor thinks, not altogether pleasing; not a 

 nice expression ; shouldn't say he was quite a 

 gentleman. 



At last the malignant timepiece, having tardily 

 announced the meridian, with a minim-rest be- 

 tween the notes, as though it were a passing bell 

 tolled in Lilliput, and having disputed every inch 

 of the succeeding hour, is compelled to give up 

 its match against time, and the exhibitor hears 

 the thrilling sound which proclaims the Rose- 

 show open. He gives his best hat a final brush ; 

 he adjusts for the last time the pretty Rose in his 

 coat (be still, throbbing heart beneath !) ; and back 

 he goes to his fate. He presents at the door his 

 exhibitor's pass ; and then '' affecting to be un- 

 affected," but nervous as a girl at her first ball, he 

 wends his anxious way to his Roses. 



What shall he find there — defeat or victory ? 

 Shall the music of the band express to his ears 

 the gladness of his spirit, the triumph of his hope, 

 or shall 



