THE SIX OF SPADES. 161 



spring gardens as quickly as though he was late with 

 a letter of importance for the post, and then spent 

 the rest of his day in an adjoining public-house. You 

 say, Will, that many a man blows the huntsman's 

 horn who knows but little of his craft ; and I say 

 that many a man plays Flora's fiddle who is master of 

 but one tune." 



This conversation came into my thoughts when I 

 began to consider what I should say to you of Summer 

 Bedding-Out ; and you will accept it, I hope, as an 

 illustration of a fact, which all true gardeners must 

 acknowledge and deplore namely, that while this 

 branch of modern horticulture absorbs with many of 

 our brotherhood an undue proportion of their time 

 and thought, by many others it is not justly appre- 

 ciated and by some is absolutely denounced. I 

 have spoken of the first of these extremes ; let me say 

 now, referring to the latter, that the man who can 

 look upon beds, well arranged, of these summer 

 beauties, bright with a soft splendour when the 

 evening sun is low, and feel no admiration nor enjoy- 

 ment, does not realize my idea of a florist. What, 

 think you, would our gardening grandfathers say if 

 they could return to gaze on those glowing groups of 

 Stella and Cybister, Lady Constance Grosvenor, and 

 fifty other scarlet, carmine, and crimson pelargoniums ; 

 the roseate blushes of Christine, Rendatler, Amaranth, 

 Miss Rose Peach, &c. (how much do we owe to Donald 

 Beaton in the past, and to John Pearson and others in 

 the present, for these beautiful bedding-flowers!) ; the 

 verbena's rich, kingly purple ; the lobelia's brilliant 

 blue ; the dwarf ageratuna's softer shade of grey ; the 

 12 



