200 



A BOOK ABOUT ROSES 



were almost ready for the baize. Then came the 

 covered vans which had travelled through the summer 

 night from the grand gardens of Hertfordshire, and 

 the ^ four-wheelers ' with green boxes piled upon their 

 roofs, from all the railway stations. And then the 

 usual confusion which attends the operation of ^ stag- 

 ing ' — exhibitors preferring their ^ own selection ' 

 to the places duly assigned to them, running against 

 each other, or pressing round Mr Edwards with their 

 boxes, as though they had something to sell — vocif- 

 erating like the porters at Boulogne, who, having 

 seized your portmanteau, insist on taking your body 

 to their hotel. He, however, was quite master of the 

 situation, and upon his directions, clearly and firmly 

 given, there followed order and peace. 



And there followed a scene, beautiful exceedingly. 

 I feel no shame in confessing that when the Hall was 

 cleared, and I looked from the gallery upon the three 

 long tables, and the platform beneath the great organ, 

 glowing with the choicest Roses of the world, the 

 cisterns of my heart overflowed — 



* The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 

 The waters from me, which I would have stopped. 

 But I had not so much of man in me, 

 And all my mother came into mine eyes, 

 And gave me up to tears.' 



' Half the nurseries of England,' as Dr. Lindley wrote. 



