SEPTEMBER. 



137 



A WEEK AMONG THE ROSES. 



A week among the Eoses has a very delightful sound, and truly it is so ; but a journey 

 by mail train at midnight is certainly not preferable to a mid-day express. Such a continual 

 rumble accompanies our sleep, that the time is rather passed in a dreamy kind of doze, from 

 •which, at a very early horn-, we awake, feeling moro fatigued than refreshed. The cold grey 

 daybreak reveals to us foggy meadows, and the jaded look of the inmates of tho carriage. 

 We take a peep at our blooms in the box, the lid of which wc close with satisfaction, and 

 say within ourselves, " all right." The broad daylight at length shows the approach of the 

 great metropolis, where we soon arrive ; and, notwithstanding our earnest appeal to the 

 porters cn the platform not to remove our boxes, as we prefer doing it ourselves, they seize 

 upon them with the greatest agility — a piece of attention we least calculated upon, but Avhich 

 proved a source of anxiety at every change we made. Had we required their assistance we 

 should, as a matter of course, been left to our own resources. A difficulty now arises we 

 should scarcely have anticipated at so early an hour — the cabs are all " engaged." It is 

 Exhibition time, and although that vast emporium does not open till ten o'clock, and it is now 

 only six o'clock, it serves as a pretext for cabmen to extort extra fare from any poor traveller 

 encumbered with luggage ; for under such circumstances there is no alternative, time will 

 not allow of a lengthy dispute, or an arrangement as to price. We ask in a respectful tone 

 to be taken to South Kensington, and "promise to pay on demand" anything required. 

 Away we go over the rattling pavement, and we tremble for our fan ones in the boxes ; but 

 it is useless feeling uneasy on that head, we must trust to fate for the next half horn-. We 

 drive through so many unknown streets, and turn so many corners, that we are at once in 

 amaze as to our whereabouts. We suspect we are not going right, and that there is some 

 misunderstanding with the cabman, but we are wrong in our surmises ; for we soon begin to 

 recognise familiar scenes, and at length we catch a glimpse of the eastern dome of the 

 Exhibition. A few moments more bring us to tho entrance of the Horticultural Gardens, 

 and we hastily exclaim, " We are here at last." But, alas ! Our difficulties are not so 

 easily disposed of. We have driven to the wrong entrance, and we are informed by a 

 passer-by, who appears to have a knowledge of things in general, but who, we suspect, was 

 fond of a joke before his breakfast, that we should drive to door E, western ann$x, to which 

 locality we immediately proceed. We are not surprised on our arrival to find this a portion 

 of the Exhibition building. We did not discover door H, nor did we trouble ourselves to look 

 for it. From thence we are directed further up the road which runs at the back of the garden 

 colonnade, until we turn the corner in Kensington Gore. Here we meet with a more dis- 

 heartening prospect still, for a large board with the word " Out" painted in large characters 

 gives us little hope of admittance there. We continue our travels with the intention of trying 

 the gardens round, when we soon arrive at something more encouraging— another board in 

 appearance like the last, but with the inviting little monosyllable "In." We have read in 

 the old fable-books of some one's ass laden with gold that could gain admittance everywhere, 

 but we believe had that wealthy quadruped tried the Horticidtural Gardens at seven A.m. on the 

 26th of J une he would have experienced a difficulty he was unaccustomed to : this board 

 proved a greater mockery than the other ; for in spite of its inviting tendency the entrance 

 was locked, and not a soul within hearing. At this hopeless crisis the fates befriend us, for 

 an honest-looking face presents itself at the door of our cab and informs us, " that he had seen 

 several cabs with boxes like our own go down the narrow entry we had passed." This is 

 welcome news, and we hasten to the spot long sought. Proceeding down the entry we are 

 met by two empty vehicles coming up, and as we are nearer to the top than they are to the 

 bottom, we are requested to back out. The possibility of passing each other is ridiculous, for 

 the road is scarcely wide enough for one. Hitherto we have followed every direction, and 

 yielded to every request, and we think, perhaps, it would be only good policy to continue to act 

 in the same way. We hesitate for a moment, but thinking the nearest way to the gardens 

 would be to turn back, we reverse our engine without delay. We begin to bear things 

 philosophically, and regard everything that happens as a joke. Having surmounted all 

 obstacles as far as we can see, and a clear course presenting itself before us, our cabby makes 

 a frantic dash, and we actually do arrive at last at our destination. And now with anxious 

 steps we find our way to the conservatory, on the very threshold of which such a sight meets 

 our eyes that we almost stagger at its splendour. Our courage sinks within us when we 

 behold the formidable array against us ; the stages are being arranged with such gorgeous 

 blooms, and the floor is strewed with open boxes of such glowing colours, from which the 

 various exhibitors are culling their choicest specimens. Such an "otto " pervades the whole 

 place that we are reminded of some scene in Persia that Moore describes. Whole boxes of 

 Senateur Yaisse, Anna Diesbach, and many others, glow in massive patches here and there, 

 and we think the most prudent course would be to keep our own box closed. We, however, 

 take courage, for we find we are amongst the nurserymen with their trebles of ninety-sixes, 

 so we at once move on to the quarter allotted to our class. We venture at last to open our 



