January 26,1882. ] JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 77 
Inspiriting music, of course, was an absolute necessity. So we had 
engaged the band of the Third Battalion of Her Royal Highness 
Princess Victoria’s own Light Infantry (The Marlshire Regiment)— 
well, really , you know, it was our Volunteer Brass Band—but that’s 
what they call it now. The day before the Show had arrived—and, 
after all, things were beginning to look hopeful—we had a capital lot 
of entries, and, in addition, Mr. Stevens, the nurseryman, had pro¬ 
mised to help us with a display of plants staged for effect. Mr. 
Smithers and I went down in the afternoon to superintend the 
putting-up of the two large marquees which we had hired. We found 
Smart, with three or four assistants—“ lads,” as he called them—all 
ready on the ground. Smart is a first-rate fellow, and as hard¬ 
working a man as one would meet with in the proverbial day’s march, 
but I don’t think he had ever put up a tent in his life. True, there 
was a fresh breeze blowing which was all against a novice : still 
there was none else who knew anything about it, so the whole 
directing of the work fell on Smart’s shoulders. I am bound to add 
that for some considerable time the marquees kept on doing the same 
thing. Smart emerged from their folds looking hot and anxious, but 
as resolute as ever. I gave him great credit for keeping his temper 
as he did. Por his “ lads,” too, were stupid, and trying; especially 
an old wizened one of about seventy. The wizened one was per¬ 
petually getting entangled in the ropes, and it required our whole 
available force to extricate him. Eventually he was told off to keep 
watch over the mallet and pegs. 
Meanwhile Trentham, the butler, appeared on the scene, accom¬ 
panied by a companion who was coachman to our neighbour, Mr. 
Hawkins, or, as he always preferred to style himself, Mr. Whiner 
’Awkins’ coachman. Trentham and his friend eyed Smart’s work 
with a critical air, until, after superhuman efforts (in the course of 
which the wizened one was knocked down and nearly brought to a 
timely end) both the marquees were at last triumphantly erected. 
Then it was that ’Awkins’ coachman informed me that he had stepped 
down to see if he could be of any use with the marky. When he was 
with General Murchison “ ’im as used to live over by Winklev, you 
knows who I mean, sir,” he always used to help to put up the large 
tent for the cricketing matches. Telling Mr. Whiner that I might 
be glad of his assistance when we put up the tents again this time 
next year, I set to work with Mr. Smithers and Smart to allot the 
space at our disposal for the various classes. 
A beautiful bright morning. Well, the weather was not going to 
be against us : that was a great thing. Mr. Stevens was on the 
ground early, at my request, to direct everything, and the Vicar and 
I were at hand to see that his orders were carried out. 
The exhibitors, large and small, arrived with their treasures, and 
after a hard morning’s work we got them all ship-shape, and a very 
respectable Show it was. All was ready for Mr. D’Ombrain, who had 
come to judge for us, when our energetic and much-valued Secretary, 
James Greybridge, appeared on the scene. He was in boisterous 
spirits as usual. “ Well,” he said, slapping me on the back, “ how 
about the scythe race ? Large entries, eh ? ” 
“ Six have entered for it,” said I, “ including yourself.” 
“ Only six,” he cried. “ Good heavens I why I ordered twenty new 
scythes from Goodall’s last week 1 You can’t have worked it at all ? 
Did you have any posters up ? ” 
“ We had posters for the whole Show, of course,” I reply rather 
testily ; but we are not going to make ourselves ridiculous by adver¬ 
tising the scythe race only.” 
“ Well, you can’t have taken much trouble with the thing, you 
know. My dear fellah, there ought to have been posters up every¬ 
where. It’s been badly managed,” he muttered to himself. 
“ Then why on earth didn’t you do the thing yourself ? ” I retort. 
“ Me 1 ” answered James, with a reproachful air. “ Me ! Why, 
how could I find the time ? I did my best for you, but you know 
how awfully busy I’ve been. When 1 entrusted the thing to you, I 
certainly did think that I was leaving it to someone who took a real 
interest in it, and who would do his best to make it a success.” And 
he turned sadly away. 
Poor James I I am sorry that he should be disappointed ; but it is 
impossible to make him understand that the scythe race is not the 
most important part of the Show. 
I wish I could worthily describe the excitement, delight and 
disgust of the various competitors as they rushed into the tents, 
after the judging, to see how they had fared. 
I just went to have a peep at my Roses, and passed by Greybridge, 
who was gazing at two enormous Beetroots, exhibited by Mr. 
Smithers. 
“ Look here,” I heard him cry out. “ What’s the good of you 
fellows trying for prizes ? You can’t beet the Vicar.” 
I call s\rch fooling simply childish ; but the whole tent was con¬ 
vulsed with laughter at this joke (1), and people kept pouring in and 
surging up towards us to find out what it was. 
Presently the volunteer band marched on to the ground playing 
that march which they have made so peculiarly their own. They 
always play that march wherever they go. We all knew that they 
would play it as they marched on to the ground, and we all know 
that they will march off to the same inspiriting air. If the truth were 
known, Crawford and the neighbouring district would be disappointed 
if they did not play it. Everyone would feel as if something was 
wanting. 
In the afternoon the scythe race came off, amidst shrieks of 
laughter. Greybridge, in haymaker costume, with an enormous 
straw hat on his head, looked very business-like, until the race began. 
When it did, I soon perceived that he was about as good a mower as 
he was Secretary to a Horticultural Society. The race was won, to 
my infinite amusement, by an old man with a wooden leg, who, partly 
seated on a small camp-stool, got over the ground at a most astonish¬ 
ing pace. He was, evidently, the popular favourite, and was greeted 
with loud applause as he went on and left Greybridge and the other 
competitors toiling hopelessly in the rear. 
Two of my brothers, who happened to be at home, have come over 
from Deepdale to see the Show. They are not horticultural in their 
tastes, and I can see that they regard me with a sort of contemptuous 
pity. 
“ I suppose this is what you call a great success ? ” asks brother 
Charles. The tone of his voice implies that in his opinion the fact is 
not self-evident. 
“ My dear old chap,” says brother William, “ you must take more 
care of yourself. The excitement of this sort of thing ” (here he gives 
a tremendous yawn) “ can’t be good for you. I’ve just walked through 
the tents, and I feel so much excited myself ” (another yawn) “ that 
I think I shall go home at once and lie down for an hour.” 
“ It’s getting very cold,” observes my wife (she always feels cold 
at a flower show, I find) : “ How much longer have we got to 
stay ? ” 
My enthusiasm in the cause of horticulture has not, I fear, com¬ 
municated itself to the other members of the Briggs family; but 
their patience will not be tried much longer, for Major Milman, the 
President of the Society, is just going to make his speech, and then 
the prizes are to to be distributed. After that we may go home. 
The Major is not a good speaker, and none is more distinctly aware 
of the fact than the Major himself. With infinite pains he had 
prepared a speech for the occasion, the greater part of which he, of 
course, forgot when he had to speak it. As far as I could judge, his 
audience would not have been sorry if he had forgotten a little more 
of it. Suddenly, however, he waxed eloquent, or as near eloquent as 
he found practicable. “ A—a—a—Before I conclude—a—a—you 
will all, I conclude, agree with me—that we ought to express our 
gratitude—our deep sense of gratitude—a—a—to a gentleman who 
has taken a great deal of trouble for us, if you know what I mean— a 
—a—and has contributed in no small degree to what I may call the 
success of the Show.” (I was utterly taken aback : there is nothing 
I dislike more than becoming, suddenly, the object of universal 
attention.) “ A—a—we all know how this gentleman has worked—a 
—a—I may say toiled for the benefit of the Society.” (What should 
I say in reply ? Really, it i3 most awkward to be called on to speak 
in public, when one is quite unprepared.) “ His heart is in the right 
place—a—a—in fact, it is quite in the right place ; without him a—a 
—I’m sure we never should have been able to hold a Show at all.” 
(Of course, it is pleasant to find one’s work appreciated ; but the 
Major might have given me a hint. Upon my word, I’d give a good 
deal to be able to escape.) “ And so I’ll ask you all to give three 
cheers—a—a—three hearty cheers—a—a—for our worthy-worthy- 
Secretary, Mr. James Greybridge. Hip ! Hip 1 Hip ! Hurrah !! ” 
Did I cheer ? well, no ; I don’t think I did. Not very loud. I 
hadn’t got it in me. But if I didn’t, everyone else did; and then 
James, with the utmost impudence, returned thanks in a neat little 
speech, while Mr. D’Ombrain beamed on him approvingly. After the 
prizes had been distributed, and the crowd had dispersed, Mr. D’Om¬ 
brain, as he was shaking hands with James, said, “ By-the-bye, 
Mr. Greybridge, will you write something for me for the ‘ Rosarian’s 
Year-Book ? ’ ” 
“ Oh, with pleasure,” said James briskly. “ Nothing I should like 
better. What shall it be ? I know. I’ll write you an account of 
1 Our Flower Show.’ ” 
“ Capital,” cries Mr. D'Ombrain. “Well, good-bye ! I’m very glad 
to have seen your Show. It’s been a great success. Good-bye, Mr. 
Briggs.” 
I shook hands with him, and bade him good-bye. But I felt flat and 
a good deal discouraged. And if anything could have added to my 
wretchedness it was to hear Greybridge gaily pledge himself to write 
that article. 
Two or three months passed by, and I had recovered my lvonted 
spirits. It was only now and then that the recollection of the Flower 
Show came upon me like a bad dream. One day I had a visit from 
Greybridge. “ My dear fellow,” he said, very seriously, “ I’ve had an 
invitation to go down to Murchison’s for the shooting. Can’t refuse 
Murchison, you know. You don’t mind writing that paper about the 
Flower Show for me, do you ? ” 
“ Impossible,” I said. 
“ Not to you,” he answered ; “ not to you. The fact is, I’ve written 
to Mr. D’Ombrain to say that you would do it. I should have been 
delighted, you know, to have done it myself, if I had had time ; but 
you see what a fix I’m in.” 
“ I’m afraid I can’t help you,” I said. 
“ I say, Briggs, old chap, don’t be so hard on a fellah. You’ll do it 
ever so much better than I could ; besides, you know so much more 
about the Show than I do. Thanks, awfully. It has to be sent in 
this day week.” 
He was gone ! I never knew how he got out of the room, but he 
did somehow. Of course I could not get the paper ready in time, 
though I worked like a slave at it. 
