SEPTEMBER. 
259 
should perhaps have got up to boiling point on the subject. Again, 
tastes vary : what pleases my neighbour will not please me; he wants 
large flowers—I, neat ones ; he is fond of sombre colours, I of bright 
ones, and so on; therefore, taking all things into account, never buy 
anything you have not seen. Even with this rule, one may be done. 
I told a story of a friend last month—let me tell one against myself 
now. Some three years ago I was at Lincoln, and going into a nur¬ 
seryman’s there, I saw in his greenhouse some capital Roses in pots, and 
among them two of Cloth of Gold, about two feet high, with a fine cluster 
of bloom. Oh ! thought I to myself, here is the grand secret, here is 
the philosopher’s stone. I looked at it; “ What is this budded on ? ” 
“ The Celine.” Does it flower freely on it, then ? ” “ Oh, we do 
several every year, and never miss.” And so, my prize carefully 
packed in brown paper, off I marched to the railway. With what 
jealous care 1 guarded it! How pleased I was when fellow-travellers 
admired it, those only can tell who have had Cloth of Gold in bloom. 
I reached home, and detailing my travels to my Chrysanthemum 
friend, of course the grand feat of Cloth of Gold in bloom was men¬ 
tioned. With what pride I stepped back and said, “ There, look at 
that! ” I believe his mouth perceptibly watered at the sight. But 
alas ! ‘‘a haughty spirit goeth before a fall.” My Rose never bloomed 
afterwards. 1 turned it out of the pot; it grew for a while, and then 
died. I then recollected I had never asked how it continued blooming, 
and thus raised up a grand laugh against myself; for whenever 1 say 
anything about Mr. S.’s visit, I am met with the reply, “ What about 
the Lincoln Rose ?” 
II. Never grow rubbish. 
This may seem an unnecessary thing to mention, but were it not 
that I have had experience of the necessity of keeping to it I would not 
write it. There are various ways in which one gets indifferent things 
into their garden. You may buy something which turns out good for 
nothing, or you get something much in advance of what you have. 
You do not like to throw four or five shillings on the dungheap, or 
acknowledge you have been taken in, and so you keep it on. Again, friends 
knowing your partiality for flowers, offers you this or that; politeness 
forbids a refusal, but as one’s character gets established, you get beyond 
the reach of this, and they say, Oh, it’s no use offering you anything.” 
I believe I have got to this stage, but then comes a worse tormentor. 
“ Oh,” says some very kind lady friend, “ I know how fond you are of 
flowers ; a brother (or cousin) of mine has just come from the Cape, or 
Egypt, or the West Indies, and has brought home some seeds ;—I will 
send you some.” You cannot but thank your fair friend, though at 
the same time you wish her brother or cousin (very suspicious people 
these latter) had had less of a botanical taste, for you know from sad 
experience that these seeds are Acacias or Ipomoeas, or some other well- 
known thing, you cannot possibly grow. All you have to hope for is 
that they will not germinate, or if they do that some evil may befal the 
darlings. If by any means you find yourself possessing which is really 
not worth growing you must be courageous enough to cast it away ; a 
good thing onl^ takes up as much room as a bad one. Never grow 
rubbish. s 2 
