196 
THE FLORIST. 
his is beautiful, and Wellington will hold its place in spite of adverse 
criticism, he did not remove the reproach from the class. Nor till 
some resolute seeder will be content to isolate the parents and exclude 
insects and cross for the purpose, foregoing the pleasure of the bloom 
of a few of his best plants, can we expect that the reproach will be 
removed. For as this class is farthest removed from the original 
simplicity of the wild species, and exhibits the highest effect of artificial 
cultivation, it is natural that fewest seedlings should be found in it at 
all, and fewest of the few in a pure as well as perfect state. But now 
that we know better than formerly—everyone knows—^how to raise the 
seed when we have it, and that by a little care every plant may be 
bloomed by the end of the third year, some blooming in their first, the 
labour and time required are not what they were. 
To those who mean to try for this class I have a word of advice 
—eschew chance seed. If you have a collection of good flowers, and 
choose to let them seed, by all means do so. It will not hurt them as 
it does annuals or biennials. Let them give you what seed they will, 
collect it carefully, and— sell it. It will produce many good flowers. 
It may possibly produce some first-rate in the other classes, though 
there is no florist’s flower that produces from seed so few of even 
average excellence; but seed so saved will yield you no first-rate green 
edge. George Jeans. 
VISITS TO NURSERIES.—No. V. 
MR. JOHN CATTELL’S, WESTERHAM, KENT. 
The traveller who forms his idea of the beauty and fertility of the 
county of Kent from that portion of it that meets his eye as he whisks 
along at express speed from London to Dover will have a very incorrect 
opinion of the garden of England, inasmuch as the line traverses some 
of the worst land and some of the most unpicturesque portions of the 
country. Here and there, as at Penshurst, he gets a glimpse of some 
of its richly wooded and historic spots; but in general there is little 
either to attract attention or merit praise. To see it, he must diverge 
from the main line; and in some of its beautiful valleys and byeways 
he will find scenery which for richness and quiet pastoral beauty can 
hardly be surpassed. Let him leave, e.g., the Tunbridge station ; and 
if he be a good walker, and does not mind mounting a good hill (for 
Kent has its hills) let him trudge to Sevenoaks, and “ my word for it ” 
he will feel that he has been amply repaid. If he do it as I did the 
other day (though alas! I do not feel that pedestrian tours suit me 
quite so well as they used), when the woods were vocal with the trill 
of the nightingale and the jolly song of the thrush, and green of every 
hue marks the foliage with a variety of tints equal to those of autumn, 
and with the far more pleasing associations of lovely spring time, he 
will, if he have an eye for nature’s beauties, greatly rejoice. As he 
mounts the hill that nears the town of Sevenoaks, let him take his 
stand, and then look back over the weald of Kent, and what a lovely 
view meets his eye! On a clear day, the downs of Fairlight over 
