366 
THE FLORIST. 
large surplusage of unexpanded roses. I left Wimborne at half¬ 
past twelve p.M. the day before; I never travelled on a hotter 
day, I never rememember a worse night for decay. The guard at 
Wimborne said, by way of comfort, “ Your roses, sir, must go at 
the tail of the train (Mail train), and they will be beaten to atoms 
before they get to Basingstokebut they had undergone the 
previous “switch,” and bore the journey well, but the night was a 
smoker. I consider that travelling cut flowers in good condition 
to a distant show, in critical weather, to be a most first-rate thing. 
As evaporation takes place through the leaves, you must stop the 
pores. Gum water will effect this, but it must be washed off 
before the judges enter, as it is a foreign substance. A little 
spirit of camphor put into the water in the cups will tend greatly 
to preserve the bloom. In some of the above remarks, I have 
forestalled the next head. 
Fourthly. The night of travel before the National. 
After two days of labour in shading roses from the sun, and in 
fencing against wind and rain, you will not be very ^^freshf but 
it is the National, and you bear the fatigues patiently. You will 
have to travel with a talkative gentleman, or with an old lady who 
has no real malady but “ an imaginary spider in her heart,” and 
who will insist upon going through the “diagnosis” of her endless 
complaints. This is simply a nuisance, and you will get no rest. 
The great source of anxiety will be the porter at the railway 
stations, who, if you do not look out, will throw out your box as 
if it was a sack of oats, and before you can get in a word of cau¬ 
tion to carry it level, he will catch up the box, and put it upon his 
back at an angle of forty-five degrees; and “ cabby,” too, will lay 
hold of it, and put it “ perpendicular ” on the top of his Hansom! 
You may threaten the former with a fi. fa., and the latter with 
ca. sa., but the mischief is done. Of course the water will be all 
spilt, a shaky rose will be crumbled to atoms, and you must replace 
it with another. With tin teapot with a “ snipe” spout you must 
fill your pipes again with water, or your roses will be quickly 
withered with other breath than that of popular applause. 
Fifthly. Night travellers, or a little fun to please your chil- 
dre7i readers at Christmas. 
(1.) An American—a funvy fellow. 
After the Exhibition of 1858—the best that I have ever yet 
seen—I returned from the Waterloo Station to Southampton with 
an American traveller. His loquacity, his love of his country, 
his greater love of hyperbole, I shall never forget. Allowing for 
but little hyperbole, or “ wroughting up,” on my part, the follow¬ 
ing may amuse, and is substantially true. As soon as I was in 
the train, I pulled a cap over my eyes, and was about to try and 
go to sleep, but, alas ! no such luxury was to be indulged in. He 
began the vigils. “Been in the States?” “No.” “ Then you 
don’t deal in cottons?” “No.” (I might have said, I spin a 
couple of first class yarns every week.) “ Heard of Virginny, or 
South Caroliny ?” “ Yes,” I said ; “and as you mention S. Carolina, 
