1S6 
THE FLORIST. 
Besides these there were not many novelties in bloom, but some very 
handsome foliaged plants from Messrs. Veitch. 
We observed Sir Joseph Paxton examining the various productions 
with the deepest interest; his affability and kindness to the exhibitors 
was much commented on. To Mr. Eyles the success of the exhibition 
is greatly indebted ; his arrangements for the convenience of exhibitors 
and his general management have now made these exhibitions decidedly 
popular amongst gardeners, and augur well for their future success. 
THE WARS OF THE ROSES.—NO, IV. 
Yast London sleeps ! The noisiest, nastiest gent, 
Reeling just now to home and headache went, 
While his hoarse song in distance died away 
Of “ Hoop de dooden ” and of “ Old Dog Tray.” 
Hushed the last Hansom, still the gayest street, 
Save where the fond policeman, full of meat, 
Calmly digests, and guards, with stately tread, 
The buxom cook, whose love so largely fed. 
But just as, round some slumbering giant, fleas, 
Lively and fearless, wander where they please, 
So, while for forty winks great London sleeps, 
The country round with life and vigour creeps ; 
And while the town, except for snores, is mum, 
Deepens on every side a busy hum, 
Grows to a murmur, rises to a shout, 
Which wakes Leviathan with, “ Rise, you lout! 
How canst thou slumber, when within thy gates, 
A beauteous queen in all her glory waits ? ” 
Outspeaks the surly giant,—“Just you bolt, 
Or I’ve an instrument, devised by Colt, 
With which I’ll make you, drat you, what d’ye mean ? 
Long live Victoria!—I’ve no other Queen.” 
“ Long live Victoria!” ’tis replied again, 
“ Happy and glorious, on land and main. 
Long may our nation’s earnest love, as now, 
Gleam, the best jewel on her crowned brow. 
Yet know, John Bull, another fair as she, 
Sister in state, and peer in majesty, 
Now bids thee rise, and, in thy Sunday clothes, 
Go forth to greet the ‘ Queen of Flowers,’—the Rose! ” 
“ Where ? and I’m off,” then loyal London said, 
And, simultaneously, leap’d out of bed. 
“ Where ? ” it is echoed—“ Read on every wall, 
That Flora’s Court sits in St. James’s Hall!” 
And never, sure, in fairer presence came, 
A queen more queenly, or a lovelier dame, 
Only more fair than those who round her stand 
The chosen beauties of our garden land ! 
Poor Winterhalter’s “Empress and her Suite” 
Can’t for a moment with this Court compete, 
But look, comparatively, plain and silly 
At Fores’s shop, hard by, in Piccadilly. 
