20 i 
THE FLORIST. 
nailed together, resembling an overgrown sash window, the four 
outsiders being strong enough to bear the weight, and the four cross 
bars being more to break the force of the wind against the canvas than 
for strength. The top of this frame being placed flush up to the under 
side of the coping, and the bottom at three feet distance from the wall 
and held fast there by pegs driven into the ground, it stood quite firm 
and gave no further trouble. Along the top of the frame was stretched 
a rope, on which, traversed by curtain rings, a sheet of calico made to 
size, and reaching to within two feet of the bottom. A reef or two 
on the unfastened side made all snug in a couple of minutes either 
when drawn or thrown back; one side being made fast to the upright 
of the frame ; so that the trouble of using after it was made was all but 
nothing. The cost of the whole was about £1 13s., and I should 
imagine it will last with care several seasons. When drawn, the 
protection was as great as is desirable, while the circulation of air 
underneath was free and unimpeded. I thought it, and still think it, 
a clever contrivance, which may at times be useful, especially when in 
low and damp situations the spring is wet, with hail and sleet. 
The result was as follows :—All six trees were full of blossom; the 
show at present on the Nectarine and two Peach trees, nil; on the 
two Apricots a superabundance of fruit. But so there is also on the 
unprotected Apricot facing the S.W. No other Peach trees in the 
parish, so far as I know, were protected, and none that I have seen are 
without a fair amount of fruit. 
Iota. 
CHRONICLES OF A SMALL GARDEN.—No. X. 
Which of us is there that has not met during our course in life an 
elderly gentlemanly-looking man, of whom you do not hesitate at once 
to say, “ That man has seen better days.” His coat has now a very 
threadbare appearance, but it is of unmistakeable broadcloth. His hat, 
alas ! now fast fading from its pristine beauty, has evidently the Bond- 
Street mods upon it. His gloves and boots display rather the ingenuity 
of the repairer than the skill of Hoby or Jouvin, for as Thackeray says 
—Poverty is a disease which attacks a man’s extremities first: you 
engage in conversation with him, and find that he knows a vast deal 
about London society. He is no snob —does not affect, like Mr. Tibbs, 
in Goldsmith’s “ Citizen of the World,” to talk of lords and ladies 
whom he has only seen at a distance ; but you evidently gather that he 
has been in good society, and that at some time before the coat was as 
worn, or the boots as patched as they are now, he dined at West End 
clubs, eat whitebait at Greenwich, danced at Almack’s, and rode his 
well-bred horse in Rotten Row. You say, “ Poor fellow, he has seen 
better days.” Auriculoaically speaking, I am that man. Out at elbows 
I decidedly am (my old gardener took care of that)—my paltry frame 
of plants would certainly do no more than cause a grower to shrug his 
shoulders, or turn up his nose in contemptuous pity. 1 speak very 
cautiously of what 1 now do in the line; in fact, I had rather people 
did not know where I lodge; but if some one draws me out, enters into 
