JULY. 
205 
conversation on one of my favourite flowers, he too comes to the con¬ 
clusion, “ Ah! poor fellow, he has seen better days ; he talks evidently 
as if he knew these haughty dames and noble lords.” So that when I 
sit down, as I do now, to fulfil a promise made to some correspondents 
of writing a few words on this beautiful flower, I cannot say that I feel 
as if 1 were an impostor ; and as it is by no means necessary that a 
man to be a judge of painting should possess a private gallery, so neither, 
to be able to speak about Auriculas, is it needful to have a large stock 
of them. 
But be it known to you, gentle reader, that I am not a novice—that 
any remarks I may offer are the result of long experience and observa¬ 
tion—that I have been, in days long past, a successful exhibitor of the 
flower—that I have seen them grown by persons in very different 
localities, and that one of the brightest feathers in my floricultural cap 
is the recollection of having beaten the very best grower of Auriculas I 
ever saw (Dr. Plant, of Monkstown, near Dublin), some 11 years ago. 
Mr. Turner knows something of his plants, I believe; and whoever 
once saw them in bloom would not soon again forget the sight. Plants 
of the most delicate habit became vigorous under his care, and I never 
knew of any one but he who could grow Booth’s Freedom with eleven 
good sized pips on it—so I am not a greenhorn. Of the flower itself I 
do not think there can be a second opinion ; some may admire it more 
than others, but all must admire —though I do recollect one lady who 
came to see my brother’s plants, who considered the wool with which 
the pips were kept apart one of the best parts of the flowers ! What 
can be more exquisite and elegant than a good stage of Auriculas ?—so 
aristocratic looking, so peculiar in their foliage, some powdered over 
with delicately fine meal, others rich and glossy in their “ coat of 
Lincoln green.” And then the flower itself; some with a beautiful 
green edge, some grey, some white, mixed up with bright blue and dark 
chocolate coloured seifs, and a sprinkling of the gay and lively Alpine; 
truly, it is “ a dainty dish to set before a king.” But with all this, it 
is essentially a poor man’s flower ; the weavers at Manchester and the 
small florist are much more likely to have them in perfection than the 
wealthy amateur or the large nurseryman. They require constant 
oversight, a thing they are apt to lose in the demand on time and 
attention which a large establishment involves, and hence you must not 
look to the regular florist for a good collection of them. And there is 
this very great advantage connected with them, that the addition to the 
number of good sorts is very small even in the course of ten years ; so 
much so that I am quite confident by far the greater number of prizes 
are taken by old flowers than by new ; and while in other things— 
Geraniums, Verbenas, kc. —there is the continual expulsion of old 
kinds, the flowers of this year being unsuitable for next, the catalogues 
of last year being now not much better than an old almanack—a list of 
Auriculas published ten years ago is fresh and useful now, and this is 
to me no slight recommendation of the flower, for it shows that a 
tolerable degree of perfection is attained in it, and that one does not run 
the risk of being “pooh-poohed” by great, big, greedy men, who will 
have large gardens. 
