50 THE FLORIST. 
neighbour said to me, last August, “ I wish you would come up and 
look over the new Verbenas with me, that 1 may know what to keep, 
and what to throw away.” I called to mind the flaming descriptions 
with which they had been announced to the public in the spring—what 
terms of ‘ magnificent,” ‘‘ splendid,” ‘extra fine,” “superb,” had been 
lavished on them then—how we were assured that they were to beat 
everything that had ever been seen or heard of, and I shuddered to 
think of consigning the dear innocents to that limbo of all discarded 
plants—the dungheap. However, it was to be done; and, steeled 
against all other influences but a desire to select the-best, I went. The 
opportunity I knew to be a good one. The preserves were abundant, 
and as well stocked as those of his Grace the Duke of Rutland, before 
some of his murderous dattue days; the sport would be excellent, 
though the Lag for home consumption would not be very heavy, for L 
had, in my own little plot and elsewhere, seen a good many of them, 
and consequently knew pretty well what was before me. My friend, 
Mr. Banks, is well known as the raiser of Lord Raglan, Mr. H. 
Williams, Zampa, and others, and beds out somewhere about 1200 
plants. Here, therefore, were to be seen both new and old in close 
vicinity, and their relative merits were easily compared. In looking 
over them, I came to this conclusion as to their general character ; 
that they had not advanced in anything like the manner they had done 
two seasons back, and that perhaps we were just coming to that point in 
them which we seem to arrive at in other florists’s flowers, where improve- 
ment seems hardly obtainable, though the perseverance of florists may per- 
haps falsify such a conclusion, or some lucky sport introduce an entirely 
new strain. It also appeared that the most celebrated growers are 
bringing out flowers very much like to one another, and that it would 
not be difficult to match, in each collection, plants almost identical in 
colour, form, and size. Taking all these things into consideration, it 
surely ought to be a matter of thought to those interested in the business, 
that great care should now be exercised in introducing to the public 
plants whose sure fate, in the hands of all real lovers of the flower, will 
be the manure heap. And now to begin. 
First, let us look at Mr. Edwards’s list. Her Majesty has been lately 
pricking for sheriffs ; suppose we prick those of the 24 which appeared 
as new last spring. I should (and we did, I believe) select, as worth re-. 
taining, Comte de Morella, Eleanor, Lord Clyde, Lord Elgin, Mrs. Maclean, 
Gem, Mrs. Blyth, Conspicua, and perhaps—though this is doubtful— 
Mrs. Penington; thus only one-third of the whole lot suited our, per- 
haps, somewhat cloyed and fastidious taste. Ajax is a rambler; Band- 
master, Lightning, and others show no particular merit, and would pass 
in a bed unnoticed ; but the others did appear to us possessed of real 
merit. Lord Elgin is an exceedingly dark variety, and though not what 
is wanted in shape—or, indeed, in habit or size—yet, for its colour, we 
must retain it until we get something better. Conspicua is really 
deserving of its name, and is sure at once to catch the eye, not only from 
its brilliancy of tint, but from its large size. Mrs. Maclean is also 
exceedingly bright, and large in size also. And now, Mr. Breeze, what 
have you to say ?—a very nice little family, no doubt; that is, in your 
