AUGUST. 251 
Knights of the Rose, receive my gratulations, and upon two successes 
especially! In the first place the National Rose show has become, as 
we who organised it always desired that it should become, se//-sup- 
porting. ‘There will be no further need to tax the generosity of those 
who gave, and (a still truer proof of earnestness) induced others to give, 
so freely.* Not only have we a balance at our Banksiee—I beg your 
pardon, | mean Bank—but rival candidates aspire to the distinction of 
paying our future expenses. 
And let us congratulate each other, heartily, for I come now to speak 
the happiest thought of all, that our meetings become more evidently, 
year after year, of a social, friendly character. Some few malcontents, 
whose hearts, like their Roses, are not very large, have been pleased to 
call us “‘a clique:” we call ourselves a Brotherhood. And every year, 
unless my eye-glass is very ‘rose-coloured’ indeed, we become more 
brotherly—each of us, of course, solicitous for his own success, but, 
having done his best to win it, obedient to bear defeat. Our censors 
have been accused of bias, not openly, not manfully, but in an under- 
hand, indirect way, to persons unconcerned. Cowards are not worth 
kicking, and I will therefore content myself with saying that if any 
prejudice had been shown, ‘‘S. R. H.” must have had a slice of it. 
Whether this has been so, let those who saw my 24 in 1858, and my 
12 in 1860, declare. Either of these collections might have been placed 
first, without a dozen words of criticism, but the Judges preferred 
others, and their law at once was mine. 
And it is so with the generality of us. We look upon “ the National” 
as our ‘‘ Derby.” It is glorious to win; it is greatness to be ‘ placed ;” 
it is honourable to run well at all. It is our Tournament. We cannot 
all be victors, but we can all be men. Don’t let us lie whining in the 
dust, and groaning ‘‘ Oh, he has so hurt me.” ‘A fresh steed and a 
new lance,” be our cry; “and look to thyself, Sir Knight, when next 
thou and I shall meet.’’ Did any one see the brave Chief of Cheshunt 
sulking in a corner of the Alhambra Court, when the Knight of Sussex, 
successful, was declared to be “‘ the hero of a hundred” blooms? Did 
Sir Cranston call upon the Great Waterworks to drown his despairing 
soul? Did the Prior of Caversham excommunicate the Priest of 
Caunton for preceding him in “ the 48s?” Not precisely. They went 
to the Refreshment-tables instead, and, lunching amicably side by side, 
drank to “our next merry meeting,” inaudibly adding, ‘at which I 
mean to win.” 
Now, following the example of Alphonse Karr—did you see his very 
pretty namesake among Mr. Mallett’s Roses ?—and having made a 
small “ Voyage autour de mon Jardin,’ I must go to roost. 
How lovely are the Roses in the soft light of eventide! They have 
regained the firmness of petal, the brightness of colour, which they 
had lost awhile beneath the summer sun, and, with their rosy faces 
washed with dew, seem to rest, rejoicing. in the cool tranquillity of the 

* I must be permitted to mention, very gratefully, Messrs. Rivers, Paul, 
Turner, Cranston, the Revs. W. F. Radclyffe, G. E, Maunsell, and A. Rawson ; 
Mr. C. M. Worthington, Capt. Borlase Tibbits, Mr. H. 0. Nethercote, Mr. R. 
Garnett, &c. 
