THE FLOWERIES.
THOSE indefatigable people, the providers of public amusements, whose ingenuity and resources must have been taxed to the utmost in their efforts year after year to find something that would appeal to the tired taste and tempt the jaded appetites of their patrons, have at last, we believe, hit upon an idea which will not require constant change. It is curious that the idea did not occur to them a little earlier, for we cannot but think that it was a sufficiently obvious one. We have had a Naval Exhibition, and a Military Exhibition, an American Exhibition, a Spanish, a French, an Italian, and a German Exhibition. The two first had a special interest for us, and we were glad to visit them for their own sake. The- others, the foreign Exhibitions, were shows of the dreariest and most uninviting description; and yet we went to them, and went there in very considerable numbers. There was one- constant factor in all these Exhibitions, and it was that which attracted their visitors. It was possible to sit out-of-doors in the open air, do nothing, and listen to a band. The greater part- of the visitors went solely for that reason. They hardly made- a pretence of looking at the stalls where foreign productions and manufactures were sold, the doubtful collections of pictures, or the dismal pageants which purported to represent the history of the country exhibited. They made their way through these attractions without turning to right or to left, straight to the gardens, where they could sit in the open air and listen to. music under no other roof than that of the sky. The gardens. at Earl's Court are not very extensive or very beautiful; the trees, for the most part, are young and unlovely ; but for all that, these gardens formed the principal, if not the sole, attraction to the better part of the visitors. Indeed, it is- quite possible that had it not been for the scraps of garden- that they enclosed, the Naval and Military Exhibitions at Chelsea, or even the earlier ones at the old Horticultural Gardens, the Indian and Colonial, the "Inventories," &c., would not have attracted half the number of sightseers that they did. Of machinery, either peaceful or warlike, of pic- tures and sculpture, of relics and cheap products, there soon comes satiety; but the fresh air is always fresh, and escape from his four walls is ever welcome to the Londoner. Summer comes- to all the world except to the Londoner. To him, immured in the hot prison of his office, it only brings greater heat and lassi- tude, an increase of weariness and discomfort, a more fretful im- patience of his slavery. His brief hours of liberty, his journeys from his home to his daily toil, are spent in the dusty streets amid the clamour of a hurrying world. While every summer month adds to the glories of the country garden, decks the wild hedge-rows with new flowers, and deepens the grateful shadow of the woods, he is still condemned to pace the weary pavement and breathe the tainted air of the crowded thoroughfares. It is hardly to be wondered at that he should seek his relaxation elsewhere than in theatre or concert-room, and should eagerly seize the opportunity of amusing himself in the open air. There are always the parks at his disposal, it is true; but then, he requires some excuse, some pretence of an entertainment, to justify his enjoyment. He would probably be almost as happy sprawling under the trees at Kensington Gardens, as sitting in the Exhibition gardens, and the former would not cost him the shilling that he has to pay for the latter privilege. But it would not be quite the same thing to him. He requires the knowledge that he has to pay for his entrance, to assure him that he is really
amusing himself; he requires the presence of others to share in his enjoyment : and then—in Kensington Gardens there is no band, and nothing is quite complete when unaccom- panied by music. Whatever his diversion or his social standing, he must have music to enliven him, whether he is bent on demonstrating in Hyde Park with a view to the in- timidation of peaceful citizens, or whether he is more politely and hospitably engaged in giving a garden-party or an after- noon tea to his friends. Here in Earl's Court are the music and the open air, and the Londoner can enjoy them both together, and be happy : the rest of the Exhibition matters but little to him.
This year, however, the promoters of this show have had a really happy thought. If there is one thing that could appeal to the unfortunate victim of too much bricks and mortar, it is the Horticultural Exhibition that is now in progress there. It has been called rather pompously the International Horticul- tural Exhibition, bat it has not a very cosmopolitan character. With the exception of one or two Frenchmen and Belgians, all the exhibitors seem to be Englishmen ; and a very ex- cellent show of flowers have they provided. There are but few of the delicate and curious rarities that grace the col- lections of Kew Gardens, and there is nothing to approach the gorgeous blaze of colour which is shown in the flower-beds of Hyde Park ; but, for all that, the collection is extremely interesting, as showing what can be done in the way of cultivation ; and the flowers themselves are extremely beautiful and fairly well arranged. The science of horticulture is cer- tainly one of the most curious and distinctive triumphs of man over Nature. Everything seems possible to the gardener. Give him a flower, and in a few years he will have produced a hundred varieties of it, varying it in size, in shape, and in colour, one more beautiful than the other. What is the secret ? Whence do gardeners procure the infinite gradations of tint and modifications of form ? To the uninitiated, the hopelessly unbotanical and ignorant visitor, the process seems little short of magical. Certainly the art of gardening, historically speaking, is the oldest in the world, and for that reason might well be the most advanced, though it is far from being the most honoured. Who is the gardener who does all these things ? The man who from one pelargonium will make you a hundred ? From the common scarlet—inquinans, shall we call it ?—will turn out the zonale or the "horse-shoed," the graveolens or the "rose-scented," the quercifolium or the "oak-leaved,"—pelar- goniums all, but differing how widely from each other ! To -one who is as ignorant as the present writer confesses himself to be, who does not even know the difference between a pelar- gonium and a geranium (after all, only a difference of seed- -vessels), the proceeding is a little more than marvellous, and the gardener himself a worker of miracles. Nevertheless, the .gardener remains almost unknown to fame. Now and then a plant may bear his name, but for the most part that name is repeated without evoking any thought of its giver, and the gardener works on in the obscurity of his hot- house or his potting-room, unhonoured and unsung. Really he must be the most modest of men, or else his profession must be all-satisfying to him, and his virtue its own reward, for never yet have we heard a gardener complain. The beauty that Nature offers to us he seizes half-way, and multiplies, increases, and varies it for our delight ; and we have never a word of thanks to throw him in return. Personally, we con- fess to a preference for Nature unadorned, for the unpainted rose, and the ungilded lily, for the wild anemone, and flowers that are single and not doubled: but that is perhaps only a matter of sentiment ; we do admire the more opulent splendours of the others, and immensely we admire the unknown artist who discovered them.
And if the flowers of the Horticultural Exhibition can really give pleasure to those who know nothing of their growth or history, what pleasure must they not give to those who are not absolutely ignorant of gardening, and who labour in gardens of their own ? In the country, the amateur gardener is in the majority ; hardly any one is there who dwells in the country and does not take some interest in the products of its soil. In London, perhaps, such amateurs are sadly in the minority ; but it is a minority that is likely to grow under the incentives of such exhibitions. An occa- sional show of flowers in the Temple Gardens, very small and unfrequented, is the only exhibition of flowers that is ever offered to us. A larger and more popular show, like the one at Earl's Court, is likely to do really good work in spreading the taste for horticulture amongst Londoners. It is true that we do a good deal already with the limited space at our command ; but we might do so much more, and we might appreciate our own work so much better, if only we pos- sessed a little more knowledge, and took a little more interest in the pursuit. As we have already said, the great bulk of the visitors to the Exhibition are attracted by other considerations than a love of flowers and a knowledge of botany; still, they remain to see the flowers, and the object-lesson that is offered to them will not be altogether thrown away. The most trying part of London life is the dull monotony of its seasons. The weather changes from wet to dry, from cold to warm, and there is no corresponding change in the unnatural surroundings of bricks and mortar. Spring brings no fresh- ness of green to stone pavements and asphalte roadways, nor does summer shade our houses from the heat with its fuller foliage. Here, at least, is an entertainment in which the pleasurable changes of season may be faintly mirrored, where spring has some other meaning than the time for taking out umbrellas, and the real glories of summer may find a place. It is to be hoped that the Horticultural Exhibition may prove to be one of a long series that will continue for many years to come. Let it have its bands and its promenades, its switch- back railways and shooting-galleries, its savages and buck- jumping horses, if it likes : they also serve their purpose, if they attract the crowd. Soon the crowd will frequent it for other and better reasons, and London will be the richer for one more pleasurable interest.
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