him round three times in the garden of Russell-
square, and ask him where he was. I will
wager a mild amount of half-crowns that not
one out of fifty shall answer correctly. You
look round you far through the hanging branches
of big trees, you see no signs of houses, you hear
no sound of the ordinary traffic, and when Tom
Cooper told me that there were frequently four
or five games of croquet carried on at once
on the expanse of lawn, I received the information
without the least astonishment, and could,
if called upon, have affirmed on oath that the
place known as Holborn must be at least a
hundred miles away.

We proceeded through a throng of nicely-
dressed people, past a band of volunteers who
were playing the inevitable Faust selections in
excellent time and taste, and into a big marquee,
where the flowers were on view.

I am not good at flowers. I know roses, and
fuchsias, and geraniums, and balsams, and
convolvulus, and mignionette, and dahlias, and "old
man." When I go to South Kensington and
read Kapteorotix splendidiosus, I bow as on
a first introduction. I have never met the
gentleman before. But here, in Russell-square, I
was among the friends of my childhood. I
knew the elegant full-belled fuchsias, hanging
with their bursting petals each over each, and
drooping over the pots containing them; I knew
the sturdy geraniums, with their scarlet flowers,
their broad soft hairy leaves, their thick resolute
stems; I knew the annuals, bright, and gaudy,
and fleeting; and I pushed my way in among
admiring crowds, and felt quite young again as
I looked upon many a bud and leaf once familiar,
but long forgotten. I was not critical in my
judgment, but there were plenty who were; old
men and women, doddering and placable,
mechanics severely scrutinising each prize, and
openly speaking their minds as to the justice
which had awarded it, boys and girls swooping
down upon the assembly with a pleasant
disregard of corns. So through the tent, looking
to the right and left, and remarking many
excellent specimens of my favourite flowers.
Outside the tent, a police band, all the members
in blue coats and oilskin-topped hats; numberless
young ladies in the most delightful of summer
costumes, with young gentlemen to match,
behaving as the youth of both sexes do under
such circumstances; numberless rich old people
bored, and stupid; numberless poor old people,
wondering and dazed "which how they can
wear them bonnets on the tops of their 'eads,
and such rolls of 'air be'ind, good gracious!"
numberless poor children; save those who were
evidently exhibitors, there did not appear to be
many poor people of middle age, they were
mostly veterans or children, interspersed among
the promenaders. And it was one of the curious
sights of the day, to witness how thoroughly at
home the children made themselves, and how, in
the blessed ignorance of childhood, they utterly
ignored any deference to the powers that were.
They sat in little knots under the trees, and
played at being owners of the ground; and they
played at a game which culminated in the height
of the fashionable promenade, so that gentlemen
bowing over the (in many cases) extensively
jewelled ears of their inamoratas, were nearly
flung to the earth by a little infantile procession
running in and out among their legs, the
members whereof were shouting, " Thee's thimple,
Thally, and the'th thold her thop," and with
outstretched forefingers and hissing voices
invoking objurgations on the said Sarah. I believe
that heretofore the presence of a number of boys
in muffin caps has not been considered essential
to the success of a flower-show; I am bound to
say that those young gentlemen added in no
small degree to the enjoyment of ours.

Before quitting the garden, I had some talk
with the genial and earnest honorary secretary
of the flower-show, and learned from him some
of its statistics. This exhibition at which I
assisted was, it appeared, the fourth exhibition
of the Bloomsbury Bouquets: the first
took place at a private house in Little Coram-
street; the second at the National School;
and the third and fourth were, through the
kindness of the inhabitants, held in Russell-
square Garden. They are self-supporting; there
is no touting, nor sending round of the hat; there
are fifteen hundred shilling tickets subscribed
for by the well-to-do parishioners; and that
amount, with the shilling charged for admission,
to casual visitors, and five hundred entrance
tickets for poor parishioners at a penny each,
amply cover all expenses.

The candidates for prizes are divided into
four classes: 1st. Persons living in the Little
Coram-street district. 2nd. Persons living in
other parts of the parish. 3rd. Domestic
servants. 4th. Children in national, infant,
Sunday, parochial, and ragged, schools. To each
of these classes, prizes for the best fuchsias,
geraniums, and annuals, varying from ten shillings
to one shilling, are offered. There is also
a set of prizes offered for the cleanest and most
tidily kept rooms. Some six weeks beforehand,
the district visitors invite candidates, whose
names are inscribed; their rooms are liable to
visitation at any moment between the entry and
the judgment, and those who are successful are
rewarded with a money prize. I was told that
the committee generally had a difficulty in awarding
this prize, so good were all the candidates.
There are between two and three hundred
candidates for the tidy-room prize; between four and
five hundred competitors at the flower-show.

So I went to a flower-show after all? I
confess it, and I learned something from it. I
learned that the great arts of fighting against
adverse circumstances, and of suffering and
being strong, were practised among a certain
portion of the poor with an exemplary patience
worthy of all emulation. It had been my lot,
in previous years, to live in that Bloomsbury
district, and to groan and complain at the absence
of all floral cultivation; yet here I was charmed
by finding excellent flowers of my favourite
kinds, grown under very unfavourable
circumstances, in a very inferior portion of the