AS the young knight in the olden time, having reached "ye place ordayned and appointed to trye ye bittermoste by stroke of battle," became naturally curious concerning his adversaries, and, after caring for his horse and looking to his armour, went forth to inspect the Flower of Chivalry, and the lists, in which that flower would shortly form a bed of "Love-lies-bleeding': - so the exhibitor, having finally arranged his Roses, strolls through the glowing aisles of the show. Soon experience will teach him to survey calmly, and to gauge accurately, the forces of his foe; but now he but glances nervously, furtively, at the scene around him, like a new boy at some public school. The sight brings him hopes and fears. Now a hurried sidelong look shows him flowers inferior to his own, and he is elate, happy. Now an objectionably large Pierre Not-ting obtrudes itself upon his vision, and his heart fails him. He steps, as it were, from the warm stove, gay with Orchids, into the ice-house of chill despair.

He is much too anxious and excited to form any just conclusions; and therefore, to engage his thoughts more pleasantly, I will introduce him to his co-exhibitors.

Viewed abstractedly, these co-exhibitors are genial, generous, intelligent, men of refined taste and reverent feelings, with the freshness of a garden and the freedom of the country about their looks and ways. Viewed early in the morning, as the novice sees them now, they are a little dingy, without the freshness of the garden upon them, but with something very like its soil. Some have not been in bed since yesternight; not one has slept his usual sleep. Many have come from afar: -

"They have travelled to our Rose-show From north, south, east, and west, By rail, by roads, with precious loads Of the flower they love the best:

"From dusk to dawn, through night to morn, They've dozed 'mid clank and din, And woke with cramp in both their legs, And bristles on their chin".

"Pulvis et umbra sumus!" they sigh, we are all over dust, and shady. They are like Melrose Abbey - sunlight does not suit them. "The gay beams of lightsome day" are not becoming to countenances long estranged from pillow, razor, and tub. They have come to meet the Queen of Flowers, as Mephibosheth to meet King David, not having dressed his feet, or trimmed his beard, or washed his clothes from the day the king departed. And this reminds me that we, the clerical contingent, appear upon these occasions especially dishevelled and dim. Sydney Smith would undoubtedly say that we "seemed to have a good deal of glebe upon our own hands." In the thick dust upon our black coats you might write or draw distinctly; - (I once saw traced upon the back of a thirsty florist - of course a layman - To be kept dry; this side tip) - and our white ties - "Qui color albus erat, nunc est contrarius albo," are dismally limp and loose. The bearded brethren remind one of St Angus, of whom we read that, perspiring and unwashed, he worked in his barn until the scattered grain took root and grew on him.

By-and-by, when the exhibition is open to the public, we shall be as spruce as our neighbours, and as bright as soap-and-water - he is no true gardener who loves not both - can make us. Meanwhile let me assure the new-comer among us that there are strong brains and gentle hearts within those swart and grimy exteriors, and that he will find in the brotherhood hereafter - so I prophesy from my own experience - many dear and steadfast friends. For me Floriculture has done so much - quickening good desires and rebuking evil - that I have ever faith in those with whom its power prevails. But let us never forget, while we congratulate and commend each other as florists, that humility on the score of our multitudinous weeds is more becoming than pride in our little dish of sour wizened fruit; that "we are the sons of women, Master Page;" and that the old serpent hides still among our flowers. And now, to confirm such wholesome memories, I will present to the young Rosarian one or two specimens of our weaker brethren, that he may learn to check betimes in himself those infirmities which are common to us all, and which, when they gain the mastery, make men objects of contempt and ridicule.

I must add that, although I paint from the life, my pictures are never portraits of the individual, but always studies from the group - a group brought together by memory from diverse parts and periods, but displaying in its members such a strong family resemblance that I must guard myself against a natural suspicion.

The Irascible Exhibitor loses no time in verifying his presence to our eyes and ears. Talking so rapidly that "a man ought to be all ear to follow," as Schiller said of Madame de Stael, and so loudly that he may be heard in all parts of the Show, he is declaiming to a policeman, a carpenter, and two under-gardeners, who are nudging each other in the ribs, against the iniquitous villany of "three thundering muffs "who recently awarded him a fourth prize for the finest lot of Roses he ever cut. He communicates to the policeman, who evidently regards him as being singularly advanced in liquor, considering the time of day, his firm belief that the censors in question were brought up from a coal-mine on the morning of the exhibition, and had never seen a Rose before. He does hope that, on the present occasion, somebody will be in office who knows the difference between that flower and a Pumpkin. Here he is informed that Mr Trueman, a most reliable Rosarian, is to be one of the judges. He is delighted to hear it.

Mr Trueman is a practical, honourable man; and having arranged his Roses with a running accompaniment of grunts and snorts, he goes in quest of that individual, expresses entire confidence in his unerring judgment, and the happiness which he feels in submitting his Roses to a man who can appreciate them, instead of to such a set of old women as were recently judging at - , when they ought to have been in bed.