Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 448 | Page 6

capital for some
months past. She enjoys almost a monopoly in her art, and is not to be
beaten down in the price of her goods. She knows their value, and is
more independent than an artist dares to be in the presence of a patron.
Her productions are a pleasant summer substitute for the cheerful fire
of winter; and it is perhaps well for her that, before the close of autumn,
the faded hues of the flowers, and the harbour they afford to dust, will
convert them into waste paper, in spite of all the care that may be taken
to preserve them.
Paper Poll, as the servants call her, is hardly out of sight, and not out of
hearing, when a young fellow and his wife come clattering along the
pavement, appealing to all who may require their good offices in the
matter of chair-mending. The man is built up in a sort of cage-work of
chairs stuck about his head and shoulders, and his dirty phiz is only half
visible through a kind of grill of legs and cross-bars. These are partly
commissions which, having executed at home, he is carrying to their
several owners. But as everybody does not choose to trust him away
with property, he is ready to execute orders on the spot; and to this end
his wife accompanies him on his rounds. She is loaded with a small bag
of tools suspended at her waist, and a plentiful stock of split-cane under
one arm. He will weave a new cane-seat to an old chair for 9d., and he
will set down his load and do it before your eyes in your own garden, if
you prefer that to intrusting him with it; that is, he will make the

bargain, and his wife will weave the seat under his supervision, unless
there happen to be two to be repaired, when husband and wife will
work together. We have noticed that it is a very silent operation, that of
weaving chair-bottoms; and that though the couple may be seated for
an hour and more together rapidly plying the flexible canes, they never
exchange a word with each other till the task is accomplished.
Sometimes the wife is left at a customer's door working alone, while
the husband wanders further on in search of other employment,
returning by the time she has finished her task. But there are no chairs
to mend this morning on Our Terrace, and our bamboo friends may jog
on their way.
Now resounds from a distance the cry of 'All a-growin' an'
a-blowin'--all a-blowin', a-blowin' here!' and in a few minutes the
travelling florist makes his appearance, driving before him a
broad-surfaced handcart, loaded in profusion with exquisite flowers of
all hues, in full bloom, and, to all appearance, thriving famously. It may
happen, however, as it has happened to us, that the blossoms now so
vigorous and blooming, may all drop off on the second or third day;
and the naked plant, after making a sprawling and almost successful
attempt to reach the ceiling for a week or so, shall become suddenly
sapless and withered, the emblem of a broken-down and emaciated
sot--and, what is more, ruined from the self-same cause, an overdose of
stimulating fluid. It may happen, on the other hand, that the plant shall
have suffered no trick of the gardener's trade, and shall bloom fairly to
the end of its natural term. The commerce in blossoming flowers is one
of the most uncertain and dangerous speculations in which the small
street-traders of London can engage. When carried on under favourable
circumstances, it is one of the most profitable, the demand for flowers
being constant and increasing; but the whole stock-in-trade of a small
perambulating capitalist may be ruined by a shower of rain, which will
spoil their appearance for the market, and prevent his selling them
before they are overblown. Further, as few of these dealers have any
means of housing this kind of stock safely during the night, they are
often compelled to part with them, after an unfavourable day, at less
than prime cost, to prevent a total loss. Still, there are never wanting
men of a speculative turn of mind, and the cry of 'All a-blowin' an'

a-growin'' resounds through the streets as long as the season supplies
flowers to grow and to blow.
The flower-merchant wheels off, having left a good sprinkling of
geraniums in our neighbours' windows; and his cousin-german, 'the
graveller,' comes crawling after him, with his cart and stout horse in the
middle of the road, while he walks on one side of the pavement, and his
assistant on the other. This fellow is rather a singular character, and one
that is to be met with probably nowhere upon the