I like this plan of putting placards upon trees, and I think it might well
be carried out in the country too. There would be none of that standing
about in the wet then, and arguing whether the thing is a beech or an oak,
when all the time it is a horse-chestnut and laughing up its bark at you.
One must not forget either at Kew the great conservatories, though I do not
care for these so much because there are men in them watching to see that
you do not pick the cactuses or the palms to put in your button-hole; nor
the magnificent Pagoda, which accommodates the Observator, who watches for
the flowers to come out, and the Curator, who writes appreciative little
notices to stick on the beds; nor the piebald swans in the artificial lake.
But the great glory of Kew is the Pump-room. It is surrounded by
marble-topped tables and green seats, and I am aware that it is not called
a Pump-room, though a noise proceeds from inside it very like the panting
of a pump. They tell me that this is an hydraulic machine for washing up the
cups and plates; but I do not believe them, because so many people who take
tea round the Pump-room drink left-handed, as if the reverse side of the
cup had belonged to somebody else.
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