"Samuel Broome, for forty years gardener to the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple, whose annual Chrysanthemum Show was one of the sights of London, and who, in their culture, gave such valuable testimony to the effects of Lord Palmerston's Smoke Act, is dead, at a ripe old age. He lived respected, and he died happy." - Obituary of the day.

Poor old Broome, art thou gone ! and shall we hear Thy annual Jubilate never more,

O'er the Chrysanthemums that were so dear

Unto thy honest heart, as, year by year, They decked the Temple Garden's swarded floor !

Like Henry Brougham, thy greater homonym,

Thy pride and joy was to see cleared away

The stagnant, stifling, smoke-clouds, that made dim The Temple of the law, and on Thames' brim

Alike for flowers and lawyers darkened day.

And when the Smoke Act passed - and on Thames stream Steamers forbore to smoke, and on Thames' shore

Chimney-shafts ceased from sooty mouths to teem The blacks, that turned to griminess the gleam Of the Chrysanthemums thou didst adore -

Never was simple man more glad than thou,

Never were gentler pride and joy than thine -

Pleased to see pleased crowds round thy Pompons bow, Children, maids, barristers of parchment brow,

Who rarely noticed sun's or blossom's shine.

Along Thames' bank thy blooms stood brave and bold,

The brighter for the brick and mortar round: And if thy flowers were flowers of gold, So innocent none grew from Temple mould,

None so enriched, yet cumbered not, the ground.

How oft, when autumn daylight in the west

Was blended with the City's lurid flare,

Pale cheeks and aching brows thy flowers have blest, That breathed a breath of Nature and her rest,

On brains o'erwearied with law's cark and care.

Farewell to thee, kind, honest, old Sam Broome,

In boutons d'or above thee bloom the mould - No London smoke distress thee in the tomb, And whosoe'er i' the Temple fills thy room,

May the new Broom sweep clean as did the old.

- Punch.