CHRISTMAS ROSES 



By Mary Earle Hardy 



/^ N last Christmas day in Michigan, we dug away the snow 

 ^^ and gathered an exquisite bunch of Christmas Roses. 

 The flowers were nestled among the tough evergreen leaves 

 of the plants and the drifted leavs of deciduous trees growing 

 near by. They suggested the purity and sweet trustfulness 

 of babA'hood. 



Our thermometer registered but a little above zero. As 

 we brought the blossoms from under the blanket of snow, we 

 dropped them into, a pan of cold water, albeit we shivered a 

 bit at giving the baby things such a bath, but some of the stems 

 were stiff with frost, making the strenuous treatment a neces- 

 sity. Kept in a cool room they retained their loveliness for 

 two weeks. The dear little children of the snow love nothing 

 better when brought indoors, than to snuggle their faces 

 against the cool window pane and look out at the landscape. 

 So much of suggestion to those who gather Christmas Roses 

 from under the snow. 



Although called by the name of the queen of flowers, they 

 are not roses at all, but instead, belong to the widely related 

 Buttercup family, and are scientifically named Hellehoriis 

 niger. They come to us from over the sea, being little moun- 

 tain climbers and loving best the rugged and wooded defiles 

 of the southern Alps and Apennines. Their blossoms are 

 waxy white, lightly touched here and there with the faintest 

 flush of pink. Their petals are scarcely observed, except by 

 those who carefully study the construction of the flower, be- 

 ing exceedingly small and strangely twerked into tiny two- 

 lipped alabastrons holding the faintest of perfumes. What 



