CHAPTER VI. 



THE WHITE ROSE. 



Brilliant month of June ! What an accumula 

 tion of treasures are scattered over the face of the 

 florist's domain by thy liberal hand. Or rather, 

 since those figurative expressions steal away the 

 ascriptions of praise from him to whom they 

 should ever ascend, and scatter them among the 

 clouds of pagan imaginations, rather let me say, 

 how richly has the Lord our God dealt forth his 

 unmerited bounties ; on how many fair pages, of 

 ever-varying beauty and grace, has he written the 

 story of his compassionate love to man — the me- 

 morial of that blessedness which they alone enjoy 

 who seek his face. That the flower-garden is a 

 type, the most cursory glance ought to convince us 

 — the outline cannot oe mistaken, by one who con 

 siders it with that reference to spiritual things 

 which the Christian should not — cannot lose sight 

 of: but there is, in the ample detail of all its deli- 



