1869.] THE ROSE. 53 



grow. It looks like a dismal aviary from whicli tlie birds have flown ; 

 but "vyith a little bright paint and gilding externally, and a loud barrel- 

 organ within, it might form a brilliant lucrative centre-piece for a 

 merry-go-round at a fair. 



When the Rose is grown for exhibition exclusively, the geometrical 

 system in its simplest form, and minus the temple, is desirable, as 

 being most convenient to him who purposely sacrifices beauty of 

 arrangement as regards the general appearance, the tout ensemble, of 

 his Rose-garden, that he may attain perfection as to size and colour in 

 the individual flowers. He cannot afi'ord space for numerous varieties, 

 which, lovely, distinct, and indispensable in the general collection, are 

 not suitable for the exhibition stage. He admires the Gallicas and 

 Mosses, Chinas and Bourbons, earnestly, but has only roora for these 

 in his heart. He must have all his trees so disposed that they may be 

 readily surveyed, approached, and handled. Specimens of the same 

 variety must be planted together, that he may quickly compare and 

 select. Time is most precious on the morning of a show, and 

 returning to the boxes with a bloom in each hand and a couple 

 between one's teeth, it is a sore hindrance to remember another tree 

 at the furthest point of the Rosary which possibly carries the best bloom 

 of all. Taste in arrangement consists with the exhibitor in the har- 

 monious grouping of his Roses, not in the gracefulness of his ground 

 or of his trees. He appeals not to the general public, but to the 

 connoisseur ; not to the court, but to the judge. 



In a Rose-garden not subject to any such restraint — not the drill- 

 ground of our Queen's Body-Guard, but the holiday assemblage of her 

 people — no formalism, no flatness, no monotonous repetition, should 

 prevail. There should the Rose be seen in all her multiform phases 

 of beauty. There should be beds of Roses, banks of Roses, bowers 

 of Roses, hedges of Roses, edgings of Roses, pillars of Roses, foun- 

 tains of Roses, vistas and alleys of the Rose. Now overhead and now 

 at our feet, there they should creep and climb. New tints, new forms, 

 new perfumes, should meet us at every turn. Here we come upon a 

 bed of seedlings so full of interest and of hope. Here is the sunny 

 spot where we gather, like Virgil's shepherd, the first Rose of spring, 



or 



" Rosa quo locorum 

 Sera moretur," 



the last of autumn. Art is here as the meek admiring handmaid 

 of Nature, gently smoothing her beautiful hair, checking only such 

 growth as would weaken her flowing ringlets, but never daring to 

 disfigure with shams and chignons — with pagodas, I mean, and such- 

 like tea-garden trumpery. Art is here to obey, but not to dictate — to 



