1869.] THE ROSE. 197 



Rose-garden laid out and planted for its general beauty — for its 

 inclusiveness of all varieties of special interest — or a collection brought 

 together and disposed solely for the production of prize flowers — 

 whether I would live by Brienz or by Thun — I hardly know what would 

 be my answer. Let the amateur begin with a selection from both, 

 and then let him make his choice. A choice, if he is worthy of that 

 name, he will have to make, as increase of appetite grows with that it 

 feeds on, and demands new ground to be broken up for its sustenance. 

 It is hardly possible, for the reasons which I have given at page 53, 

 to grow the two conjointly : and to grow them separately — that is, to 

 have both a beautiful Rose-garden and a garden of beautiful Roses — 

 requires the Kri~ia 'rr'/.ovTov, the 



Magnos Senecse praedivitis hortos, 

 the ground and the gold, which few can spare. They who can — who 

 have both the desire and the means, the enthusiasm and the exchequer 

 — should have some such a Rosary as I have suggested in the chapter 

 on Arrangement, together with a large budding-ground annually 

 devoted, fresh Briers or Manetti on fresh soil, to the production of 

 Show Roses. As a rule, the amateur who becomes a keen exhibitor will 

 eliminate the varieties which he cannot show ; and the amateur who 

 studies tout ensemble — the completeness of the scene, diversity, abund- 

 ance — will rest satisfied with his exhibition at home, thankfully admir- 

 ing those garden Roses which I now propose to discuss. 



We must grow, of course, the blushing, fresh, fragrant Provence. 

 It was to many of us the Rose of our childhood, and its delicious per- 

 fume passes through the outer sense into our hearts, gladdening them 

 with bright and happy dreams, saddening them with lone and chill 

 awakings. It brings more to us than the fairness and sweet smell of 

 a Rose. We paused in our play to gaze on it, with the touch of a 

 vanished hand in ours, wdth a father's blessing on our heads, and a 

 mother's prayer that we might never lose our love of the pure and beau- 

 tiful. Happy they who retain or regain that love, and thankful I am 

 that, with regard to Roses, the child was father to the man. Yes, I 

 was a Rosarian cpt. rneci, IV, and in my seventh summer I presided at a 

 " Flower Show" — for thus we designated a few petals of this Pro- 

 vence Rose or of some other flower placed behind apiece of broken glass, 

 furtively appropriated when the glazier was at dinner, and cutting, not 

 seldom, our small fingers (retribution swift upon the track of crime), 

 which we backed with newspaper turned over the front as a frame or 

 edging, and fastened from the resources of our natural gums. 



And now, can any of my readers appease indignation and satisfy 

 curiosity by informing me who first called the Provence Rose " Old 

 Cabbage," and why? For myself, "I should as soon have thought of 



