198 THE GARDENER. [May 



calling an earthquake genteel," as Dr Maitland remarked, when an old 

 lady near to him during an Oratorio declared the Hallelujah Chorus 

 to be " very pretty." It must have been a tailor who substituted the 

 name of his beloved esculent for a word so full-fraught with sweet- 

 ness, so suggestive of the brave and the beautiful, of romance and 

 poesy, sweet minstrelsy and trumpet tones. The origin of the title 

 Provence is, I am aware, somewhat obscure. Mr Rivers thinks that it 

 cannot have been given because the Rose was indigenous to Provence 

 in France, or our French brethren would have proudly claimed it, 

 instead of knowing it only by its specific name, rose a cent feuilles ; 

 but we may have received it, nevertheless, from Provence, as Provence, 

 when Provincia, received it — Rosa centifolia — from her Roman masters, 

 and may have named it accordingly. Be this as it may, we have rhyme 

 on our side if we have not reason, and I vote "Old Cabbage" to the pigs. 



The Rosarian should devote a small bed of rich soil, well manured, 

 to the cultivation of this charming flower, growing it on its own roots, 

 and pruning closely. 



The Double Yellow Provence Rose, of a rich, glowing, buttercup yellow 

 as to complexion, and prettily cupped as to form, full of petal, but of 

 medium size, has almost disappeared from our gardens, and I have 

 only seen it at the Stamford Shows, sent there from beautiful Burleigh. 

 Although common at one time in this country, it seems never to have 

 been happy or acclimatised. " In many seasons," writes the Rev. Mr 

 Hanbury, in his elaborate work upon Gardening, published just a 

 century ago, " these Roses do not blow fair. Sometimes they appear as 

 if the sides had been eaten by a worm when in bud ; at other times the 

 petals are all withered before they expand themselves, and form the 

 flower. For this purpose, many have recommended to plant them 

 against north walls, and in the coldest and moistest part of the garden, 

 because, as the contexture of their petals is so delicate, they will be 

 then in less danger of sufifering by the heats of the sun, which seem to 

 wither and burn them as often as they expand themselves. But I 

 could not observe without wonder what I never saw before — i.e., in the 

 parching and dry summer of 1762, all my Double Yellow Roses, both 

 in the nursery-lines and elsewhere, in the hottest of the most southern 

 exposures and dry banks, everywhere all over my whole plantation, 

 flowered clear and fair." Here, in my opinion, the latter paragraph 

 contradicts and disproves the former, showing us that so far from the 

 Yellow Provence Rose being burned and withered by the sun, we have 

 only now and then in an exceptional season sunshine sufficient to bring 

 it to perfection. And for this reason we will leave it — 



" If she be not fair for me, 

 What care I how fair she be ] " 



