190 THE FLORIST. 



hues, and that rose-odour, which every one feels has not lost any 

 thing of its divine sweetness since the first day the flower hloomed 

 in that heaven-garden of Eve, fills the air. Yes, the flowers have it ; 

 and if we are not fairly forced to say something this month in behalf 

 of Roses, then was Dr. Darwin mistaken in his theory of vegetable 

 magnetism. 



We believe it was that monster, the Duke of Guise, who always 

 made his escape at the sight of a Rose. If there are any " outside 

 barbarians" of this stamp among the readers of our " flowery land," 

 let them glide out while the door is open. They deserved to be 

 drowned in a butt of attar of rose — the insensibles ! We can well 

 aff'ord to let them go, indeed ; for we feel that we have only to men- 

 tion the name of a Rose to draw more closely around us the thou- 

 sands of the fairer and better part of our readers, with whom it is 

 the type of every thing fair and lovely on earth. 



" Dear flower of heaven and love ! thou glorious thing 

 That lookest out the garden-nooks among ; 

 Rose, that art ever fair and ever young ; 

 Was it some angel on invisible wing 

 Hovered around thy fragrant sleep, to fling 

 His glowing mantle of warm sunset hues 

 O'er thy unfolding petals, wet with dews. 

 Such as" the flower-fays to Titania bring ? 



flower of thousand memories and dreams, 

 That take the heart with faintness, while we gaze 

 On the rich depths of thy inwoven maze ; 

 From the green banks of Eden's blessed streams 



1 dreamed thee brought, of brighter days to tell 

 Long passed, but promised yet with us to dwell." 



If there is any proof necessary that the Rose has a diviner origin 

 than all other flowers, it is easily found in the unvarying constancy 

 of mankind to it for so many long centuries. Fashions there have 

 been innumerable in ornaments of all sorts, from simple sea-shells 

 worn by Nubian maidens, to costly diamonds that heighten the 

 charms of the proudest court-beauty — silver, gold, precious stones, 

 all have their season of favour, and then again sink into comparative 

 neglect ; but a simple Rose has ever been, and will ever be, the favou- 

 rite emblem and adornment of beauty. 



" Whatsoe'er of beauty 

 Yearns, and yet reposes, 

 Blush and bosom and sweet breath, 

 Took a shape in roses." Leigh Hunt. 



Now the secret of this perpetual and undying charm about the 

 Rose is not to be found in its colour — there are bright Lilies, and 

 gay Tiger Flowers, and dazzling Air-plants, far more rich and vivid ; 

 it is not alone in fragrance — for there are Violets and Jasmines with 

 " more passionate sighs of sweetness ;" it is not in foliage — for there 

 are Laurels and Magnolias M-ith leaves of richer and more glossy 

 green. Where, then, does this secret of the world's six thousand 

 years' homage lie ? 



In its being a type of infinity. Of infinity ! says our most inno- 

 cent maiden reader, who loves Roses without caring why, and who 



