AUGUST. 191 



does not love infinity because she does not understand it. Roses, a 

 type of infinity, says our theological reader, who has been in the 

 habit of considering- all flowers of the field, ay, and the garden too, 

 as emblems of the short-lived race of man, — " born to trouble, as the 

 sparks fly upward." Yes, we have said it, and for the honour of the 

 Rose we will prove it, that the secret of the world's devotion to the 

 Rose, — of her being the queen of flowers by acclamation always and 

 for ever, is that the R,ose is a type of infinity. 



In the first place, then, the Rose is a type of infinity, because 

 there is no limit to the variety and beauty of the forms and colours 

 which it assumes. From the wild Rose, whose sweet faint odour is 

 wasted in the depths of the silent wood, or the Eglantine, whose 

 wreaths of fresh sweet blossoms embroider even the dusty road-sides, 

 " Starring each bush in lanes and glades," 



to that most perfect, full, rounded, and odorous flower that swells 

 the heart of the Florist as he beholds its richness and symmetry, what 

 an innumerable range of shades, and forms, and colours ! And, in- 

 deed, with the hundreds and thousands of Roses of modern times, we 

 still know little of all the varied shapes which the plant has taken in 

 bygone days, and which have perished with the thousand other refine- 

 ments and luxuries of the nations who cultivated and enjoyed them.* 

 All this variety of form, so far from destroying the admiration of 

 mankind for the Rose, actually increases it. This very character of 

 infinity, in its beautj^ makes it the symbol and interpreter of the 

 affections of all ranks, classes, and conditions of men. The poet, 

 amid all the perfections of the parterre, still prefers the scent of the 

 woods and the air of freedom about the original blossom, and says — 



" Far dearer to me is the wild flower that grows 

 Unseen by the brook where in shadow it flows." 



The Cabbage Rose, that perfect emblem of healthful rural life, is 

 the pride of the cottager ; the Daily China Rose, which cheats the 

 window of the crowded city of its gloom, is the joy of the daughter 

 of the humblest day-labourer; the delicate and odorous Tea Rose, 

 fated to be admired and to languish in the drawing-room or the 



* Many of our readers may not be aware to what perfection the culture of 

 flowers was once carried in Rome. During Caesar's reign, so abundant had 

 forced flowers become in that city, that when the Egyptians, intending to com- 

 pliment him on his birthday, sent him Roses in midwinter, they found their 

 present almost valueless from the profusion of Roses in Rome. The following 

 translation of JNIartiaPs Latin Ode to Cajsar upon this present will give some 

 idea of the state of floriculture then. There can scarcely be a doubt that there 

 were hundreds of sorts of Roses known to, and cultivated by, the Romans, now 

 entirely lost : 



" The ambitious inhabitants of the land watered by the Nile have sent 

 thee, O Ctcsar, the Roses of winter as a present, valuable for its novelty. But 

 the boatman of Memphis will laugh at the gardens of Pharaoh as soon as he 

 has taken one step in thy capital city ; for the spring in all its charms, and the 

 flowers in their fragrance and beauty, equal the glory of the fields of Peestum. 

 Wherever he wanders, or casts his eyes, every street is brilliant with garlands of 

 Roses. And thou, O Nile ! must yield to the fogs of Rome. Send us thy har- 

 vests, and we will send thee Roses." 



