58 



A CHAPTER ON ROSES. 



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, with leaves of 

 richer and more glossy green. Where, 

 then, does this secret of the Avorld's six 

 thousand years' homage, lie ? 



In its being a type of infinity. Of infi- 

 nity ! says our most innocent maiden read- 

 er, who loves roses without caring why, 

 and who does ViOt 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, aye, 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 honor 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 forever, is that the 

 rose 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 odor is wasted in 

 the depths of the silent wood, or the Eg- 

 lantine, whose wreaths of fresh sweet blos- 

 soms 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 ttill know little 

 of all the varied shapes which the plant 

 has taken in bj^-gone days, and which have 

 perished with the thousand other refine- 



ments and luxuries of the nations who cul- 

 tivated and enjoyed them.* 



All this variety of form, so far from de- 

 stroying the admiration of mankind for the 

 rose, actually increases it. This very cha- 

 racter of infinity, in its beauty, makes it 

 the symbol and interpreter of the aflfections 

 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 cot- 

 tager ; 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 laborer ; the delicate and 

 odorous tea-rose, fated to be admired and 

 to languish in the drawing-room or the 

 boudoir, wins its place in the affections of 

 those of most cultivated and fastidious 

 tastes ; while the moss rose unites the 

 admiration of all classes, coming in as it 

 does with its last added charm, to complete 

 the circle of perfection. 



Again, there is the infinity of associa- 

 tions which Hoat like rich incense about the 

 rose, and that, after all, bind it most 

 strongly to us ; for they represent the ac- 



* Many of our renders may not be aware to what perfec- 

 tion the culture of flawers was once carried in Ronje Dur- 

 ing Caesar's reipn, so abundant had forced flowers become in 

 that city that when the Egyptians, intending to compliment 

 him on his birth-day, sent him roses in midwinter, tliey found 

 their present almost valueless from the profusion of roses in 

 Rome. The following translation of MartiaVs Latiii Ode to 

 I fEsarupon thisprejent, will give some ideaof ihe state of flo- 

 riculture then. There can scarcely be a doubt tliat there 

 were hundreds of sorts of roses known to, and cultivated by 

 the Romans, now entirely lost ; 



'■ The ambiiious inhabitants of the land, watered by the 

 Nile, have sent thee, O Csesar. tlie roses of winter, as a 

 present, valuable for its noveliy. But the boatman of Mem- 

 phis will laugh at the gardens of Pharaoh »s soon as he has 

 taken one step in thy capital city ; for tlie spring, in all its 

 charms, and the llowers in iheir fragrance and beauty, equal 

 the glory of the fields of Psesium Wherever he wanders, or 

 casis his eyes, every street is brilliant with garlands of roses. 

 And thou, O Nile I must yield to Ihe fogs of Rome. Send us 

 thy harvests, and we will send ihee roses." 



