March 9, 1907 



HORTICULTURE 



291 



"Not one of Flora's brilliant race, 

 A form more perfect cau display ; 



Art could not frame more simple grace, 

 Nor nalnr<' take a line a\Ya.v." 

 * * * 



"Ve breathe the fragrance of the longed- 

 for Spring, 

 Oil roses, Oh roses! 

 When nestling bluebirds on the peach 

 boughs swing, 

 And the first bud uncloses." 



— Frances Bartlett. 



A butterfly the wild rose wooed, 



And love's sweet story told; 

 He drank the perfume of her lips, 



And kissed her heart of gold. 

 The crimson blushes dyed her face, 



She loved the butterfly, 

 But ah! he stole her kisses — 



Then he passed the rosebud by; 

 He stole her kisses — then, alas! 

 He bade the rose — goodby! 

 — Agnes Lockhart Hughes in Boston Tran- 

 script. 



• • * 



•'The rose in the garden unfolded her bud, 



And she laughed in the pride of her youth- 

 ful blood, 



As she thought of the gardener standing 

 by — 



He is old — so old! And he soon must die. 



The full rose waxed in the warm June air, 

 And she spread and spread till her heart 



lay bare; 

 And she laughed once more as she heard 



his tread — 

 He is older now! He will soon be dead! 



But the breeze of the morning blew, and 



found 

 That the leaves of the blown rose strewed 



the ground; 

 And he carae at noon, the gardener old, 

 And he raked them gently under the mould. 



And I wove the thing to a random rhyme, 

 For the rose is Beauty, the gardener. 

 Time." 



— Austin Dobson. 



* * * 



(A favorite poem of Mr. Gladstone.) 

 It was peeping through the brambles. 



That little wild white rose. 

 Where the hawthorn hedge was planted 



My garden to enclose. 

 All beyond was fern or heather 



On the breezy open moor; 

 All within was sun and shelter. 



And the wealth of beauty's store. 

 But I did not heed the fragrance 



Of flowers or of tree. 

 For my eyes were on that rosebud. 



And it grew too high for me. 



In vain 1 strove to reach it. 



Through the tangled mass of green — 

 It only smiled and nodded 



Behind its thorny screen. 

 Yet through that summer morning 



I lingered near the spot; 

 Oh: why do things look sweeter 



If we possess them not? 

 My garden buds were blooming. 



But all that I could see 

 Was that little mocking wild rose 



Hanging just too high for me. 



So In life's wilder garden. 



There are buds of promise, too, 

 Beyond our reach to gather. 



But not l>eyond onr view; 

 And like the little charmer 



That tempted me astray. 

 They steal ont half the brightness 



Of many a summer day. 

 Oh! hearts that fail for longing 



For some forbidden tree. 

 Look up and learn a lesson 



From that wild rose and me, 



'Tis wiser far to number 



The blossoms at my feet. 

 Then ever to be sighing 



For just one bud more sweet. 

 My sunbeams and my shadows 



Fall from a pierced hand; 

 I can better trust His wisdom 



Since His heart I under.stand. 

 And may be in the morning 



When His blessed face 1 see, 

 He will tel! me why my white rose 



Grew just too high for me. 



THE ROSE 



"Dear flower of hoaveu and love! thou 

 glorious thing 



That lookest out the garden noolis among; 



Rose, that art ever fair and ever young: 

 Was it some angel on invisiljle wing 

 Hover'd 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 dream'd thee brought, of brighter days 



to tell 

 Long pass'd. but promised yet with us 

 to dwell." 



God sa\ e yoni Splendor of the Spring. 



Blazoi:ing 

 The jewels strung upon your spray 

 Unveiling your vermilion 



To the sun 

 In its virginal array. 



You see your face's cinnabar 



From afar 

 Multiplied amid the wheat: 

 Amid the wheat whose vivid green 



Shines more sheen 

 Against your fellows set in it. 



'Ilien here. M'here b.v yonr sweets suspire, 



Pilled with Are, 

 Despite the triple sisters sad, 

 I do design to make) my song 



Match the long 

 Sweep of the wings that Horace had. 



Let others sing the rink's soft hues 



If they choose 

 Or of the Lily's silvery flower. 

 Or of the golden Fleur-delvs. 



She that is 

 Emblem of our Prince's power. 



But I. nhile voice is mine to sins. 



Still will fling 

 All mv praise before the Rose, 

 The more since she too bears the name 



Gi\en by Fame 

 To Her who all rn.v worship owes. 



(Written in l.'j.tiO. Translation by Wynd- 

 ham.) 



PAYING A ROSE FOR RENT. 



In Manheim. Pennsylvania, stands 

 the Zion Lutheran Church, which was 

 gathered together by Baron William 

 Stiegel, who was the first glass and 

 iron manufacturer of note in this 

 country. He came to America in 1750, 

 with a fortune which would be equal 

 today to a million dollars, and founded 

 and built and named Manheim. He 

 was a man of deep spiritual and reli- 

 gious belief, and of profound senti- 

 ment, and when in 1771 he gave the 

 land to the church, this clause was in 

 the indenture: 



"Yielding and paying therefor unto the 

 said Henry William Stiegel, his heirs or 

 .issigns. at the said town of Manheim. in 

 the Month of June Y'earlv, forever here- 

 after, the rent of ONE RED ROSE, if the 

 same shall be lawfully demanded." 



Nothing more touching can be im- 

 agined than the fulfilment each year 

 of this beautiful and symbolic cere- 

 mony of payment. The little town is 

 rich in roses, and these are gathered 

 freely for the church service, when 

 "One Red Rose" is still paid to the 

 heirs of the sainted old baron, who 

 died in 1778, broken in health and for- 

 tunes, even having languished in jail 

 some time for debt. A new church 

 was erected on the site of the old one 

 in 1S92, and in a beautiful memorial 

 window the decoration of the red rose 

 commemorates the sentiment of its 

 benefactor. 



The Rose Tavern, in the neighboring 



town of Bethlehem, stands on land 

 granted for the site of a tavern by 

 William Penn, for the yearly rental of 

 "One Red Rose." 



In England the payment of a rose 

 as rent was often known. The Bishop 

 of Ely leased Ely house in 1576 to Sir 

 Christopher Hatton, Queen Elizabeth's 

 handsome Lord Chancellor, for a red 

 rose to be paid on midsummer day, ten 

 loads of hay and ten pounds per an- 

 num, and he and his Episcopal suc- 

 cessors reserved the right of walking 

 in the gardens and gathering twenty 

 bushels of roses yearly. In PYance 

 there was a feudal right to demand a 

 payment of roses for the making ot 

 rose water. 



From "Old-Time Gardens." by Alice 

 Morse Earle. Published by the Macmillan 

 Company. 



"TIGHTENING OF THE TIES." 



Editor HORTICULTURE: 



"Tightening of the Ties" In your is- 

 sue of February 23 is well put. I 

 thank you very much for the promi- 

 nence you gave the subject in HORTI- 

 CULTURE. Gardeners' and Florists' 

 clubs are organized for a definite pur- 

 pose, and in our exchange of ideas 

 along business lines we begin to real- 

 ize that we are receiving a practical 

 education; our minds are being broad- 

 ened, and we become conscious of the 

 fact that our calling is not composed 

 of several petty groups, the one divid- 

 ed against the other. The end of such 

 division is failure. 



May the spirit of brotherhood be a 

 mighty force for the betterment of our 

 life's work. Let it be the momentum 

 that shall enable us to see "eye to eye," 

 and we shall go hand in hand with one 

 grand purpose in life, and so may be 

 of seme help to our fellow-man, and 

 our calling — the greatest ever given to 

 man — will become one and inseparable. 

 THOS. H. WESTWOOD, 

 Pres. G. & F. Club of Boston. 



•THOU CAN'ST NOT SAY I DID IT." 



"The reference in this column a few 

 weeks ago to a reported organization of 

 Greek flower buyers has called forth a 

 meaningless sermon from) a Boston editor." 

 — Florists' Excliange. 



Our irritable but always esteemed 

 contemporary is once more "off the 

 track." Its simple faith in "reference 

 in this column" as an exclusive source 

 of information for the rest of the 

 world is just admirable but its anxiety 

 to prove innocence when no charge 

 had been made against it has a sus- 

 picious look. 



"When you see a tom cat with his whisk- 

 ers full of feathers, do not say 'Canary' — 

 he'll take offense." 



Frau Karl Druschki. alias Schnee- 

 konigin, alias Snow Queen; Kaiserin 

 Augusta Victoria, alias White Ameri- 

 can Beauty! Wanted, a fearless 

 nomenclature committee. 



A bill is now before the Wisconsin 

 state legislature, providing for the cre- 

 ation of a state park of the lands sur- 

 rounding Devil's Lake. The property 

 is located about midway between Mil- 

 waukee and Madison, and has excel- 

 lent scenic and geological attractions. 

 The bill has a more than even chance 

 of being enacted into law. 



